My Aunt committed suicide. I know that is a very harsh and blunt sentence but I can’t think of any other way to say it. I watched my whole life as she either chose to love us and be there for us or wanting nothing to do with us. It was always one extreme or another. These fluctuations in her involvement in our lives was due to her Bipolar condition. Of course I didn’t know that until I was older. All I knew was that she seemed bigger than life when she was around; yet, I also knew that she wouldn’t  follow through on her promises.

Her promised trip to Europe remained a  dream, knowing that she would not bring that dream to reality for me. Promises to keep in touch inevitably fell unfulfilled, heavy in my heart, always sinking further down until my heart for her was weighted with empty promises and communications.  I loved her but could never fully trust her.

Her suicide did come as a shock. Even though we knew that she was angry or indifferent to pretty much everyone in the family again, we never expected that. It was obviously premeditated. She was alone in a hotel room with all of her prized possessions around her; things like electronics and jewelry. She knew she was leaving everyone behind and decided the time to do it was then.

I have no doubt in my mind that she died being exhausted. Being exhausted of the toll mental health conditions place on your life. Being exhausted from fighting the symptoms. Being exhausted from not even knowing what she would say or do day in and day out, year after year. She was a prisoner to her thoughts and disease, never fully free.

When I visited home after her death, my Mom let me go through some of my Aunt’s things and decide if I wanted anything. I chose some of her handmade jewelry. They were each unique and beautiful pieces. Fine, thin wire holding together small multi-colored jewels and stones. There were necklaces with different color schemes; blue and orange, silver and blue, and my favorite, a sunset themed golden necklace. She also made some green earrings that I love to wear.  Each piece special in its own way. I chose these pieces because they were made by her, inspired in her mind, carried out by her hands. I wanted to have something of hers, my Aunt that I loved but didn’t always understand.

Having jewelry she made helped me feel like I understood her better, even though there will always be questions. Making jewelry isn’t easy, especially when working with the small pieces she tended to use in her creations. You need to have special tools and patience, as well as creativity. I wonder if she made the pieces when her Bipolar made her feel good, confident that the jewelry was unique and beautiful, feeing joyful at the end of her finished product. I also wonder if maybe they weren’t created when her Bipolar weighed her down with its heaviness of doubt, anger, and fatigue. Perhaps creating her pieces kept her grounded in life just enough to fight off her demons.

Of course, I will never know why or when she created her homemade jewelry. All I know is that they are indeed beautiful, like she was. Just the other day, I wore the green earrings. When looking at them, I realized how delicate looking they are. Each little green piece pulled gently though the wire, held together and supporting the other pieces.

At this point, I realized a truth about my Aunt that I never thought of before. Even though she seemed bigger than life to me,  inside she was delicate, being held together by thin pieces of strength, like her jewelry was held together by thin pieces of wire.  I believe that her homemade creations reflected this part of her nature. The necklaces and earrings are all delicate and fine looking. They don’t have the appearance of being strong but instead, they look like they could break at any moment. That’s why I hardly wear the necklaces, for fear that they will break. They are kept in a special place in my jewelry box; hanging beside each other, hardly worn.

When she made jewelry it was like she was reminding herself and telling others that she was delicate. This reminded me that all people and relationships are delicate, to be handled carefully and gently, to be valued. In life, my Aunt was being held together by a thin wire, wrapped in despair and frustration. As each piece of her broke off; the rest of her was left unrepaired and weak.

Through her death, I’ve learned that we need to value and care for each other; prioritizing the time and love we give to each other. We all have our own demons, things that keep our life from feeling like it has meaning, things that weigh us down to the point of exhaustion. We may not always be able to see the thinness of spirit in each other; but it’s there at different times and for different reasons. In spite of weakness, no one is beyond repair. No one lacks value. Everyone can shine with their own unique beauty.

As a believer of God, I know that my strength is not mine and I feel grateful for that. When I feel like my life is breaking off or falling apart, it isn’t up to me to fix it but to trust the strong loving hands of God. To God, we are all unique and beautiful, like the delicate snowflakes in Winter, no two being alike. Each of us is a creation to be valued and when we are weak, He is strong. We have no need to worry because God is there to fix us up and help us shine in the light of true freedom. I wish my Aunt had known the peace that I do. Like her, I have mental health problems, severe depression and anxiety. I feel delicate at times like she must have; yet, I know I not alone. I feel exhausted at times by the smallest things but find rest in the Lord. I am confident in the love of the Lord and the people in my life. I find strength and purpose in the Word.  When I want to shut others out, I open up more, confident in the truth that revealing my weakness will bring about support and strength. We are all delicate but we are not alone.