Well, we can’t rewrite the past and it’s hard to know if it would make any difference most of the time anyway. We can hope that as time passes, stigmas decrease and humans become more capable of extending grace and love in lieu of judgment and assumptions…that the weariness of living up to unrealistic expectations and wearing ourselves thin trying to be something other than ourselves will eventually soften our edges and bring gentleness to our ways of being in the world.
Yesterday marked the 22nd anniversary of losing my sister to suicide, a grief that ebbs and flows in intensity with the passing time. It’s no longer the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning but it’s always there in the recesses of my heart and mind. This year the anniversary wasn’t as hard to stomach as some other years, and I was grateful to have time out in the woods on a hike with my sister Katelyn. We hiked to Mary’s Rock, a lovely and sentimental spot for me and decided to part ways for our return hike in favor of different distances and a bit of solitude. At my last session with my counselor, I was talking about how I was disappointed that the obituary we shared when Sara died wasn’t more transparent and honoring of who she was, her struggles, while shining light on mental health issues and decreasing stigma. So, on my solo hike back down the trail, I dictated a new version and I’ll share it here, very much written from my own perspective, so a Rhoda-skewed obituary, if you will.
SaraLisa Rae Miller
Born February 17, 1974, SaraLisa Rae Miller lived life. As my cousin Jared says, she was “livin!” Sara lived life fully, perhaps a little more fully than many of us are comfortable with on any given day. She felt all feelings deeply, the highest highs (pun intended), and the lowest lows…especially the lowest lows. She was an adventurer and a thrill seeker to the extreme. No dare was too daring for her. From leaping off of high points into unknown depths of water to walking the tight rope of rocks in the Badlands, she was up for anything. We all looked up to her and perhaps feared her and feared for her a little as well. I’ll never forget barreling towards railroad tracks with my newly licensed sister, her screaming “look for a train! Too late we’re dead!“ as we raced over the tracks. I remember her sneaking us sips of her Zima she kept hidden in the downstairs fridge and gossiping about boys until wee hours of the night…which was probably more like 9pm since I was seven years younger. She introduced us to all the badass feminist singer songwriters of the 90’s and somehow despite her personal choices in the relationship arena, taught us to stand up for ourselves and expect the best. She taught us the fine cuisine of McDonald’s vanilla “ice cream” with a side of fries, and as a long distance runner and triathlete, made us question why anyone would ever choose to run so far for fun. She also loved snakes more than anyone has any right to in my personal opinion.
Sara knew from a young age that she wanted to be a nurse. When she sliced her leg wide open on a metal bleacher playing basketball in high school, she sat up and watched the doctor stitch it closed…after getting it wrapped up and finishing up the game, of course. And that’s when we knew she’d pursue her vocational dream. She excelled in this role and very few who worked with her knew of her internal struggles.
Sara was no stranger to pain and suffering and probably experienced more than any human’s fair share, likely more than we will ever be aware of. She was a survivor of sexual harm and struggled with disordered eating, depression, and substance abuse, as many survivors do. She spent years in therapy, tried countless medications, became sober, journaled regularly, and was deeply spiritual. She remained very connected with her family and was well loved. Sometimes all of that is not enough. It would be easy to place blame on the last bad thing that happened before her death, but there is no discounting a lifetime of trauma, genetic predispositions, and the general heaviness of life.
When the pain became too great to bear and she had access to the means, Sara ended her life and her suffering on November 17, 2000. It’s hard to find blame in that. I hope she found the peace she was so desperately looking for. She left behind her two loving parents, Nathan and Viola, two younger adoring sisters, Katelyn and Rhoda and a myriad of other friends and family.
