There is nothing romantic or poetic about suicide. It is not remotely cool or hip. Remove all notions of this. It doesn’t prove anything to anyone. No one gets the point of suicide. Suicide is a horrendous conclusion to a relative problem. What is left behind is the emotional gutting of your loved ones with weeks and months of clean-up and a lifetime of broken hearts.
The devastation spreads beyond family and friends. It affects teachers, coaches, teammates and everyone in a person’s life. The devastation of all the people of Honza’s life is real. They all miss him, and they all want him back.
Living with suicide comes with uncontrollable tears. Heartache doesn’t begin to describe what is to follow. Sometimes the pain is so bad; I am left feeling practically nauseous. However, it is the first 24 hours that are the most traumatic, the most horrendous for those left behind. The knowing of each and every phone call you make is going to rip someone else’s insides right out that the sadness will grow. Then there’s the desire to see him again in any way I could, that at times makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
It is 10:40 pm on Saturday night. I go downstairs to say goodnight to Honza like I do every night. I know this vividly because it is the time my entire world stopped.
I find Honza in the exercise room. It is quiet, and I can see he is wearing his work tank top and gray shorts with nothing on his feet. He is hanging from a piece of gym equipment from one of his leather belts. He has turned blue and has drool coming out of his mouth. I am frantic… I can only think of how I need to get him down and start breathing for him with CPR. I run to him and desperately and try to lift his 140 lbs. up and get him down so I can remove the belt from his neck. I am so frantic and distressed that I am totally unaware that I am screaming. The screams have brought Tim there to help me lift Honza from the bar. It is so difficult to remove the belt from his neck for it is so tight, but we finally see that we needed to remove the belt from the bar to be able to remove the belt from his neck. We both hear him exhale and are encouraged we still have time to rescue him. Honza lays on the floor, and since he is not breathing or responding I begin CPR. When I started breathing for him I can see his chest rising with the breaths. This gives me hope, and I continue. Tim runs upstairs to get his phone to call 911. It is 10:43 pm.
Tim talks to the dispatcher and describes the nightmare. The emergency teams are deployed, but I am unaware of anything except trying to revive Honza. Tim continues to speak to the dispatcher with updates. We take 30 seconds to move some equipment around in hopes of giving Honza plenty of space to revive. Then I am back doing CPR. It seems like forever before Tim hears a siren and runs back upstairs to greet the emergency responders.
The first responder is a policeman who is runs out of his car while it is stopping, and he is sent downstairs to me. It is now 10:50 pm. He immediately takes over CPR for me. Tim is on his way back downstairs when the second siren is heard. He waits for the second respondent. He is also a policeman. Our panic grows as we so anxiously await the paramedics and the magic they possess to bring back my Honza. The second policeman is now with us in the basement also attempting CPR. I am looking on, but my mind has gone blank.
Finally, at long last the heavier sirens of firetrucks and paramedics are heard, and they lumber around the corner as they arrive at our house. They are deliberate in their preparation which makes for a few frustrating minutes waiting for them to come to me and my Honza with their magic medicine and knowledge.
When they finally arrive they move Honza to an outer room to give themselves more space and begin working on him. It is 11:00 pm. Honza is given three electrical shocks to his heart from there the paramedics start their own CPR and the administering of fluids to bring back my Honza.
The policemen are keeping Tim and me in the other room. I can see four paramedics from where I stand. Two are doing CPR while one administers fluids. I don’t remember what the fourth one was doing. The policemen are trying to direct our attention in the opposite direction by asking us questions. I don’t hear them. I have no idea what they are asking. I can’t take my eyes off of Honza. Tim is holding me, and I understand later that he has to bear hug me and use his weight to hold me back so that I don’t run back to my Honza and interfere with his rescue. The longer the rescue goes on, the harder I am trying to pull away from Tim. I want to run to Honza.
CPR continues and more IV fluids go in. Conversation between the paramedics between themselves and also with the hospital are a blur. They continued to work on my boy for 50 minutes. There is more conversation when the lead detective steps into the room. We are already on our knees when I hear the worst statement I will ever hear in my life. There is nothing more they can do. The hospital has asked them to cease rescue efforts.
Shocked, stunned or whatever word you choose will not describe what followed. I was so sure they would find a way to save Honza. My Honza. Oh, My Honza. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to hold my boy. I want to magically pump life back into the heart of my life. They won’t allow me to see or hold him as of yet, and they escort us upstairs. The police ask us a few more questions and try to give words of comfort. They have a liaison with them that is trying to help, but I can’t focus on what she is saying. I can’t breathe. The pain is so real.
