Health Archives - L. I. T.

June 7, 2023July 7, 2023

BREAKING THE SILENCE: LET’S TALK ABOUT SUICIDE

The need for us to talk about suicide might seem off-focus for a blog called “Live(s) Inspiring Today”. But, the topic feels important. We are losing people of all ages to loneliness and disconnection, some with mental illness but many with no diagnosis. Alongside these stories of loss, these paragraphs celebrate people who inspire with their gift-giving, their clarity, and their appreciation for life.

Spiritual teacher Eric Triebelhorn lost his brother last year. He has also lost dear friends–one when still in high school. “If anyone mentions thoughts of taking their own life, I take it seriously. I ask questions. I check back,” he says.

It’s hard to know what another person needs or wants from us, but Lama Eric offers his simple commitment: We can listen. We can share our caring, our time, and we can express our love.

Yesterday I received a text from a contributor to the Portland Food Project.

“I’ll be out of town for the next pick-up,” Sarah wrote. “But my neighbor’s husband died, and she has two boxes of food to pass along. I’ll bring them by.”

Later that day, as we carried the hefty boxes onto my front porch I asked, “Was it sudden? Had he been ill for long?”

“It wasn’t a surprise,” Sarah said. “But still it was shocking.”

The man had posted sticky-notes all over the garage so his wife would call 911 rather than enter the house and find him.

“He was depressed for the past few years—and it got worse during Covid.”

Sharing our stories

So many of us are impacted by suicide: Sarah, like me, lost a close family friend to suicide as a child. My neighbor’s father took his life when she was a toddler. A colleague lost a niece who had gone away to college seemingly on top of the world.

A friend lost her husband after a few years of marriage. She knew he had been struggling, but he hadn’t talked of ending his life. For years after his death, his mother would call to ask my friend for answers, but she had none.

I write about suicide because it is all around us. Many of us carry stories, and stories can heal when shared.

Years ago I realized a lingering fear stuck in my body: When my husband seemed down or when he didn’t communicate much, I feared one evening I would come home from work and find him dead. This fear stemmed from my childhood loss—one we never talked about. Once I was able to realize and share these feelings and their origin, the dread dissolved. We can’t know who we touch when we share our lives.

Talking about suicide can prevent it

People who are contemplating suicide often make comments and attempt to ask for help in a round-about way, says Kate Rudigier, an acupuncturist practicing in Vancouver, Washington.

“When someone knows you care and are willing to talk directly about this serious topic, they might begin to think, ‘There’s another way.’” Be sensitive, but don’t shy away from asking direct questions is her advice.

Numerous studies and research show that asking someone about suicidal thoughts or feelings won’t push them into doing something destructive.

According to Dr. Vivek H. Murthy, former U.S. Surgeon General in his book Together, the majority of people who die of suicide have no prior diagnosis of mental illness. Feelings of loneliness and isolation lead people to feel despair, and he emphasizes how connection and community can sooth and lighten the pain.

Rates of death by suicide increased approximately 36% between 2000-2021, according to The Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC).

The suicide rate among males was approximately four times higher than the rate among females, and people 85 and older have the highest risk. And suicide is the second leading cause of death for young people between 10 and 24 (after accidents and homicide).

Watch this quick video from YouTuber and host of The Psych Show, Dr. Ali Mattu which advocates for breaking the silence and breaking through the stigma around suicide. He offers suggestions for anyone at risk and for all of us who might notice a friend or family member at risk.

“There’s no one-size-fits-all approach to helping a friend who’s thinking about suicide, but you can never go wrong by showing compassion and support,” writes Crystal Raypole, a writer committed to helping decrease stigma around mental health issues, in How to Help a Suicidal Friend: 11 Tips.

Questions to ask:

According to Mayo Clinic staff

How are you coping with what’s been happening in your life?

Do you ever feel like just giving up?

Are you thinking about dying?

Have you considered hurting yourself?

Are you thinking about suicide?

Have you ever thought about suicide before, or tried to harm yourself before?

Have you thought about how or when you’d do it?

Do you have access to weapons or things that can be used as weapons to harm yourself?

