Suicide is not painless

 Suicide is not painless

I am the father of 3 wonderful sons and one is no more. He was the youngest son. He was full of happiness; at least that is what he showed the world. Unfortunately there was an internal torment and desperation that nobody saw which tore at his soul. When he could no longer bear it he chose to take his own life. He is missed by everyone who had the privilege of knowing him.

As parents, when we hear stories of children and young adults taking their own lives there is a quick sharp pain that occurs in our heart. It passes as we thank God it was not our child. Sometimes we dismiss it by saying the poor kid must have had an awful childhood or horrible parents. When it is your child you begin to re-think your previous stereo-types of a troubled child as well as horrible parents.

My youngest son was born 7/24/1986 at St. Joseph Hospital in Denver Colorado. He was 8 weeks premature and breach. When his mother’s water broke at about midnight I called my brother for help. Then I grabbed the two older boys and loaded the three of them in the car and raced for the hospital. My brother arrived shortly after we did and took the older boys home. They were sleepy, confused and glad to see their Uncle.

The nurses and doctors were flocking around his mom.  I was determined to stay with her. When they decided an emergency C-section was necessary one nurse hurriedly got me gowned up for the operating room, she escorted me into the OR and showed me where to stand. His mom was on the table and was covered with sterile drapes. I stood by her head. I had watched this before. Our second son was delivered by C-Section and I was there to watch. This time there was a seriousness I had not felt before. When they got ready to give her the general anesthesia a doctor called out to mark the time. She went out fast and the doctor did some very fast feeling of her tummy for the baby’s location. The cutting began in a quick determined fashion. His mom was voluptuous so several layers of fat had to be cut through before they could use the spreaders. Then they removed the other parts, the colon and small intestines among other things. When they got to Wesley he was all the way down with his right foot sticking out. When the doctor tried to grab him he was stuck. He was covered in slime and with their gloves they couldn’t get a grip on him. He was so little down in that cavity. His color was gray. The clock was running. The tension was high. The voices of the masked ones had an urgency that spoke louder than their words. In law there is a phrase when you want someone to perform quickly, time is of the essence. At this moment that phrase had new meaning to me.

After what seemed like an eternity one doctor reached in and put her thumb in his mouth and grabbed his head with her fingers. She pulled him loose and out of the cavity. The activity moved from the table to a back table where several people began working on that gray little body. Soon there was a cry and the tension lessened. After they worked on him a little more they let me see him and count fingers and toes before they rushed him off to the N-ICU. They wanted me to stay with his mom as they reassembled all of her parts in the right places and sewed her back together layer by layer.

When I got to the N-ICU they said he was little and time would tell if he would make it. His lungs were not fully developed. They had him on a warming table. He was on his back with his knees bent up. I stretched out my fingers and held them over him. He was as big as my full hand span from thumb to little finger. Later I would take that picture to show him, if he made it.

During the next 3 weeks it was touch and go a few times. I spent almost every day at his side. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. After 8 weeks he came home on oxygen and all kinds of monitors. His mom was a nurse so she was able to take good care of him. It was scary for me, I was always afraid he would stop breathing or his heart would stop. After a few more months as he continued to grow, the danger, as well as the oxygen and monitors were gone.

He tore my heart coming into this world, but I had no idea how big a hole he would create in my heart leaving this world.

I got the news of his death on a Monday afternoon when I called my wife to check in. Nobody wanted to be the one to tell me the bad news. My oldest son had called my wife with the news and asked her to tell me. My immediate response was “why?”. There was no note or letter, a goodbye was not said.

One of the worst parts of life are those things which are unknown. Some of us spend our lives asking why things are the way they are. Finding an answer, even part of an answer, can bring joy to an inquisitive mind. In a case like this the source is gone so no answer will ever be found. That is easy to say and extremely difficult to accept. For some people it is impossible.

It is very important not to drive yourself crazy with thoughts of why. You will find a million possibilities, almost all of them things you did or didn’t do. One of them could be the reason. Others could be a contributing factor, however, the point is, you will never know for sure. Focusing on these things will never bring a child back. No matter how much time you spend on this matter it won’t change the outcome. Unfortunately it may change you, and not in a positive way.

