Death in the Afternoon

...I think that God doesn't want me to live any more" My cousin Joyce's voice was tinny over the long-distance lines.

Unfortunately though, like most people listening to someone else's problems, I was only paying half my attention. In my experience, including two years on a hot-line, someone invoking suicide usually does so either to dramatize their problems or to pressure others into an action, and any attempt to discuss their possible willingness to take this action almost invariably produced nothing more that denial and the accusation that I did not understand something. With this in mind then, I did not at first take her threat as anything more than simple overstatement, and I filed it in my mind as simply a sign that Joyce was having a crisis. From there, I just followed the cynical and effective wisdom of the Men Are from Mars set for dealing with women by listening without saying anything. I made a grunting noise to show my attention, but then took a long sip of coffee and and continued my mental search for a ten letter word for traffic. I would pay for that decision about a minute later., however.

"John," Joyce said suddenly, "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?"

Now, no one likes questions like that. You can never guess what someone will accept as proof that your paying attention. I had to say something, though,

"Haven't you heard me on the line?" I asked.

"I'm not saying you haven't been holding the phone next to your your ear," she said, "I'm asking if you actually know what I'm talking about."

"Well, you've been talking about how lazy and needy your husband's being and how upset you are about your son being in jail again, no?"

I could hear Joyce moan in annoyance. "Yes," she lightly hissed, "That's what I've been saying. But do you know what it all means?"

I still wasn't seeing Joyce's words as anything other than a little melodrama, and so I continued to disregard them as a reason for her question. Lacking any other idea of what to say, however, I tried to stick to the obvious and the sympathetic in hopes of keeping her talking about her problems and maybe even letting a few of them out.

"It means you're unhappy." I said. "It means that two of the most important people in your life seem to just be expecting you to meet their needs without meeting any of yours, and personally, I can sympathize with you on this. Or am I wrong about that?"

She apparently didn't find much in my claim of sympathy. "...John, is that really what you think I'm saying?"

Now, I'd already been on the line over an hour, and hearing Joyce's repetition of a question she could answer in one sentence made me wonder if she was just going to continue asking it. I decided to try something that was useful in such cases on the hotline.

"Well, it is what you said. It may or may not be what you meant though; but that's a different question. Is there something you feel I'm just not getting about what you're saying?"

Joyce sighed, and I took that to mean she was losing hope about something. "Yes, I do, and I'm starting to see that calling you was a mistake. I'm going to hang up now."

The idea of her stopping the call took me slightly aback. I felt a little insulted by her apparent judgement that I hadn't been paying attention and a little annoyed at having contributed over an hour of my time to this possibly futile effort, and so, perhaps to disprove my inattention to Joyce and perhaps just to rescue my standing effort from becoming a waste, I began to try to look for ways to keep her on the phone.

"Well, I can't stop you from doing that, obviously, but do you really think the people back where you live will have a different reaction if you have this same kind of conversation with them?"

"Don't blame me for this!" she said. "I'm not the one who isn't listening."

I purposely misunderstood her. "I'm not blaming you for anything. For me to blame you, you'd have to do something wrong, right? I mean, you haven't done anything against the law or anything, have you? I'm just saying that if you assume people who love you aren't making some kind of effort for you when they are, you may end up discouraging them from trying to help you. Now I do want to help you. If you feel there's something I haven't heard, you might have to say it more than once. You have prepared me to hear it."

Her voice was still somewhat accusative. "No," she said, "You have to figure out what you didn't hear."

Well, at least she wasn't trying to hang up....

"Look, whatever this is, you need help with it, right? Now, it's going to be a lot simpler for you to get help if you just tell me what's on your mind rather than making me play guessing games."

"Is that really what you think? I'm just playing guessing games?"

"Well, you're putting me in a position where I have to do that, whether you mean to or not."

"John, the thing I'm trying to see if you heard was something I said to you, and apparently you really didn't hear it."

"And why can't you just tell me what it is?"