After a time the paramedics come up the stairs and prepare to leave. It is 12:30 am. They have cleaned up Honza, and they now allow us to go back downstairs and say goodbye. We are alone and kneeling next to him. He is covered with a sheet up to his head. I can’t breathe. I can’t see the world around me. I can only see Honza. The tears are suffocating, but I still yell his name over and over. Oh, my boy, My Honza.
Honza is the first thing I thought of when I wake up and the last thing I think of when I go to sleep at night. I have adored him since his first breath. I have now shared with him his last breath. While there is a symmetry to this, it is not something any parent should ever, ever, ever have to bear. My life has been deflated. Everything stops, and I do not want to live.
I hold him and kiss him. While I am crying on his chest, I just cannot say good-bye. It is too hard to bear.
The coroner has come and are ready to take Honza to the county morgue. Back upstairs the police move us down the hall to our bedroom. We are kept in our bedroom so we won’t see them taking my boy away. It is 12:45 am.
About 20 minutes later we are brought back into the main room. Honza is gone. There are some more words of comfort and suggestions for help from the police and their liaison. They ask if we have a mortuary picked out. We are both so stunned by the question. He has just passed how could we possibly know which mortuary?
The police liaison leaves a packet for assistance along with some mortuaries to choose from. With that everyone is gone. It is 1:15 am. Not only are my insides gone it feels like salt is being rubbed in all my open wounds.
We sit on the floor of our bedroom in stunned disbelief. Totally numb without any idea of what to do. At 1:30 I ask Tim if we may call his father, Papa G as Honza called him. Papa G is a retired psychotherapist so I need to ask him what to do as I am so lost. Papa G was due to visit in about two weeks. Both he and Honza were really looking forward to spending time with each other. Papa G was the grandfather Honza always wanted to have. We make our first phone call to family and know they, too, are about to have their insides ripped out. It is the first call of many this day.
Papa G answers with trepidation. It is not the hour of social calls and as expected the news is heavy and searing. When he is able to compose himself, he gives his advice through his tears and a crackling voice. It is so hard to hold it together.
It is after 2:00 am. We hold each other as Papa G has directed. I notice for the first time that my legs are bleeding below the knee. Rug burns from when I was giving Honza CPR. So strange how the human body blocks the brain from knowing you’re injured when you are in a state of stress and anxiety. I still don’t feel the pain because my crying and my pain are up and down like a yo-yo. I want my boy back, but all I see is how I found him a few hours before. We try to discuss who we need to call but our wheels are just spinning, unable to keep our thoughts together.
It is not until 3:00 am that we shut the lights off and try to sleep or at least rest before the daylight will bring the horrific clarity of what has transpired. We will ruin and destroy a lot of people’s day, week, month and years with the phone calls to come.
I am fitful for the next few hours. Sleep will not be possible. Tim may have managed an hour of sleep but by 4:30 we are both up and staring into the darkness just waiting for the wreckage we will be leaving from Japan to the Czech Republic.
It is 6:15 am. I didn’t think it would be possible a few hours earlier but I think I am finally ready to call my mother. My mother, Babi, is Honza’s grandmother who lives in the Czech Republic, where I am from. They were both so close to each other. very year, when we planned our schedules, everything it always started with Honza’s annual month-long visit with Babi. We would work out from there. He adored her and she him. I am so scared to tell her that she doesn’t recognize my voice when I call. It is heart wrenching to hear how much pain she is in. She doesn’t want to continue this on the phone and asks me to call her back on Skype. She needs to physically see me. By the time we connect on Skype she has told my father. I immediately hear him howling, literally howling, in pain in the background. I have never heard him like this. I am once again, gutted. We speak for 15 minutes but neither of us can go on any further at this time. We both needed time to compose ourselves.
Within 30 minutes of finishing with my mother my sister calls from London. Grief has taken my voice, and I can barely speak above a whisper as we cry together for the next 20 minutes.
It is 7:40 am. Tim calls our mutual employer to let them know that neither of us would be going to work for a while and to describe why. My supervisors would contact Kari, one of the company’s local Peer Support person.
It is 7:55 am now. Time to begin calling the rest of Tim’s family. Four years ago Honza moved to Utah and together we moved in with Tim. Tim’s entire family immediately took Honza in as one of their own. That was so big for Honza as he always wanted a close knit family. Tim’s family is spread out so we start with his sister, Linda, who lives in the same time zone. Her two daughters, Emily and Shelby, consider Honza as their cousin. Honza absolutely loved that. He had visited their home in Colorado quite a few times and even did his first 5K with them the previous summer. Linda is told and is totally crushed. It takes her some time before the crying subsides and she can talk. Honza was preparing to get his driver’s license with 40 hours of driving and Linda has given him several lessons. There will now be a hole in the hearts for the entire family.