After the shock sunk in and a why was not to be found, I turned my focus to God. I had been a real Christian for about 9 years. I am trying, with the help of the Holy Spirit, to make God the center of my life. This requires consulting God’s word to resolve my concerns or problems that come into my life. I am sure a more mature Christian would consult God first in everything, but I am not there yet. It seems like I take on the big issues and go to God with the small ones. Most of my life I have tried to fix things. I worked as an auto mechanic while an undergrad. My degree is in Special Education. I tried to fix the learning problems of young minds. I taught for the Special School district of St. Louis County, MO while getting my Masters in Special Education. After that I taught at Brehm Preparatory School in Carbondale IL while I started my Ph.D. in Vocational Education for the handicapped. That didn’t work out so I got my Juris Doctor at University of Denver. Later, while in prison, I finished my Ph.D. in Comparative Religion. Finally I earned my Doctor of Theology. All of these doctorates were intended to help fix my problems.

Before I gave my life to Christ I would use many worldly tools to try and fix my problems. My moral compass gradually turned 180©. At first the movement was so slight it was not noticeable, but over time it gradually became apparent to others there was a huge problem. I couldn’t see the problem until God opened my eyes. With my eyes opened I saw a horrible mess. I was the horrible person who created that mess and have suffered the punishment resulting from trying to fix problems using my own knowledge and power.

When I decided to consult the bible for help regarding my son’s death I wasn’t sure where to begin, so I backed up and began with prayer. It came to me that looking at the stories of biblical fathers who lost their children would be a good place to begin. The bible has several stories of fathers who have  lost their children. Each story portrays a fathers thoughts of the loss. Contemplating those stories has helped me a great deal. I can focus on a Godly way to come to terms with his death. 

I hope and pray my story will help other parents who are suffering the death of a child. The cause of the death is not important. There is not a good way or a better way to lose a child. The focus is not on the loss but the way God wants you to deal with the loss. That is important.

Todd

 Written 9/23/16 by Todd Linville, typed and posted by his wife, Diana Linville

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My addictions

During the first couple of years of prison I realized I had many other problems besides time. However, the prison system did not recognize my problem as addictions, or anything else that was deserving of help. I was addicted to money and food as well as a few other things.

They say the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil and this is a true saying. It caused me great heartaches and totally destroyed my life. I made so many bad choices and decisions based on the love of money. Thinking back, I realize how much damage it did to myself and other people.

The wrong thinking caused me to hurt so many people. The worst part was I hurt those I had a duty to care for. I hurt my clients, my children, my siblings, my parent’s and a whole host of others that I considered friends. I am very ashamed of my behavior and would do anything to take it back or fix it.

The interesting thing about addictions is as humans we are made to be addicts. Our minds and hearts direct us to experiences that give us joy. The problem is as humans we don’t always find things that give us true long term joy. We fall for things that give us short term joy, but then turn toxic. The usual causes are drugs, alcohol, and smoking. Unfortunately these are not the only addictions. In fact, anything that gives you pleasure can turn into an addiction, even after it has ceased being a pleasure, it has begun to destroy you. Some of these addictions include, money, food, sex, and what many people mistakenly call love.

Making money, running businesses and marketing all was such a rush for me. It was so exciting about all of it that it consumed most of my waking moments. Because this gave me such a wonderful feeling of joy and happiness I ignored almost every other aspect of my life. When a sting of events (caused by my own wrong thinking) brought additional requirements on my life I started thinking crazy thoughts. Now I realize how awful they were, but then they seemed possible, even ok to do. They were a means to an end and I could fix them later. A true sign of addiction, needing more and more to get the same feeling of joy and happiness. My addictions were so bad, but I kept on until I was completely destroyed.

 

heads we get married...

Here is a short story my husband wrote last year.
Diana Linville for W. Todd Linville

“Heads, we get married; tails, we break up,” Bill laughed holding one of the old double eagle coins.

              “What do you mean break up?” Sarah replied thrusting out her lower lip. “I thought we were going to get married no matter what happened with the treasure hunt.”

              “I’m just kidding Sarah. Just look at all of these double eagles.” He shouted, stirring both hands through the large box of coins.

              “How many do you think there are?