"Because right now I need to know if anyone ever pays attention to me, that's why."

"Well, okay then, this must have something to do with your husband or your son. That's pretty much all you talked about, how Donny is back in reform school and Rob won't get a job and won't do anything around the house but still expects you to meet his romantic needs. I don't know if you just don't believe me or whatever, but I do sympathize with you on that--and you may not see the humor in it but I did love the part where he tries to go octopus on you and you were wearing the tenz machine." A tenz machine circulates electrical current through muscles to exercise and strengthen them. Joyce had to wear one due to a work accident, and her husband, in a recent attempt to get sex, grabbed her but received only the negative stimulus of a severe jolt.

I'd hoped my reference to her own story would make Joyce laugh, but her voice remained even. "That's not it, John, and at this point I am hanging up."

I was beginning to see that Joyce problem must be fairly large, and my interest in hearing that problem became stronger. "Well, before you go," I said,"Would you tell me what it is you wanted me to hear, just for my curiosity? If nothing else, hey, you'd have bragging rights or laughing rights on me about how I always thought that I knew what you think and feel but I got it wrong."

"You want me to share this with you just because you wonder about it!?" I'd hoped that finally showing me up for my arrogance would be a motivator for her, but apparently it wasn't.

"Well, if you're having some big kind of crisis, I must 'of screwed up in a really huge way by not figuring out what you've been saying, right? And I don't want to make that same mistake again, so I'm really just asking you to help me with that. I'm assuming you'd like to cure a little of my ignorance, and I'm asking you to be my teacher."

"Don't play me, john!"

"I'm not playing you. I'm just asking for you to do me a favor with benefits for both of us, that's all."

Joyce took quite a while before speaking. "John, you have no idea how serious what I'm going through is! If you did, you wouldn't be this jerk you're being."

I purposely made my voice as compassionate as possible, which only reflected my actual feelings. "Well, if you can tell me how serious it is, and then someone will know. Tell me, and maybe I can help you."

"...John, again, I really don't think you've been listening, and I really should just hang up and go on with my day."

I had one last idea on how to deal with this situation. 'Look, I can't actually stop you from hanging up. I will make you a deal, though. If you tell me what the problem is, I'll let you go without any bother." I was of course hoping for her to state some very small concern as the cause behind this drama, but I wasn't going to be that lucky.

"...John, I just don't think you understand. I just called because sometimes you have ideas about things that other people don't think of, and I called to see if you'd have any on the things that're happening to me right now but you don't."

"Well, this could still be one of those times." I said. "You may just have to tell me what the actual problem is, though. Certainly if I have a problem, I try to get as much input on it as possible, and I assume you're the same."

Joyce giggled, probably out of derision. "John, you never ask anyone for advice. You're a total jerk."

Well, she caught me in a lie, and I didn't even try the futile task of saving face. "Well, how 'bout just getting me off the line then? I've given you a way to do that. You just have to tell me what the hell this problem of yours is. If you don't and you have some kind of trouble with whatever this is, I'll be able to say that I could've helped you, but you wouldn't let me."

"...John, do you really want to know what the problem is?"

"Yes, I do."

"Okay, you are."

"Me?"

"You!"

"What the hell did I do?"

"Same as everybody else, you didn't listen. Nobody's listening to me, and I just don't want to put up with it anymore."

"Well...regardless of anything I did or didn't do in the past, I'm listening now. I think that I was listening to you, or at least trying to, while you were telling me all your problems, but I'm not going to argue about that. You apparently need me to hear something right now, and you feel that I haven't. I'm just going to ask you to tell me what that thing is and offer to help you the best I can."

"John, I'll say it again, I don't think that God wants me to be alive anymore. Now I said that before, and the fact that you didn't hear it the first time is probably one of the reasons why I feel this way."

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't hear that. I won't try to excuse that, but I thought you were just bitching, okay? I do want to help you with this if you'll let me. Can I at least give that a try?"

Joyce took another pause, probably one of judgement.

