Eric Benner

The first words I heard about Eric from his family were these:

From his mom – Eric ate slug bait and had to be saved – twice

From Craig (Eric’s older brother) – “Eric beat the crap out of me.”

From Wendy – “It was hate at first sight.”

 

Eric was quite a guy! And it has been great to hear about the fun, engaging, adventurous part of Eric that you all loved.

 

I really hope, that in the shadow of his death you don’t forget those parts.

Don’t let his death, and the way he died be all there is to your memories of Eric.

 

But Eric’s death, and the way he died, IS foremost in our minds this day, and I want to address that with you in hopes that doing so will free you to rejoice in the gift of his life.

 

Listen to the words of the 69^th Psalm:

Save me, O God,

For the waters have come up to my neck,

I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold;

I have come into deep waters and the flood sweeps over me.

I am weary with my crying: my throat is parched.

My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God.

 

That’s what depression feels like.

• An endless gray,
• Like looking at the world through a window smeared with mud;
• An inability to experience joy – even in those things that we have most enjoyed in life.
• People suffering from depression can’t imagine that anyone enjoys their company, or even truly likes them:
• People suffering from depression can’t feel love from others,
  • can’t feel love from God,
  • can’t feel love,
  • can’t feel.

 

Depression is not something a person can “snap out of.”

But they will try. They will imagine that they should be able to feel better.

 

And they will blame  themselves:

• “I just need to be more grateful for what I have.”
• “If I practiced loving others more, I’d get better.”
• “All I think about is myself. I’m so selfish.”
• “Why can’t I just get up and do what I need to do? I’m just lazy, I guess.”

And that morphs into:

• “I’m no fun anymore.”
• “My husband/wife/kids/parents/coworkers must hate being around me.”
• “I’m such a drag.”

Spiritually, it can look like

• “I should pray more regularly.”
• “If I gave my troubles over to God I wouldn’t carry this anxiety.”
• “If I had faith I wouldn’t feel this way.”
• “I don’t feel God.”
• “Why is God doing this to me?” or
• “There is no God.”

“I have come into deep waters and the flood sweeps over me.

I am weary with my crying: my throat is parched.

My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God”

 

Depression is a disease that colors everything. And it doesn’t help that the expression, “It’s all in your head,” is technically true. Depression actually is all in a person’s head. But it’s not something they’ve created or made up. It’s in their brain, where neurological misfires are taking place. Therapy and medication can be effective; and when they are, they can be life-savers. But sometimes they don’t work, or it takes an excruciatingly long time to find the right combination. And for some people, it is too long.

 

In that case, people have come to the point where their suffering is so bleak and so dark that they cannot imagine that life will ever be better. They can’t see a way out. Ever.

 

So let’s imagine how it might have been for Eric:

Try to imagine sitting in a dark closet in the middle of a party. You can see through the cracks that people are having a good time. You can hear the music, see the dancing. You can even see and hear people come up to the closet and say how much they love you and what a great person you are. But their words, their mood, their music, nothing can touch you. Nothing that happens really pierces the darkness of your closet and you remain all alone.  You’re tired of watching life from the outside. And tired of pretending to be ok – even though you’re so good at it that you fool most of the people most of the time. It just requires more energy than you have to do that day after day after day.

 

There is nothing fun about life because you stopped experiencing fun and joy a long time ago. And you figure you might as well be dead, because this is really not living. And you begin to believe that you are a nightmare to the people around you, a nightmare the people you love the most. And they would be better off without you.

 

That is what I believe it was like for Eric.

 

And Eric decided to do something about that – to end his suffering and to end the suffering of his family. And he walked out of the house, sent one last text to his family:  “Love you.” And ended his life.

 

And the irony is  - at that moment, the suffering, the nightmare for his family and friends REALLY began. But he can’t know that.

 

And that’s where you are today: Suffering in a way you never did when Eric was alive. In the middle of a nightmare from which you could/would awaken.

 

And you and Eric, in this moment, have this in common: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

 

Recognize that by any chance?

It actually was written by one of the poets who wrote the psalms from the Bible – Psalm 22.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?