              “I don’t know, we’ll have to count them, but not here,” he said looking around the musty cellar. “Let’s just take this box and get out of here,” he said as he jerks the handles of the old wooden box, but the leather handles break off and he falls backwards slamming hard on the cobblestone cellar floor still holding both handles.

              “That was funny!” Sarah laughed. “You look like you’re in a Laurel and Hardy movie.”

              “I feel like we’re in the Count of Monte Cristo. How are we going to get this box out of here? It must weigh a ton”, he said standing up and dusting off the backside of his jeans.

              “It’s been here forever and no one has found it, let’s put the stones back over the box until we can figure out how to get it out”

              “Ok but I am going to fill my pockets and you fill your backpack,” Bill tells Sarah.        

              “I’m not going to take that many, let’s take ten.  I wonder how much are ten worth?”

              “I don’t know, maybe a few thousand dollars.”

              “It should be enough for a wedding”, she grins counting out ten and putting them into her backpack.

              “Ok, ten for now. Maybe I should take an extra five just in case”, he said putting five in his right pocket and slipping three more in his left.

              “That’s fine, what should we do with the map?” She says looking at the folded paper in her hand.  “Let’s put it in the box, we won’t forget how to get here, at least I won’t.”

              “I won’t either” He said taking the map from her hand and putting it on top of the coins.

Bill grabbed the heavy oak lid and carefully closed it so the old leather hinges stayed intact.  They replaced the heavy stones over the box just the way they found them.

              “Did you really think we would find this old civil war treasure?” Bill asked putting down the last rock on the box.

              “No, you hear stories and see movies about civil war treasure, but I never believed they were true.”

              “I know. The search was the exciting part. Looking for something no one else could find then actually finding it.”

              “I like the thrill of the search as well. I love looking for something most people think is impossible to find,” she said walking over to Bill and throwing her arms around his neck. “Like the perfect man,” she whispered looking into his blue eyes.

              “I know what you mean,” he whispered back. “You were the first treasure I found. Rich chocolate eyes and a treasure trove of curves,” he grinned.

              “You’re a goof! Let’s get out of here.”

              “What do you want to do now?” He asked with his arms still around her.

              “I want to get married.”

              “Ok, when?”

              “Today, let’s stop by the church we passed on the way out here. We can get a license tomorrow.”

              “You’re crazy, let’s go back to the motel and figure out how to get those coins out of there. You know we didn’t see how deep that box went.”

              “I know. There are enough coins we could spend the rest of our lives traveling and searching for the next lost treasure.”

              “That sounds good” she smiles.

              “You know you’ll always be my treasure.”

              “Really? She asks pushing against his chest to get free. Then taking one of the double eagles from his left pocket,

              “Heads, we get married; tails we break up.”

 

 

             

Meeting with the Parole board...

My first time before the parole board is approaching. I'm beginning  to think about what I should  tell them and about all I  have learned over the past 12 years. One of the most important concepts I've  discovered is forgiveness.

All my life, up until about 7 years ago, my understanding of forgiveness was based on the elementary school yard. Someone does something to you physically or emotionally, they say, " I'm sorry",  you say, "I forgive you", and you move on. However, you keep an eye on that person and  remember how that person has done you wrong.

In society today there is no forgiveness. Not even elementary school yard forgiveness. If you do something wrong to another person they demand justice. They demand punishment. The punishment may be to your person, such as prison, or financial, such as fines or restitution, or it may be all three.

The process of a prison term may last years. Fines and restitution may last years after the prison sentence has served. For the victim this keeps the offence close to the front of their mind. It is always there; the anger, the hurt, the fear, the disappointment. There is never any healing. There is no forgiveness.

I now understand forgiveness is not for the perpetrator, it is for the victim. Forgiveness prohibits seeking justice of any sort. Forgiveness turns the matter of seeking justice over to the one true God. Forgiveness means letting go of the matter and forgetting it.

Once forgiveness is given then healing can begin. The mind can rewire, the heart can heal and begin to trust and love. It is like lancing a boil and squeezing out the poison. Only then can the boil begin to heal, the skin grow new and fresh, ready to take on the world.

Today is September 11th, 15 years after the attack. Sadly, today no one is ready to forgive and forget.