"I'm willing to try...."

"Okay then, this first thing I need to to ask you is do you yourself want to die?"

"No," she said. "I don't. That's why I'm on the phone with you right now."

"Well, that's a good thing right there then, cause, just to say it, I would really hurt if you died."

"...I wish I could believe that, John."

I was a little surprised to hear that. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you're just such a bullshitter. I realize you do me favors and stuff, but you're always saying things to have an effect on someone, not because it's the truth. I don't have any way of knowing whether you mean that or not."

I didn't bother trying to defend myself, but I did try to introduce just a little levity into Joyce's mood. "Well, have you ever considered that, If I'm such a great bullshitter, I could get out of doing you any favors pretty easily, so the fact that I'm willing to do things for you is at least some proof of my love for you?"--she didn't even giggle, and I decided to make other points--"To cover another question, though, you've already mentioned the fact that you feel I didn't listen to you as one of the reasons for this feeling that God wants you dead. Are there any others?" I didn't want to assume that her assorted troubles with her husband and her son were a cause, but failing to take that tack would cost me in the credibility department on my claims of caring.

"What do you think? My Ron won't get a job and can't even do a dish, but he expects me to stop whatever I'm doing him to give him sex and he's apparently too damn stupid to think a whole two minutes ahead on anything. Tommy seems to think it proves something good about him that he's doing a third stint. And I have to work and keep up the home for people who only think they're entitled to more! Can you see why I just might see your not listening to me as a sign you were more of the same?"

I was afraid of getting stuck on that one issue, especially since it kept the focus on me, but Joyce did deserve a response. "Yes...yes, I do. Look, I'll take full blame for this if you just stay on the line with me, okay?"

"I'm not blaming you. I'm just saying that you failed me."

"Okay, I failed you, but I am listening now, after whatever amount of stupidity happened, so let's just try to use me as a resource."

"So you're saying all I have to do to be heard is threaten to kill myself and you'll finally listen? Would you accept a thing like that?'

"Well, whether you believe it or not, I do want to listen to you, okay? I didn't hear your words as a threat of suicide originally. People do say things like that sometimes just to say they think they're life is crappy, and I thought that you were just doing that. I did listen, and I at least tried to understand. And I do want to help you with this. I would miss you if you died."

Joyce heard that said nothing, and in the silence I realized that I'd become another example of why 'shrinks don't treat friends and family: they become too involved to guide them. At that point I decided to change the tack we were on, but unfortunately, I chose the least persuasive approach possible, logic.

"Look Joyce, you don't have to respond to that, okay? No pressure on you. I would like to bring up a few things about this plan of yours, though. First of all, how do you actually know that it's God telling you to kill yourself?"

She took a moment to speak. "I don't."

"Well, then why in hell do you think about this at all? If you can't tell that it's God asking you to do this, then even by Christian doctrine you're under no obligation to do anything, right?"

"The Lord expects me to follow his will."

"Right, but He doesn't expect you to follow anybody else's, right? And if you can't tell if it's him telling you to do this, then you're okay."

Joyce's voice sounded weary. "It doesn't work like that. He expects me to tell the difference. 'My sheep her My voice, and others they will not follow.'"

"Well, just for the sake of argument, is it possible you're not one of His sheep? Maybe you should just pray for Him to enter your life and to guide you."

"You don't believe that!"

"Again though, what I believe isn't important. What's important is what's true. And how's this for an idea, if you agree to pray on this, I'll pray with you."

"You're just trying to make me change my plan."

"Well, yes, and obviously. It's a dumb idea. It's not going to make Ron or Tommy feel bad for how they're treating you. If they can ignore all the things you've already been through, they can ignore this. Anyway, to ask a question I've been meaning to get to, just how does the idea of God wanting you to kill yourself square with the idea that he's all good, all loving and all forgiving? Given your beliefs, isn't that a reason to doubt this thing right there?"

"...And in his perfect love he could be offering me the perfect peace and joy with him in heaven."