O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer;

And by night, but find no rest.”

 

And when the gospel writers told the story of Jesus, and they got to the part where he was hanging on the cross, they put those words in his mouth. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

 

Was it because God had abandoned Jesus that these words came to his lips? I don’t believe so. There’s nothing in my understanding or in my experience of God that makes me think that God actually abandons us – ever.

 

In fact, right now, in the Christian church, we are preparing for Christmas. It’s a time when we remember that God came to humanity in the form of a human being - Jesus –

• in order to be completely and fully connected to us –
• in order to seal the relationship between the Creator and the Created.
• in order to demonstrate what it means to live a fully abundant loving life even in the face of the darkest moments of humanity.
• in order – and this is most important for us today – to be able to be fully present with us in our times of suffering –

because our God is a suffering God.

Our God is a suffering God.

God knows our suffering.

Intimately.

 

The apostle Paul said this in his letter to the Romans that Anthony read a little bit ago: Nothing in life or in death will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. (Romans 8:38-39, paraphrased)

 

Nothing in life or in death can separate us from that love.

Nothing in life or in death.

Nothing.

 

So how come it feels that way? That we have been abandoned by God?

I don’t know the answer to that. I know I have felt it. I know that it’s very real. And frankly, when I feel that way, the only thing that gets me through is remembering those words: “Nothing in life or in death can separate us.” I have to remind myself. In my head. Because in those times my heart can’t feel it.

 

But when I am in the place where I don’t have the capacity to even remind myself of the constancy of God’s love, what I need is God incarnate.  Incarnate means “in the flesh.” I need God “in the flesh.” I want God to hold me and comfort me and listen to me.

I imagine that’s what you need these days as well.

And you are fortunate, because God incarnate is available to you.

Because in times like these, the community of love, the community of faith becomes God incarnate.

You all can be willing to enter into the darkness of feeling abandoned by God.

You can enter it with and for each other.

Not to fix it.

Just to be present to each other and be God’s love to one another.

Because you are God’s hands and arms and feet– especially at times like this.

You can be God’s love to each other – and especially to Eric’s family and closest friends.

 

Now how do you do that?

It’s easier than it may sound.

 

First, know that you are not responsible for Eric’s death.

You probably didn’t see any signs that he was suicidal because he was really good at not showing those signs. Really really good at it. He fooled the professionals in his life.

You couldn’t have controlled Eric anyway. You can’t control people.

So know that you are not responsible – I don’t care what mean thing you may have said to him lately or wished about him or any other magical thinking that’s in your head right now. You are not responsible for his death.

 

Wendy is not responsible for his death. So don’t tell her she is or was.

His mother is not responsible for his death.

 

But in order to be God incarnate to each other, you don’t need to figure out all the ins and outs and whys of Eric’s death, anyway. You don’t. You won’t. And that’s the most difficult thing for everyone here. So many why’s and NO answers. None.

 

So don’t try.

 

Instead – just listen to each other. Be present in body and in spirit.

Be willing to let your hearts break in front of each other – that is sharing the suffering of God with one another.

No one needs to be strong –Wendy.

No one needs to be strong –Kaitlyn…Maddie…Drew

No one needs to be strong –Craig and Darren…Linda…Michael and Lydia…Don and Cindy.

 

No one.

Allow your hearts to break, because it is in the breaking open of our hearts that we are able to connect with each other in miraculous and life-transforming ways.

Allow your hearts to break, because when we do that, our capacity to live life to the fullest grows.

Allow your hearts to break, because when we do that, we are able to experience God’s deep, deep love for us. And then we can entrust Eric’s life into God’s loving hands.

It is in the breaking open of our hearts – that we can experience true living.

In the breaking open of our hearts is our crucifixion, our resurrection, and our salvation.

 

 

There is so much more to be said about suicide, about depression, about Eric, about God. But I would have to keep you all afternoon – all weekend - in order to say it all.

 

Instead, I’d like to offer this.

That picture you have of Eric that’s going around in your head.

I know you have one.

Close your eyes – can you find it?