At 8:30 am word had gone out and the calls began coming in. Tim will need to handle the calls as I am barely functioning. My work supervisor is calling. Tim’s work supervisor is calling. No one has the words and quite frankly – there are none. When I was at work, I talked about my beautiful boy incessantly.
It’s 9:05 am. Our friends John and Thu are calling. Tim was to meet them for a hike today. All he can tell them is there has been a tragedy and won’t be able to meet them. He will call them later in the afternoon hoping he will be able to tell them. Honza has been to dinner at their house with us several times as well as many other gatherings about town.
It’s 9:20 am. It’s early in Seattle where Tim’s mother, Nonni, sister, Katharine and niece live. They too are close to Honza. Nonni has spent time here watching Honza and he has spent time in Seattle with them. They have all watched Honza over the last 4 years go from a 5 foot tall little boy to a 5’10” teenager with an ever deepening voice. Two more people crushed while having their insides removed. Tim’s six year old niece has been listening and asks questions to understand what has happened. She doesn’t understand suicide but understands death, and she wants her cousin back. Katharine will have to navigate explaining this to the girl.
At 9:40 am Tim calls Z, one of my closest friends. He is one of my fellow countryman that lives in the U.S. (NJ). He has met Honza several times and has talked endlessly with me about Honza. Z, like so many others asks how can he help? We don’t know. Neither of us can focus further than we can reach.
At 10:10 am another one of my closest friends, Lucie, calls Tim. She is also Czech who lives in the US. She has heard from Z and knows I am not ready and really unable to talk to anyone. She too, has spent time with Honza. She and Z will spend the next few days in mobilizing all the other Czechs that work with us. They will be instrumental in helping my mother travel from our little village in the northeastern corner of the Czech Republic.
More calls come in from various supervisors from our work.
It’s 11:05 am. We are, finally, able to reach Honza’s supervisor where he has been working this summer as a lifeguard and is also scheduled to work this afternoon. Additionally, we tell him that Honza won’t be coming into work from this point forward. The supervisor is, of course, shocked to hear this. We beg not to go into any more details at this time. Honza was so pleased to have passed all the tests and become a lifeguard. It was such a boost to his self-esteem. We are starting to see him become a responsible young man.
Kari, the peer support person from work has arrived. We have gotten to know each other over the last year, and I am so glad to call her a friend. She is the only person I want to see today. I, honestly, don’t know where we would have been without her. Not only for her support but for helping us to stop emotionally spinning our wheels. She starts by having me do the simplest of tasks of brushing my teeth and washing my face. The small tasks helped give me some purpose.
We take a break from the calls while Kari is here.
My Mom calls me on Skype. My aunt and favorite uncle are now in her home and reaching out to me. Honza knew so many people in my home village and was able to get to know our whole Czech family. Honza had been there just six weeks before. All we can do is cry with each other.
My sister checks in with me again.
It’s 12:45 pm. I hit another wall, and I don’t know how I am going to go forward. All I can think about is wanting to see my boy again. All sorts of thoughts on how to do this circle inside my head. I will need to reach my doctor to see if he can help me with some anti-depressants. It’s a Sunday and no one is answering. I call Rachel, the therapist I see from time to time. She is not a doctor but recommends going to a clinic near us. We drive there but are informed they are not equipped for that kind of diagnoses. While we are walking back to the car the organ donor organization calls Tim. I receive a jolt like no other and my breath is knocked out of me. I am trying so hard not to envision what they are calling me for. Somehow, in the back of my head, I know this is important so we have them call back us back. They agree but also let us know there is a limited amount of time for this. Ooph! I understand, but I just can’t think about it right now- if ever.
It is 1:45 pm. We are home again and are receiving the follow-up call from the organ donor organization. Tim takes the call and tells them I have agreed to have Honza be a donor. They then interview Tim for the next 45 minutes. I can see it in his face how hard the discussion is for him. For legal reasons they must be explicit about all that will be happening. The will use 9 parts of Honza’s body. They ask if he has had any specific diseases that may affect these body parts. After each part is described they follow with how it will affect Honza’s body if there is a viewing. AND…If need be, what we could do to help make Honza look more natural for a viewing. It is an incredibly hard 45 minutes. I am back at the beginning. My grief is refreshed. My Honza. Oh, my Honza.
Tim will protect me from the details. I don’t know what body parts they will be using from Honza. I still don’t.
It is 2:40 pm. We can’t really talk after that call. The call affects Tim, and I can see he is drained from it which in turn drains me.