Notice these warning signs

It’s important to know the warning signs and be ready to act. Besides the 24/7 Suicide Hotline 988 and the online resources Lifeline (988lifeline.org) numerous organizations now offer trainings and free counsel.

If these warning signs apply to you or someone you know, get help as soon as possible, particularly if the behavior is new or has increased recently. According to the National Institute of Mental Health, notice these signs:

Continue reading “BREAKING THE SILENCE: LET’S TALK ABOUT SUICIDE”

March 22, 2023March 23, 2023

FERMENTING WITH FRIENDS: SAUERKRAUT, KIMCHI & DOSAS

“A soul is but the last bubble of a long fermentation in the world.” George Santayana

On that sunniest and warmest Saturday yet of 2023—almost spring—Louise White and her daughter-in-law, Amie Oliver, showed up to our house with two suitcases on wheels—full of supplies. They hauled up the stairs an assortment of crocks, tall jars from the feed-store, and bags of thrice-washed and pre-chopped cabbage from the restaurant supply store. Louise had purchased pounds of ginger and a sack of green onions bigger than I’d ever seen—from H-Mart.

Over the course of the next few hours we would make sauerkraut, eat a lovely lunch of dosas, curry, and rice prepped by Louise—and then onto the kimchi-creation.

For the morning sauerkraut-making, we cheated. Those bags of pre-chopped saved us from the need to sharpen our knives just yet. The only “work” for this fermented white cabbage was to measure and massage.

Each of us had our separate bowl. We used a digital kitchen scale and weighed out the cabbage, tossed in the pre-sliced bag of carrots, a bit of radicchio, and three-plus teaspoons salt. We used our hands to squeeze and toss—until a brine filled the bottom of each bowl—and would eventually cover the kraut when jarred.

Making sauerkraut is easy: cabbage, salt, and water–though we tossed in some extras. The brine is the brew and likes about 2% salt to 98% water (a heaping teaspoon of sea salt to a cup of filtered water if ever you need to add more liquid.) The trick to fermentation is keeping the veggies submerged under the brine so mold won’t grow. I learned the hard way!

May 16, 2022January 1, 2023

HEART-DONKEY TALK

I opened my hard-covered copy of A Year With Rumi, edited by Coleman Barks, to May 16—while taking a tea-break this morning. In the final stanza the words got me Googling.

“because my heart-donkey was strong enough to take you there.”
from “The Lord of Beauty”

I easily found a Sufi story about an old man arriving to an inn after a long day with his favorite donkey and longtime companion. (Plenty of Etsy garb for sale assured me many people already celebrate this tale.)

“Welcome to our humble inn,” a young man greeted. “Let me tend your donkey.”

“But he needs a warm and comfortable place to sleep. If he doesn’t get good rest after such a long day, he will be grumpy,” said the old man.

“No problem. I’m a professional and know what to do,” the young man assured.

“But he needs barley mixed with hay,” said the old man. “And fresh water.”

“No problem,” said the youth. “I will feed him well. Do not worry.”

“The donkey is old and needs the barley first soaked in water,” said the old man.

The youth’s eyes rolled though he turned away so the older man could not see his frustration. “I’ve done this a hundred times. Trust me.”

“He loves a long stroke down his spine. It’s been a long journey,” the old man said and grinned.

“Yes—of course,” the young man replied, annoyed.

The old man gave over the care of his donkey to the younger man.

After removing the saddle and tying the donkey to a post, the young man snicked and soon sat with friends playing cards in a nearby den.

The old man entered the inn and met open arms. He ate a fine dinner and drank wine. But he could not sleep despite silk sheets. When he closed his eyes, visions of his donkey standing tied to a post, hungry and thirsty, pelted his vision. His whole body ached.

He went into the night and found his dear companion tied to a post—as he had feared.

The man knew he should have cared for his donkey himself. He doubted the youth would do as he promised yet handed over the reigns.

The story reminds me of how we can tell each other what we believe others want to hear. We can say “don’t worry” “I’ll do that”—sometimes with good intentions—but fail to follow through.

The story reminds me it’s up to me to listen—to feel—my intuition, my “gut” response. I must take care what matters most to me and can’t expect someone else to do things my way.