"Yeah, but what if you do it and it wasn't him? What if it's the other guy?"

"God is all forgiving!" she said, adding nothing .

"So live a long life and count on Him to be okay with it, even if he wanted you to croak! Since he is all forgiving, he'll cut you some slack on it."

"No, that's not what I meant."

I had to prevent myself from yelling at her. "And what do you mean then? This is kind of important."

"Look, I didn't really want to explain this, but I may just be caught between a rock and a hard place on this, okay? If this is the will of God, then I do have to follow it, but if it isn't, He may be wiling to forgive me for killing myself if I think it is."

"So, to be sure about this, are you saying that killing yourself would actually be a win-win for you?"

Joyce waited a long time before saying yes.

"...Joyce, I have to tell you that I just think you can't stand your family life right now and you're figuring this is a way out. If you take it and you're right about there being a God, then you probably just end up with a bad mark on your spiritual rap sheet. Can you hear that?"

"...Yes"

"And I'm not sure that there's a specific thing about it in the Bible, but I'm pretty sure God would mind you putting words in His mouth, which is what you just might be doing. Can you hear that little problem with what you're doing?

"...Yes, I can."

"Then why the hell don't you react to it? How 'bout the problem that you may be about to give a disbeliever another reason to figure He doesn't exist or he's a cold, mean thing that would kill his own people? If he's mean enough to punish you for not killing yourself, what do you think he's going to do about that? Answer me, Goddammit!"

Joyce spoke very slowly. "John, I hear all the points you're making, and all you're doing is making me nervous, okay? I don't want to be nervous. I called you for a solution so I could have some peace of mind."

"My solution: be a Cleveland cop! A Cleveland cop knows that if someone has profound association with the criminal element, they end up acting like the criminal element. Now your man the Devil--"

"He's not my man!"

"Well, this guy you believe exists? How's that? Anyway, the Devil, if he exists, has certainly spent a lot of time around God, I personally can't see why anybody expects us to tell which one of them did something without a witness..."

Oddly, Joyce began to giggle then. It started with a slow laugh but then grew into insistent laughter, and she even made comments about not being able to stop herself. Obviously, I hoped this was a change from her suicidal mind-set, but I wasn't counting on that.

"John, I think you may have actually helped me on this!"

"You have to know that this doesn't just mean I can let you hang up the phone after everything that's happened."

"Well, John, what else can you do? Drive her from way in Chicago?"

"Look though, I can't just assime that that one single bit of laughter could possibly change all you're going through and feeling."

"You're going to have to."

"Okay, promise me you won't kill yourself. In fact, swear it to God!"

"I can't do that."

"I'm not gonna give you any peace till you do."

"It's against the Bible!"

"So is suicide. You can do one, you can do the other."

"Okay...I promise...to God!

I was still a little unsettled about her for quite some time after that, of course, but I stayed in touch with her. About three days after that call, I rang her, but there was no answer. I tried again about fifteen minutes later without reaching anyone and then an unsuccessful third and fourth time. At that point, I called the police in her town to ask them to check up on her, but they told me I had to go to the nearest police station in my own town to request something called a well-being check. I put on my coat, and headed out to the nearest bus stop to make a time-consuming trip through public transportation. The police in Joyce's rural home-town took half and hour to reach her, then knocked on the door to find her son, on an approved home release in the family's living room. On their request, he took them to his mother, and they asked her her mood then did a cursory, noninvasive search for signs of self-inflicted wounds or drugging. In the end, they reported back to me that she was fine, and I ultimately found out that their son had simply let their cordless drain itself of power. No one had ever heard my call. Joyce did apparently put the thing back in its cradle, though. She left me a specific request to call her on getting back to my apartment.

Once back home, I called her and got a torrent of both annoyance and appreciation. On one hand, she was angry at me for an action that interrupted her sleep and left her explaining a lot of things to the police, but on the other, she also realized that this was a sign of my familial love for her. We closed the call as friends.