Maybe his last moments alive, maybe it’s of him making the decision to end his life. I don’t know what it is –

But if that picture is painful and frightening or gruesome – I’d like to offer you the opportunity to substitute or something else for it.

Because suicide is not the only thing there is to know about Eric. Not by a long shot.

You’ve heard wonderful things about who Eric was already and you will hear more at the reception – and there will be lots of time to share fun stories about Eric there.

 

But I’m concerned about that picture in your head.

So, if you’d like to change up that picture, let me invite you to do this:

• Close your eyes.
• Find that picture that’s in your brain – the one that keeps nagging at you.
• See it in your mind’s eye.
• Now see if you can make it into a sort of portrait picture –like a picture hanging on a wall or a poster.
• And if it’s a color picture, see if you can change the picture to black and white.
• Now see if you can pretend it’s a picture on your iphone – and shrink it down to the size of a postage stamp. You remember stamps…
• And see if you can place that postage stamp sized picture off to the edge of your visual wall.
• Now search around in your brain for another picture of Eric – something fun…
• See if you can make it in color.
• And make it big.
• And put it somewhere on your visual desktop where you’ll see it all the time.
• Look at it right now and remember.
• And when you’re ready, open your eyes.

 

And remember the Eric who said to his children repeatedly, like a mantra:

“When do I love you?”

And the answer? “Always”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what.”

 

Remember those words, because they are proof that Eric knew something about God.

The God who loves Eric and who loves you and me.

When?

Always.

No matter what?

No matter what.

Amen.

During this time of immense grief, excruciating heartbreak, and profound sadness I would like to challenge all present.  I challenge you to remember the Eric we knew and loved while working to accept that he was taken from us by a horrible disease that he battled for as long as possible.

 

We lost Eric to a disease that was every bit as devastating as the worst physical maladies…   For many present, his disease was far worse than cancer, since there was no physical decline to be observed.  And, of course, the end of his battle came as an absolute shock to all of us.

 

While I will not share in great detail here, I do think it is important to explain that ever-logical Eric came to the conclusion that his disease had reached the point where his depression was going to permanently damage those he loved most…  And he simply could not accept that, instead taking permanent steps to “protect” them.  While I think he uncharacteristically reached the wrong conclusion, as a father and husband, I can certainly understand doing everything within your power to protect your family.

 

Eric, beloved son, brother, father, husband, professional, coach and friend gave his best to all of us.  We would do well to remember that:  And to use his example to focus our energy on trying to hold ourselves to that standard of excellence.

 

Now getting back to our challenge:  Eric would implore us to dig deep, work hard, and move forward; to accept that which we cannot change nor understand; to work through the grief; to embrace the future.

 

He is with God now, and they can see past this blip in time, to our happy future.  Please join me in accepting the challenge to remember the Eric we knew and loved.  Please take the opportunity to share some of your memories at the reception hall.

First and foremost, on behalf of myself and our family, I would like to thank you for being here to remember Eric.  I truly believe he is looking down surprised and bewildered at the outpouring of love that sits here as a result of his life.  In fact, knowing him as I did, he is likely smirking at these words and assuming you are all here for me or the kids or his family or each other.  And goodness knows, I wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise.  As I type this, I struggle to find the right words to say, as I have all week, because there is no script or schedule for this.  So forgive me as I ramble, for all of you who know me know that I am long winded in the best of circumstances. 

 

This week has brought more anguish and tears and heartbreak than I could have ever imagined, yet it has also brought out more compassion, love, understanding and laughter than I could have prayed for.  We have shared stories from our past filled with all things Eric.  We have gone from gut-wrenching tears to uncontrollable laughter and back.  Many of the stories have been so fitting of Eric… a little wrong and inappropriate, a lot of cynicism, but filled with love and laughter.  In between the flow of memories, it also feels like I have asked, and been asked, more questions in this last week than in my entire life, though I realize that isn’t possible.  It feels like my heart and soul and physical being has been wrung out, hung out to dry, re-worn, washed and repeated.  I say these words to you because after feeling and seeing the absolute heart-break this week has caused to myself, our children, family, friends, co-workers, competitors and so many people I have known and loved, you might think to find me angry.  Oh, and sometimes, in some moments, I am. 

