Missing Frank

On January 24, 2006, my world changed forever.

At 30, I was no stranger to death.  I’d even had friends in their 30s die from everything ranging from tumors and cancers to heart attacks.  Tragic and heartbreaking, but one could also argue a natural part of life.

But no one close to me had ever died at their own hand.  Until that day.

I remember every detail.  It was a Tuesday night, so I’d just finished a Pilates class at the gym and was at my sister’s apartment for our weekly dinner and Gilmore Girls date.  The phone rang.  It was my mother, whom I had just talked to the previous day.   I knew immediately that it was bad news.  I never expected the words she spoke from nearly 300 miles away.

“Mr. Frank shot himself today.”

Those of you who grew up with me know how important Mr. Frank was in my life.  He was my best friend’s father, incredibly jovial and always quick-witted.  My best friend, Emily, is an only child, and Mr. Frank embraced me like a second daughter.  He teased me about boys and my obsession with tacos (some things don’t change over the years); I joked with him about his watermelon belly, his maniacal driving and his fried chicken habit.

His teasing was a sign of love.  He was fiercely protective and loyal to his family and took care of everyone around him–his ailing mother-in-law, who moved into their home; his dementia-stricken father, whom he visited every day in the nursing home; his beautiful wife, Pat, my second mother; his huge extended family and even larger surrogate church family.

Everyone, it seems, except himself.

I’ve struggled with depression for as long as I can remember.  I have days that I can’t get out of bed.  But I can always find a glimmer of hope.  And most importantly, I can almost always TALK about it.

I can’t imagine what it must have been like for this hugely proud, honorable church leader, military veteran and family man–the one who was the pillar of strength for all who knew him–to suffer, let alone suffer in silence.  The pain and anguish and grief and torment of despair and hopelessness.  The helplessness and the silence.  The fact that he didn’t or couldn’t find the words to articulate his pain, even with those of us that loved him..

I share his story today because it’s National Depression Screening Day.  Because I lost someone I love and because me and my loved ones continue losing people we love to this disease.  Because depression is still a dirty word and far too often, a dirty little secret.  Because too many of us suffer in silence, too proud or scared or stuck in our own despair to reach out and ask for help.

I wouldn’t be here today without the help of a dear friend, who picked up the phone and called a doctor for me when I sat sobbing uncontrollably on her office floor nearly ten years ago.  I’ll be forever grateful to her for recognizing depression for what it was and urging me to get help.  I owe her my life.

It’s time to stop suffering in silence.  The more we speak out, the more people will recognize depression for what it is.  An illness.  A disease.  One that can be treated and conquered.

Posted 06 October 2010 | By Laura Scholz in Uncategorized, depression, family - View Comments
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  • Tim

    Thank you for this post. You’ve written in your typically engaging and personal style about a difficult topic. This speaks powerfully to the importance of treating depression for the illness it is. Again, thank you.

  • http://lenorediane.com/ Lenore Diane

    Like many, I suffer from depression. By writing and taking medication, I am able to have more better day than bad days. I appreciate your open and honest post. Thank you for sharing.

  • Lorelle

    Having lost friends and family this way, my heart is with you. I believe we all face some form of depression at one time or another, or constantly without being conscious of it. It tends to creep up on us. The key is recognizing it before it becomes all consuming, normal, chemical, or otherwise.

    To help us recognize depression for what it is, how do we do that? Honestly? What are the signs? Are they predictable across the wide spectrum of human emotions and behaviors? How will we know if someone near to us needs us in some way to give them faith in a future and the strength to move on – or push them into “worse” – whatever that is.

    In order to make a difference, we need to speak out, but we need to be clear about what we’re talking about. Help us understand from the inside out what we need to do to ensure that no one feels compelled to remove themselves from society physically.

    Having lost so many to suicide and self-destruction, personally, I have to honor their choices. Death for them was a choice. What I have to live with is the guilt that there was something I could have done to stop it. Help us learn what that something is, please.

    Thanks!

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