My uncle Joe

By Haylis Smith - National Delivery Lead, Suicide Prevention Scotland

My uncle Joe taught me how to eat Jaffa cakes the proper way, to scrape off the chocolate, peel off the orange segment, eat the sponge and follow it down by the orange.

He made me laugh. He spent time playing kerplunk and spirograph with me. He babysat for me and my sisters and when I think about the early part of my childhood.

I don’t remember a time he wasn’t around. He was a huge part of my childhood.

He was dark haired and tall; in my eyes he was the tallest man in the world. Joe was my dad’s youngest brother; the youngest of four children but closer in age to me than to my dad. He was a big brother figure and someone I idolised.

Joe was born in November 1960 and in June 1987, at the age of 26, he died by suicide.

I can still remember bits of that day as clearly as if it was yesterday and there are also big gaping holes, shock does that to you I think, and no doubt time has changed and shaped my memories.

I have three younger sisters and as usual, I was the first of us up. My mum was working night shift and wasn’t yet home.

I was getting in the shower when I heard the phone ring. I knew my dad wouldn’t hear it as the phone didn’t ring in their bedroom, but I could hear the phone from downstairs in the living room.

I wrapped a towel around me and ran through to my mum and dads room and answered the phone. It was my Papa, my Dad’s Dad and all he said was ‘I need to speak to your dad’.

My heart sank, my first thought was something was wrong with my Nana. I handed the phone to my Dad and stayed by the side of the bed. I watched my Dad, roll back and forward on the bed, just saying no, no, no over and over.

I had never seen my dad like this before. I don’t think I had ever seen him cry before and here he was distraught.

He hung up the phone and told me Joe was dead.

Memories of the rest of the day are patchy, I remember sitting in my sisters’ room with them all, trying to be strong and help them understand something I didn’t understand myself.

I was 16 years old; I don’t think I’d heard the word suicide before except in relation to it being a sin having been raised a Catholic. I could not get my head around it. Why would my loving, happy go lucky, wonderful uncle take his own life.

I kept imagining someone would tell us it was a joke. I remember my parents telling me to go out and enjoy myself with my friends, that that was the best thing, to try not to think too much about it and be with friends.

And so, I went to be with my friends, but they were also 16 and none of them understood, one guy even made a joke about the method my uncle had used to kill himself, because he genuinely thought I was making it up, that he couldn’t possibly know someone who could have experienced something like suicide.

I don’t remember what happened over the next few days, I have images of my parents in their kitchen hugging and crying. I have a recollection of them saying we always had to tell them what was happening in our lives and never to not speak to them.

I don’t know if that really happened or if it’s just what I think they wanted to say. But I couldn’t speak to them, I felt I had to hold it in and ‘be strong’ for my sisters and not breakdown, but I was so very sad.

I know at one point I needed to speak to someone, and I remember my dad took me to the Priest’s house. I have no idea how long I was there or what I said but he let me speak and I think it helped to get me through those first few days.

My next real memories are of Joe’s funeral. It was in the large chapel at Warriston Crematorium in Edinburgh. I have no idea how many people were there, but I do remember seeing people standing and out the door. In the days leading up to the service, my dad asked if I wanted to do a reading and I’d said yes.

As I stood at the front of the crematorium, I looked out at the sea of people and all I could think was ‘why? when you meant something to all these people, why would you think that dying was the only option?’

I couldn’t make it through the whole reading, my chin started trembling and I couldn’t read properly for the tears in my eyes. I felt my dad come up beside me, put his arm around me and somehow the last few words came out my mouth.

After the funeral, we went back to my mum and dad’s house. Sitting in their living room, Joe’s friend told story after story of the fun and laughter he and Joe had shared, the daft things they did together, the ‘adventures’ they had taken. He, like the rest of us, couldn’t understand why Joe had taken his own life.

Over the next few weeks, there are vague memories of things. Going to Joe’s flat with my dad. Burying Joe’s ashes at Mount Vernon Cemetery. Going back to school. But things were not the same. I wasn’t the same. I wanted to make sure that no other family went through the experience of losing someone to suicide.

I didn’t know how I would do it and didn’t even know where to begin. And so, fate stepped in. I started my nurse training, the only job I’d ever wanted to do and injured my back six months into the course. Although I finished my training, by the time I did, I’d had surgery on my back and wasn’t fit to remain working as a nurse and was medically retired.

I worked in research for a while and then went to university to study social sciences. I moved to the Borders and began volunteering as a Samaritan. It was hard work, but I felt that at last I’d found a way to help people with their thoughts of suicide.

In 2003, Scotland launched its first suicide prevention strategy and action plan called Choose Life. I secured the role of Co-ordinator for this work in the Borders and really began my journey in the world of suicide prevention.

In the last 19 years, I have learned so much. I have met so many amazing people working in suicide prevention, every single one of them striving to make things better, striving to help stop people dying by suicide, striving to provide the skills and understanding about how to help someone who is thinking about suicide.

Joe was the catalyst, but the people I meet every day who have experienced suicidal ideation or who have lost someone to suicide are the ones who keep me motivated.

The courage they have in sharing their stories to try and help others is inspiring. No-one wants to have their life affected by suicide, but those who I have met who have either experienced their own suicidal thoughts or have lost someone to suicide are some of the kindest, most wonderful people I have had the privilege to spend time with.

As the annual data is published and we hear that another 762 people died by suicide in 2022, I know we have so much more to do. I know that the families of those 762 people, are like we were, trying to make sense of something that doesn’t make sense. Wishing that their loved ones were still here.

It’s also suicide prevention day on 10 September, and the theme is creating hope through action. Scotland’s strategy is Creating Hope Together. We can all do something to help, we can all create hope.

Across Scotland there are people, groups and organisations who are all working to help people who have thoughts of suicide. If you want to know what you can do, here are some options:

• Sign up to the social movement at United to Prevent Suicide
• Follow @suicideprevscot on Twitter (or X) for the latest information about what is happening across Scotland
• Read about what people experiencing suicidal crisis need at Time Space Compassion — supporting people experiencing suicidal crisis: introductory guide — gov.scot (www.gov.scot)
• Take the time to listen to your friends, family, neighbours, strangers…ask them how they really are, ask them if they have thoughts of suicide and listen to what they have to say. This simple act can save a life

Even after all these years of working in suicide prevention, I don’t have the answer to why Joe took his life.

I don’t think that even if he had left a note or an explanation that it would ever be a reason that would be good enough for me to understand why he thought the world would be a better place without him in it, because I certainly feel it would have been better if he’d been here.

I wish something could have given him a sense of hope that things would get better, that the pain he was feeling would go, that life was worth living.

So, if you are having thoughts of suicide, please speak to someone you trust and if that person doesn’t listen, try someone else and keep trying until you find someone to help, because you may not feel it, but you are important.

Reach out to one of these helplines (and keep trying if you can’t get through first time or if you’re put on hold,hold on):

• Samaritans 116 123 or email Jo@samaritans.org or go online and use the online chat at www.samaritans.org
• Breathing Space 0800 83 85 87
• NHS 24 mental health hub on 111

Or look online at NHS Inform to hear from people who have been there, who understand what it feels like and who have come out the other side Surviving suicidal thoughts | NHS inform.