Hey. How's it hangin'? I'm doing ok. I gave my brothers ashes to my mother. She came up last week with my sister to go to the solicitors about Cams estate. Before we left I put Cams ashes on the kitchen bench and said ok, I need to tell you something.
I told her that the ashes are ... getting too heavy for me now. She needs to have them. When I was organising Cams service last week at the lake, I had all these things in mind. But then I read his suicide note - only for the third time because it's incredibly heartbreaking and traumatic. Cam explicitly asks me to fight anyone who tries to organise a service, and here I am organising a service! I told mum that she gave birth to him and this is the last thing she can ever do for him. And I told her that I tried to do all of the things he asked me to do and I've been able to do most of them but I think it's taking a toll now that he wouldn't want for me because he loved me. Very much. I knew it and and he wrote it in his note, he thanked me for loving him so since he was born. I used to tell Dave that Cam was like a son to me, and the same courtesy and understanding and love I showed to Daves beautiful older kids, I asked him to show it to Cam. Which he did - he bailed him out a few times in his twenties when he was stuck in a fix.
When I was in the loony bin - shit that's disrespectful sorry. When I was in the nuthouse, I spent hours one afternoon just sobbing and sobbing. Pulled myself together to go watch Deal or No Deal, there was a group of us who all sat in the same spot and watched that show religiously every day. Shouting out DEAL! NO DEAL! So I came out, sat down, and one of the inmates came up to me and said,
"Are you Cameron Morrisseys sister?"
I looked at him, recognised him as one of Cams friends from the wake, and started crying again. Because seriously, how can that happen? We talked about Cam so much. John just called him 'Morrissey' which I found gorgeous. They started the same school in year six together. I was able to ask John what Cam was like at lunchtime, was he sad during high school, did he see this coming. John pointed to the phone and told me the last time he was in here, Cam rang him on that phone to see how he was. The phone suddenly became magic.
John wrote about Cam HERE
There's certain rules in the media about talking about suicide, I forget what they're for. Maybe to stop people copycatting? Thing is, once somebody mentions suicide, it's likely that a lot of people have lost a loved one to it, knows someone who has lost a loved one, or are suicidal themselves. All of these people all around the world, wanting to die. And succeeding. I thought about doing some "suicide awareness" but what the hell is that? Walking around with a bell wearing a placard - "Hear ye, hear ye. Suicide! SUICIDE!" More people die from suicide in Australia than from skin cancer. For every one suicide, 30 people attempt. Men are four times as likely to die from suicide than women. Suicide is the leading cause of death for men under 44, for women under 34.
It's funny because the more I think about it, I realise that Cam perhaps wouldn't have wanted a service because he pictured what people would say about him and he couldn't think of anything. Because he had filthy low self esteem. Because his deep, awful, disgusting depression wouldn't let him see himself as he truly was - a beautiful, caring, charismatic, clever, AMAZING person. Depression lies. I would have done anything for him. I did everything I could, but still this dreadful sense of thinking I could have done more. Saved him.
It's going to take me some time to digest the fact that I couldn't save him. My therapist gave me some books on grieving after suicide. I think grieving a suicide death is a bit different to grieving a "normal" death. Not harder, not pain Olympics, just different. The person you love has taken themselves away.
So I'm doing a lot of handwringing, questioning, working things out. I may be some time. People have already gently told me I need to start getting over this and just, no. No I do not, thank you.
One of Cams best mates is called Dave. He's running the City to Surf in August to raise money for the Black Dog Institute in Cams honour. Dave tried to save Cam, too. Did his HARDEST but Cam had it already planned down to the finest detail. You can't rip somebody from an out-of-control locomotive train. (Another of Cams friends told me that.) The link is is HERE to donate to Daves mission. We'd be really grateful. Helps us to give some meaning to something so terribly horrific.
I nicked this pic off Facebook. I don't who the dog is or whose house it was but I'd recognise that beautiful face anywhere.
I told her that the ashes are ... getting too heavy for me now. She needs to have them. When I was organising Cams service last week at the lake, I had all these things in mind. But then I read his suicide note - only for the third time because it's incredibly heartbreaking and traumatic. Cam explicitly asks me to fight anyone who tries to organise a service, and here I am organising a service! I told mum that she gave birth to him and this is the last thing she can ever do for him. And I told her that I tried to do all of the things he asked me to do and I've been able to do most of them but I think it's taking a toll now that he wouldn't want for me because he loved me. Very much. I knew it and and he wrote it in his note, he thanked me for loving him so since he was born. I used to tell Dave that Cam was like a son to me, and the same courtesy and understanding and love I showed to Daves beautiful older kids, I asked him to show it to Cam. Which he did - he bailed him out a few times in his twenties when he was stuck in a fix.
When I was in the loony bin - shit that's disrespectful sorry. When I was in the nuthouse, I spent hours one afternoon just sobbing and sobbing. Pulled myself together to go watch Deal or No Deal, there was a group of us who all sat in the same spot and watched that show religiously every day. Shouting out DEAL! NO DEAL! So I came out, sat down, and one of the inmates came up to me and said,
"Are you Cameron Morrisseys sister?"
I looked at him, recognised him as one of Cams friends from the wake, and started crying again. Because seriously, how can that happen? We talked about Cam so much. John just called him 'Morrissey' which I found gorgeous. They started the same school in year six together. I was able to ask John what Cam was like at lunchtime, was he sad during high school, did he see this coming. John pointed to the phone and told me the last time he was in here, Cam rang him on that phone to see how he was. The phone suddenly became magic.
John wrote about Cam HERE
There's certain rules in the media about talking about suicide, I forget what they're for. Maybe to stop people copycatting? Thing is, once somebody mentions suicide, it's likely that a lot of people have lost a loved one to it, knows someone who has lost a loved one, or are suicidal themselves. All of these people all around the world, wanting to die. And succeeding. I thought about doing some "suicide awareness" but what the hell is that? Walking around with a bell wearing a placard - "Hear ye, hear ye. Suicide! SUICIDE!" More people die from suicide in Australia than from skin cancer. For every one suicide, 30 people attempt. Men are four times as likely to die from suicide than women. Suicide is the leading cause of death for men under 44, for women under 34.
It's funny because the more I think about it, I realise that Cam perhaps wouldn't have wanted a service because he pictured what people would say about him and he couldn't think of anything. Because he had filthy low self esteem. Because his deep, awful, disgusting depression wouldn't let him see himself as he truly was - a beautiful, caring, charismatic, clever, AMAZING person. Depression lies. I would have done anything for him. I did everything I could, but still this dreadful sense of thinking I could have done more. Saved him.
It's going to take me some time to digest the fact that I couldn't save him. My therapist gave me some books on grieving after suicide. I think grieving a suicide death is a bit different to grieving a "normal" death. Not harder, not pain Olympics, just different. The person you love has taken themselves away.
So I'm doing a lot of handwringing, questioning, working things out. I may be some time. People have already gently told me I need to start getting over this and just, no. No I do not, thank you.
One of Cams best mates is called Dave. He's running the City to Surf in August to raise money for the Black Dog Institute in Cams honour. Dave tried to save Cam, too. Did his HARDEST but Cam had it already planned down to the finest detail. You can't rip somebody from an out-of-control locomotive train. (Another of Cams friends told me that.) The link is is HERE to donate to Daves mission. We'd be really grateful. Helps us to give some meaning to something so terribly horrific.
I nicked this pic off Facebook. I don't who the dog is or whose house it was but I'd recognise that beautiful face anywhere.
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Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell