So fun was on my mind at the Mayor’s Charity Fundraiser, a 1930s dinner + simultaneous Murder and Mystery play.
Most diners wore dinner suits. Our 1930s costumes, gathered from my wardrobe collection in minutes, were so authentic, diners thought we were actors! Dinner was superb, acting fun and laughter, and horrors of real murder far from mind.
Until after, at the bar.
A large, jolly lady in her 50s overheard my conversation about God. "God’s rubbish,’ she said without doubt. “You live, you die, that’s the end.”
“That’s not what most people think on this planet,” I said.
“There’s too much suffering. There’s no God, not even a kind one.”
“That age-old argument,” I replied. “Philosophers for thousands of years show God could allow suffering, and still be kind.”
“Impossible. You live, you die. There’s no God after.”
“The soul lives after. It’s been weighed. A dead person is grams lighter after death.”
“Rubbish. Have you ever tried to carry a dead person? They’re heavier!”
“People have seen dead loved ones.”
“Crazy imagination.”
This is a mystery… Why is she so adamant? “Academic research shows mystical experiences are real.”
She turned her back on me. That touched her... She hasn’t heard of academic evidence. A minute later she turned back. “Look, there’s no God, no life after death. We live, we die that’s the end. That’s why I want to kill myself.”
HUH? So that’s the mystery? She wants to murder herself... “You want to kill yourself?” I reflected back.
“Why wait. There’s no point to life. I’m always happy, never been depressed. Everything’s great. My husband and my life are wonderful. But there’s no point. We all die and that’s the end so why bother. Why shouldn’t I die now?”
Hmmm, way shouldn’t she die now? This was a real life murder and mystery – the mystery of why she wants to murder herself.
I was a Samaritan, on the end of a phone, helping suicidal people, so went into that mode. “May I ask, when was the last time you thought of suicide?”
“Today.”
Oh dear. Recent thoughts. A high risk perhaps. “How often do you think of suicide?”
“Most days.”
Hmm, she’s higher risk now. Most days... “And, would you mind if I ask,” I said gently, “if you ever did anything, what would you do?”
“I’d drive my car off the edge of a bridge and crash down a cliff.”
A method to die that takes an instant thought. This is a very high risk if there’s a bridge and cliff near her home. “And may I ask, do you know of a bridge over a cliff?”
“Yes. I drive over it every day.”
Oh dear, the highest risk. She’s thinking of suicide most days, the method is available, and just one thought would steer her car over the edge to die.
“Have you told anyone?” I asked.
“No, not even my husband.”
I was about to say more, but as if on cue from the wings of the stage, her husband arrived. “Time to go, love,” he said cheerily. She smiled. They kissed each other lightly on the lips, said goodbyes, and left.
Suicidal people are murder mysteries. They keep secrets of wanting to murder themselves, and the method they’d choose.
The Samaritans show evidence that if mysterious secrets of the why and how of suicide is revealed, the person is usually released from their burden.
I was left with only that hope. That now she’s told me her method, her secret feelings will be somewhat released. Hopefully, there’ll be no need for a post-mortem mystery on why she murdered herself.