Hidden Pain

Isn’t it amazing how one thing in life prepares us for another? In one of my early books, Helping Women in Crisis, I wrote a chapter on suicide. I didn’t know much about the topic, except that a fellow I knew in college had shocked us all by killing himself over summer break. Then one day my across-the-street neighbor came to walk around the neighborhood with me. We talked about the weather and the newspaper that never came on time and the avocado trees heavy with fruit. Then she casually asked me if I would meet her little girls at the bus stop and keep them with me until their dad got home. I said, “Sure. What’s up?” She nonchalantly said, “Well, I’m going to kill myself and I don’t want my children to find me.”

I had no idea how to react. I called a counselor friend of mine and asked for help, then I called my neighbor’s husband at work. And then I did what any author worth her salt would do: I wrote an op ed piece about trying to understand suicide.

Based on that book chapter, I was invited to the annual student fair at the local Catholic High School. It featured carnival-type games, a food court, and a slate of one-hour presentations from which the students could choose: fun date ideas, unique science projects, how to make friends with your parents, a dunk-the-principal tank, and so forth. Then there was the topic requested of me: Teen Suicide. I couldn’t imagine any student choosing that!

I decided to divide whatever kids did come into a couple of groups of two or three, then have each group draw a challenging situation from the bowl. The groups would have 5 minutes to prepare, then they would act out the situation adding a suggested way to deal with it. My concern was having enough kids to make it work.

I needn’t have worried. So many kids crowded into the room that all the seats were quickly filled. Others sat on the floor, pressed up against the walls. When there was no more wall space, they stood. When there was no more standing room, kids gathered outside the windows and struggled to look in. I opened the windows so they could at least hear.

One by one. the groups did their skits, and we discussed ideas and ways to help. The last skit was about a bullied boy. The plump, awkward fellow who played the victim endured several minutes before he crumpled into a sobbing heap. “This isn’t pretend,” he said. “This is my life!” The kids rushed to his side and told him how much he added to the school. Some apologized for having laughed at him. One girl tearfully said she was sorry for being rude when he asked her to go to the dance with him. She said, “Ask me again. Please?”

What I learned that day was that there is a huge amount we don’t know and understand about each other. It’s hard to share the unattractiveness in our hearts. It’s hard to talk about things that hurt when we are certain others won’t understand. Nor even care.

One girl told the tear-streaked boy, “We didn’t care because we didn’t understand.” Her friend corrected, “We didn’t understand because we didn’t know.” A boy in the back of the room said, “Maybe we didn’t know because we didn’t want to.”

Maybe so.

I hadn’t understood my neighbor’s pain. I would have said I didn’t understand because I didn’t know. Could it be that I didn’t know because I didn’t want to?

People who die by suicide don’t want to die. They want to end their pain. But suicide doesn’t end the pain. It just gives it to another.”


About kaystrom

Kay Marshall Strom, who am I? Well, I’m a traveler, a railer against social injustice, a passionate citizen of the world. I’m a follower of Jesus Christ. I’m a 21st century abolitionist who speaks out against slavery of all kinds. I am a beach walker and a gardener and the off-key singer of songs. I’m a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a friend. Most people, though, know me as a writer and a speaker. So here is a bit more about that part of my life: Of my 43 published books, eight have been book club selections, seventeen have been translated into foreign languages, and two have been optioned for movies. My writing credits include numerous magazine articles, books for children, short stories, television scripts and two prize-winning screenplays. Along with my husband Dan, I also have produced a series of booklets for writers. My writing has appeared in a number of volumes including three versions of the NIV Devotional Bible and the devotional book My Heart, Christ’s Home, Through the Year. I love to write, and I love to share about topics close to my heart. I speak at seminars, retreats, writer’s conferences, and special events throughout the country. And because I do enjoy travel, I even speak on cruise ships! More and more my writing and speaking are drawing me to countries and cultures around the world. Because I don’t see how a writer can really reflect another people and land without spending time there, I’ve been trekking through India, China, Indonesia, Cambodia, Sudan, Senegal, Morocco, Tunisia, and Egypt, tape recorder and camera in hand, to gather stories from the world-wide family of God and to speak on their behalf. I’ve traveled to the hard places of the world to tell “the rest of the story” of our donor dollars at work. Thanks to my “virtual friendship” with 17th century John Newton, slave ship captain turned preacher, I traveled through Ireland with the preview team of the movie Amazing Grace (John wrote the hymn). I recently spoke in Japan and South Korea, and my husband Dan and I taught writing classes in India. And, oh, how thankful I am for every bit of it! I went to West Africa to work on a non-fiction book, but when I toured an old slave fortress off the coast and saw a tiny set of baby manacles bolted to the wall, I was struck dumb. All I could think was: “How could good, God-fearing people ever get to the place where they think that is okay?” From that horror came a story question, and from that question, my foray into fiction: The Grace in Africa trilogy. My seven trips to India led to the Blessings in India fiction trilogy. Come join me as I travel and rail against injustice. Join me as I walk along the beach, or work in the garden, or warble a tune. Be my friend. Maybe you will choose to also be a 21st century abolitionist.
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2 Responses to Hidden Pain

  1. B.J. Taylor says:

    My, oh my, you’ve traveled extensively and written even more so. I am so proud of you, so honored to have you as my friend and mentor. You write in this post about a topic that is often denied until it hits too close to home to turn away from. You have courage, Kay. The courage of a lion. I applaud you.

    • kaystrom says:

      Thank you, dear B.J. I’ll tell you this: my travels, and the people I have been blessed to meet, have changed my life. I am a different person as a writer than I was before. And so are you different because of your writing, my friend. I’ve known you long enough to see that difference.

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