They say that hindsight is 20/20, which I totally understand now. I never thought about what my words and actions meant to other people. It’s easy to think that words don’t hurt just because you weren’t actually trying to be mean, but it just doesn’t work that way.
We all just thought we were being funny. It never occurred to any of us that we might not be so funny to Joseph Mensch. That’s probably part of why he committed suicide.
We had no idea how bad things were at home for Joe. He was practically alone after his mother died suddenly from a brain aneurism, leaving his father broken and grieving. Even when Joe’s dad was down, he still worked tirelessly to pay bills that continued to spiral far beyond control.
Maybe he’d still be around if one of us stopped making fun of his old clothes and quirky behavior. It might have made a difference if I told him that his denim jacket and neon green “No Fear” shirt from the 90’s were awesomely retro instead. I could have just sat next to him at lunch and kept him company while ignoring his tendency to eat quickly, messily. The thing is that the only meals Joe got were those from school, and that’s only because he was so poor that he was in the free lunch program. At the time, we thought it was just fun and games, but none of it was fun for Joe.
The school councilor tried making the four of us feel better by saying that we had no idea how hard things were for Joseph, and that we were probably the only people that paid any attention to him at all. It was at this point that I’d given him a few choice words that under normal circumstances would get me suspended, then stormed out of his office.
On the bright side, I never had to apologize for all I said; in fact, the councilor actually apologized to me. He said something that adults rarely ever say: “You were right.”
Yep, actually told me that he was wrong in trying to play down everything we said to Joseph.
The truth is I have no way of knowing how much the way we treated Joe impacted his choice to end his life. He never talked to anyone about how he felt and his suicide letter was, pretty sadly, barely legible. The only parts anyone could understand were a few lines about the loss of his mom and an apology to his dad along at the end. I heard he also told his dad that he now has one less thing to worry about and a few less bills to pay. It’s beyond grim.
I’ll never know what thoughts haunted Joe’s mind in those final hours that lead to him slipping away after taking a cocktail of prescription pills. Even that, taking pills, is pretty painful I hear. You can get really nauseous and hallucinate, vomit and dry heave, as your organs fail from the overdose.
Peace was really all he probably wanted, which is what bothers me the most about everything we did to him. We only added more chaos to his already shattered life.
When we laughed at Joe’s expense, we were too stupid to realize that if it were truly funny he would have laughed back. We should have known that because it’s okay for us to insult each other for the sake of laughs that it’s not okay to be mean to someone else who is not part of the group. Maybe if we let him into our circle things wouldn’t have turned out so bad?
On the other hand, maybe he found out he had cancer and was going to die anyways and just wanted to spare his dad the medical bills. Maybe, just maybe, this was all some cruel joke on all of us and Joe has been hiding away watching us fall apart. Any moment, he’ll pop up and laugh at the looks on our faces.
That’s all we really have to go on is maybes and what ifs. None of which can undo how Joe chose to make his pain go away.
Everyone grieves in their own way… For Joe’s dad, he grieved by repairing semi-trucks; the fact that he needed to income to care for himself and his son justified the dangerously high workload. Joe didn’t realize.
His dad had a mental breakdown after finding out he’d lost the last thing he had left to live for. It turns out that someone can die from a broken heart; we heard about how Mr. Mensch didn’t wake one morning a few days into his stay at the psychiatric ward.
It’s pretty ironic that, back in elementary school, we’d chant that sticks and stones can break our bones but words can never hurt us. It could not be farther from the truth. When someone breaks an arm, everything is usually okay once the cast comes off. But the damage done by words? They don’t always heal so easily.
Words have broken up entire families and destroyed civilizations, people have killed and been killed over what has rolled off of their tongue. And no one that I know of has ever killed themselves over a broken leg; they just keep moving on after it heals.
The world would be a better place if we could bandage up the wounds caused by insults, or if you could go out and buy an antiseptic cream that made the damage of rumors go away. Words sink into you like bruises tend to do and the scars they leave open far easier than any cut.
All we did was add to the pain that was just too much for Joe. I would probably consider killing myself if I were in his shoes to be honest. If I had lost my mom like that and barely got any support from the one other person close to me, I’d want all the pain to go away too. If all I had to look forward to was people treating me the way I treated Joe, I’d start to think there was no reason to keep going.
It really makes me think. And I regret so much of what I have done. Little things and big things. I mean, I joke with the guys. I think they can take it; I know I usually can. But what if one of them is just playing along? What if he’s really hurting on the inside and doesn’t want to lose face by saying something? Then it’s Joe all over again.
At any given moment, I have no clue what’s going on with any of the people I run into. And I shouldn’t have to worry about what I say to them: I just should be nice about things so it’s not a problem.
Words are far more power than anyone gives them credit for. With any moment, I can change a person’s life with the words I say, even if I’m just trying to be funny. What I say can either help or hurt, so I need to choose wisely and think first.
I just wish somebody told me that earlier. Maybe Joe would still be alive.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR – Benjamin J. Snider lives in rural Appalachia with his wife and their toy poodle. in his free time, he can be found writing Young Adult Fantasy and science fiction. Benjamin is currently finishing his debut novel, ‘Once Upon a Dream’, the first in his fantasy series. Learn more at www.facebook.com/ThreeDreamsSaga and on his blog www.benjaminjsnider.info