drowning in pain, fear, anxiety, depression, and despair, people who are suicidal rationalize that death is the only answer—the only relief. I’m sure there are many different versions of this, but as I understand it, it goes something like this: I am a mess, I am so tired of feeling like this, nothing helps, I have become a burden to my friends and family, and everyone will be better off with me gone. They’ll all be fine eventually and my suffering will end. This is just for the best.
While this is hard for most of us to understand, I believe some people reach a point where they have lost all memory of what it’s like to feel okay, and they are so exhausted from suffering that they convince themselves death is their only path to peace and freedom.
If you have considered or are considering suicide, I’d like share with you some of the ripple effects that occurred and continue because of my husband’s choice to end his life. The truth is, every person who knew David was negatively impacted in some way. Nobody is better off without him. Not one of us.
David has parents and two sisters who miss him. He has children and stepchildren who miss him and will forever carry heaviness, regret, and pain regarding his choice. He has friends who were shocked, stunned, saddened, and confused by this tragedy.
He had a nephew named Nico, with whom he was especially close. David taught Nico how to fish and use tools. They bonded over “guy stuff,” bad jokes, dumb movies, and Just Dance on the Wii, which was the most hilarious thing you’ve ever seen.
Nico struggled with some emotional difficulties in adolescence, and Uncle David was someone he could always talk to. When he found out his uncle had killed himself, he was devastated. We worried about Nico a lot in the days, weeks, and months following David’s funeral. Nico made the trip from St. Louis to Kansas City several times in those days to spend time with us. I think being in his uncle’s home was comforting somehow. Nico and I were close, and he was close with my kids, especially my son.
On an early Sunday morning in June of 2015, after Nico had spent the night at my house, I talked to him over coffee. I told him I knew he missed his uncle, and that I understood he had been experiencing a rough patch in life. I assured him that I would always be there for him and that he was welcome at our house any time. And then I mustered the courage to say what I really wanted to say, which was, “I need to know you’re never going to consider killing yourself. I know life gets hard, but you have so many people who love you and this family cannot take another tragedy.”
Nico looked me right in the eye and said, “I’ve seen how much David’s death has hurt everyone and I would never consider doing that to my family.” I was so relieved.
On July 2, 2015, seven months after David ended his own life with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head, Nicholas “Nico” Hundelt did the exact same thing. He was twenty years old.
Also on that day, David’s best friend in the whole world, his sister, Julie, had to face the devastating reality that she had lost her brother and closest friend, as well as her youngest child, in the span of less than a year.
The ripples continue.
Nico has a mom and a dad who miss him terribly and will never stop grieving. He has two brothers who loved him so much and have to face each day knowing their little brother is gone forever. He had a girlfriend when he died. He had more friends than you could count, and at least a couple of them have since experienced their own darkness, depression, and even suicidal ideation.
Did you know that suicide can be contagious? There is something called “suicide contagion.” It’s a phenomenon that occurs in families and peer groups. Basically, exposure to suicide has been shown to increase one’s potential to consider suicide.
After Nico’s death, the entire family went into a tailspin of emotional and mental anguish and paranoid vigilance. Some family members struggled more than others, and we found ourselves terrified that whoever was not doing well at any given time would be the next one to kill themselves. And I’d be lying if I told you we’ve stopped worrying about that.
Every one of us has indelible and unshakeable memories of how and when we found out about each of these deaths, and now many of us are triggered by the simplest things, like late-night phone calls, calls from a family member at an unusual time, or a knock at the door. We were each shocked, stunned, and devastated by the deaths of these men we loved so much.
So, if you are someone who is considering suicide, know this. If you choose suicide, and you have children, you have just modeled for them that suicide is an option when life gets hard. When those children encounter dark times in life, and they are searching for answers, help, and relief, they are much more likely to consider suicide. Is that the legacy you want to leave behind? And it’s not just your kids you might unwittingly be giving permission. Friends, family members, and colleagues might also be more likely to follow suit.
Suicide does not end suffering. It simply passes suffering on to others.
Silent Suffering
David was a police officer for eight years, from age twenty-one to twenty-nine, and then he joined a federal agency and worked as a Special Agent and a SAC (Special Agent in Charge) for twenty-two years. I believe most of his buried trauma occurred during the eight years he was on patrol. In my travels with the PauseFirst Project, I’ve met many people who worked with David over the years. They have all been generous in their praise of his police work and investigative skills.
My husband was good at his job, but he was not built for the job. Since his death, I have learned that nobody is, not really. Humans are not built to endure and withstand years and years of intense stress, trauma, death, and devastation. Yes, there are people who can do the work and do it well, but nobody goes unscathed. David was a sweet, sensitive, emotional man at his core. The dysfunction, death, and violence he witnessed as a police officer affected him deeply and subsequently impacted his entire life.
In a later segment in this book, titled “His Buried Trauma,” I will talk more about what David endured during his eight years as a patrolman. Those early years caused indelible pain and trauma that I believe changed the trajectory of my husband’s life.
In my opinion, had David been able to seek assistance for the mental and emotional fallout from the early days on the job, he would have been a more effective law enforcement officer and investigator—and he was pretty damn good as it was. He also could have enjoyed a more peaceful personal life, and he might still be here.
Instead, he struggled and suffered off and on for the entire thirty years, and his suffering caused pain for the people he loved. With knowledge of the stigma surrounding mental and emotional problems in law enforcement so deeply buried in his psyche, instead of seeking help, David became engulfed in a tsunami of trauma symptoms, and ultimately decided death was the only way to escape the pain.
It did not have to be this way, and it doesn’t have to end like this for one other first responder.
If any of this resonates with you, if you are a first responder who has suffered similarly, please know there is hope. There is help available. You can heal. You can learn skills and tools to build your resilience and survive, no matter how bad things are.
If you are someone who loves a first responder, and you suspect your loved one is struggling like David did, please know there are first-responder-specific programs and facilities that can help. That is the one piece we were missing near the end of David’s life. We did not know that type of help was available. We tried the normal psychiatric route, but that was never going to help my husband because there was no way he was letting his guard down in that environment.
Later in the book, I will offer stories of first responders from all backgrounds: military, law enforcement, fire service, EMS, and dispatch, who at some point in their career found themselves struggling or suffering with post-traumatic stress symptoms, trauma, anxiety, depression, nightmares, recurring memories and images, and even suicidal ideation. They will tell us where they’ve been, what they experienced, and how it affected them, their families and their lives. Then they will share how they found the courage to step onto a healing path, which tools worked for them, and what they are doing to maintain their well-being.