I like this story for the friendship. This man values his donkey’s comfort. He values the donkey as companion and as a being who deserves care—a safe and warm place to sleep, food, water, and a kind stroke over his tired back.

The younger man snickers—as if the older man is crazy for loving a donkey, for seeing this worn animal as alive and as vital as himself.

Perhaps the story touches me so deeply as I face my own sadness, wondering what to do next. So many people sleep in tents on the sidewalks of Portland, on patches of grass next to the freeway. In this wealthy country, children are born every day, every hour, and some will be well-nourished—body, mind, soul—and others will cry to be held and die of loneliness.

My friend, Dotti, gave me this book. Some years later she was visiting, and we were driving through the parking lot of Fred Meyer in the small town where I lived.

“Stop!” she said. “There’s a dog running around. He’s going to get hit.”

Her sudden words startled me. I didn’t see the dog—never did see the little runner—but I tried to reverse and help her find him again. At least, that’s what I think I did.

December 18, 2021December 18, 2021

The Artist’s Way: An Organic Booster

bell hooks, a Black American writer, feminist, and a bold voice who sought justice through love died this week. She wrote and taught and insisted her chosen name be kept lower case because the word and book are what matter—not who penned them.

In a 2015 interview with philosopher George Yancy, she said, “I believe wholeheartedly that the only way out of domination is love, and the only way into really being able to connect with others, and to know how to be, is to be participating in every aspect of your life as a sacrament of love.”

The author bell hooks in 1995. Her work, across some 30 books, encompassed literary criticism, children’s fiction, self-help, memoir and poetry. — bell hooks said to live every aspect of life as “a sacrament to love”

I wish I had known her, read all of her books by now, and found a way to attend one of her classes. From a small town in semi-rural Kentucky, she found her way to Stanford. After earning a Ph.D. in English literature from UC, Santa Cruz, she taught at Yale, Oberlin, City College of New York, and eventually made her way back to Kentucky where she taught at small Berea College. They have created the bell hooks Institute—a center for her writing and teaching.

What a generous soul this woman must have been. How does it happens? This spark she felt and lived from a young age grew into a light for the world. She lifted people to move and dance and question.

December 10, 2020December 10, 2020

Rockaway Beach & the Blue Plastic Pail

I wear my mask often, but not here where the air feels fresh and waves in motion move with the moon.

I’m conscious to pass by other people with a wide berth, and they do the same, mostly.

I watch clouds zing through the sky.

And I see two children wearing masks as they sit building a sand city. Maybe they came from two different families, but I can’t help but feel a longing for them to run free on the beach—fearless and in wonder.

October 6, 2020February 11, 2022

WALK ON–Sharing Sorrow Into Joy

“What if we joined our sorrows? What if that is joy?”
Ross Gay, American poet

On the first Saturday of October, I met with team WALK ON, and we wandered together on Mt. Tabor, a wooded park in Portland, Oregon. A dormant volcano, this seemed a perfect place to offer our final efforts toward raising awareness and funds toward suicide prevention and support for survivors.

Although the official and annual OUT OF THE DARKNESS walk was cancelled (due to Covid-19) our team of six decided to gather. The morning was autumn-warm and sunny.

After walking for a while, we found a glowing spot on the mountain and sat for a simple ceremony. We each shared the WHY of our efforts toward this cause. As team captain (instigator!) I told my story and was deeply moved to hear my friends share their reason for taking part—and helping to raise a lot more money than I’d set as our goal.

My reason for getting involved was a stumbling. I had begun to research. I want to write a novel about a kid who loses a loved-one to suicide and struggles to feel safe and connected and eventually finds strength through connection. My research lead to AFSP—the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

When I was 8 years-old and not yet healed from a childhood illness, I came home from school one day to find my father’s dear friend lying dead atop his blue Chevrolet, in our garage. The man had come from Georgia to live with us. I now understand why: My father hoped to help John to want to live. For I don’t know how many months, he lived in that basement bedroom.

It was horrible, and it tore through my family’s life, forever silent. Even today–almost five decades later–my father won’t talk with me about what happened or the aftermath. No one talked about it then though at some point they sent me to a shrink who I refused to talk with about anything.