It’s 3:00 pm. Tim’s sister, Cynthia, is finally able to get back to us on Facetime. She lives in Japan and is just beginning her day. Her son, Zachary, and Honza are the same age and good friends who have visited each other in each respective country. She is excited to talk to us since as it has been awhile since the last call. Once she slows down Tim leads in with his now practiced, ‘we’ve had a tragedy’. This call was particularly hard. All the other people we spoke to today were initially over the phone and we only heard the pain. With Cynthia being on Facetime we can see her insides being ripped out. What an incredibly heart wrenching few moments. After a time she wonders aloud how she is going to be able to tell Zachary. We have to leave that horrible job to her.
With that we know people will be coming in. Tim goes downstairs for the first time to check to see what we may have to do to prepare for our families and friends. There have been some stains left from the paramedics the night before. A Hazard Materials Team will now be needed to come in to remove a large part of our carpet in two rooms.
At 3:30 pm our friends John and Thu have returned and are calling. They are quite naturally concerned with what Tim said this morning. He tells them. Two more people crushed.
At 3:45 our insurance company is calling.
It is 4:30 pm. We are now in touch with our friend Katie. Katie, her husband Cam, John and Thu are all part of our Kickball ‘Family’. Our kickball team spends more time off the field with each other than on it which includes traveling together. Honza is 10 inches taller than the first time he sat in the dugout with all of us. Three days ago Honza was having dinner with us and our teammates after a game. Two days ago Tim was out of town and we have Honza take his place for our game. Honza was laughing, smiling, running around, having fun and as far away from his darkness as he could be. They have watched my fine young boy grow and now he is gone. Taken from us by a moment of darkness.
Katie will inform the rest of our team.
At 5:00 pm our neighbors come by to check in on us. While they are here pizza is delivered. Tim’s sister Linda has put in the order for us from Colorado. It comes at a really good time since I can’t even remember if or what, if anything, I have eaten or had to drink today.
After they leave we have a little time to ourselves. The knowledge of what tomorrow will bring keeps us walking in circles the rest of the afternoon. Tomorrow there will be more calls of pain and personal destruction. We will start calling the parents of Honza’s friends and teammates. The parents, too, have bonded with Honza during his visits to their home or during the carpool rides. Each phone call will bring more heartbreak which further breaks ours in return. Like a constant rubbing of salt on our open wounds. The pain we are going to share with all these people is heavy. One of the harder calls will be to the Mom of his best friend who moved two weeks before.
The stupefying awareness of making final arrangements for Honza is also hanging over us. The meeting with the mortuary will bring decisions on what process is best for Honza, when to have a service, how to go about a service and how he should be displayed to name a few points of discussion. The final point if all this isn’t crippling enough will be the full description of what happens when someone is cremated. How high the temperature will need to be for the process and what is done if it isn’t 100% successful.
We take a few minutes to discuss Honza’s biological father. Honza first felt abandoned by his biological father when he was sent to prison. A year ago the biological father truly abandoned Honza physically, emotionally and financially. It was the final undoing of their relationship and neither of them tried to contact the other the last eight months of Honza’s life.
We know the bullying, the fabrications, the blame, the vitriolic comments that the biological father is notorious for spreading is soon to come. The pain and blame he will inject into the many people of Honza’s life over the next week and months to follow will be worse. Adversity doesn’t show character it reveals it. We make a very conscious decision to spare everyone his character for one day.
It is 8:00 pm. The last of our family’s follow-up calls has just finished and we are sitting in the stillness. I am so exhausted. I want my boy back. I want this to be a really, really bad dream. But it is real, and I go around and around on what I could have done to save him. If I said this or that to him would that have saved him? If we escaped from Florida earlier would that have saved him? He was always so happy and bubbly after one of his therapy sessions. Why did I think therapy would be the only answer? Did I say or do something wrong? Were there some magic words I needed to say? What could I have done better?
It’s 9:30 pm. For a split second I start to go downstairs to say good-night to Honza. It is such habit. The time of day we share with each other and the time he is most open to me. It hits me anew that those moments are behind me and will never ever be in front of me again. He was my life. My boy. My Honza. Oh, My Honza.
It is 10:50 pm. Twenty four hours. It is the time assigned to Honza’s death. It is recorded at the time the first responder arrives.
There was absolutely nothing romantic or poetic about today. Today is about unbelievable pain, it is about destruction, it is about the hollowing out of family, friends, teachers, teammates and coaches. Then in a moment of impulse it was the absolute waste of a promising young man’s life. Oh, My Honza. My sweet, sweet boy.