 

But, when the oppressive weight of grief feels like it is all consuming and I gasp for air, I am blessed by the gift of sanity or levity or reprieve.  It is at those times that I need to remember, and I need you to know, that the all consuming oppression of sadness we may feel for a moment or two or ten is how the Eric of the last year awoke everyday, spent almost every waking moment, and laid awake at nights feeling.  It seems unimaginable, and trust me as one of the only people who had to witness him spiral to this point over the last few years, it was real for him.  The main difference between our anguish and his is that we all can pinpoint a source to our grief, our anguish, our sadness.  With the understanding of the source of our pain brings a belief, a hope, and for most, a knowledge, that somehow or somewhere down the road, there will be healing.  Eric had no such source; nothing external to cause these feelings, therefore nothing to analytically focus on and fix.  And for those of you that knew his absolutely brilliant, ridiculously logical analytical mind, there was no disease more torturous for him to be afflicted with.  I have tried to tell my children, my friends and myself that Eric could fix anything and anyone, but himself.  To him, there was no bigger failure and no logical answer, which defied the principles that made his mind work. 

 

As a completely illogical person who has always based her decisions on emotions or feelings or the direction of the wind, we were a match only heaven above could make.  And yet, here on earth, for the majority of our life together, we were.  I used to say that there is no way either one of us would have ever picked each other, based on personality assessments or typical attraction, yet God had a different plan.  Aside from the first moment we met, which was pretty much instant dislike and irritation, we have been by each other’s side.  We have raised three unbelievably amazing children, enjoyed beautiful friendships, lived times of absolute perfection and walked through fire together. 

 

This week, through family, friends, photos, cards and an absolute flood of memories, I have come to remember that man I met, loved, adored.  It was a beautiful experience, but also an amazing realization of how much had changed, of how different he had become, of how much the disease of depression had robbed him of.  This disease took away the two things he always knew he could fall back on – his rational, ever logical mind and his faith.  To have his core sense of self ripped out and his belief system shattered, his scientific brain simply could not compute a life of meaning.  Without meaning, life had no purpose, and without purpose, well, it simply couldn’t exist.  To you and I this likely seems unimaginable or illogical, but since this horrific disease robs the mind of logic, it is all nonsensical. 

 

You may wonder why I am attempting to explain all of this to you, to give explanation to something that simply has none.  Mainly it is because so many of you feel distraught, confused, and guilty.  You ask if you ever knew him.  How he could hide this?  How you couldn’t have seen.  You have shared with me how much Eric helped you and asked why you couldn’t help him.  Trust me, with as much as I knew and lived and saw and hid, I have asked those same questions.  Yet, through time with Eric’s doctor, Dr. Baxter, who is here today to answer questions about this elephant in the room named depression, I have come to understand that Eric was likely one of the most highly functioning patients ever to be seen for such a severe and persistent case of depression.  Dr. Baxter is tough as nails, matched Eric’s wit and thus, gained his respect.  This week, he sat with our family for hours while we asked questions and gained insight to try to find understanding.  He informed us that though he was Eric’s cheerleader, he also called his bs, pushed his limits, and attempted to provide hope.  He told us that in his practice he is aggressive with treatment, willing to go outside the box, never gives up and doesn’t lose.  However, Eric didn’t present with the typical red-flags.  He retained humor and wit, continued with hobbies like coaching his much loved softball team and driving me crazy with the damn fishtanks.  Eric was able to hide the depths of his despair from all of us including the doctor most trained to see it.

 

The Eric we knew, liked, respected and loved--well he was lost a few years ago.  Eric was a great actor in life and wanted to be seen as who he was and not what he had become.  So, when you question what was true, please know that Eric was real.  He was the man you thought you knew.  He was brilliant, sarcastic, full of wit and banter.  He was the most loving husband, father, son, friend, mentor, employee.  He fought until there was no fight left.  Ultimately, the anguish we feel at the loss of this great man is the anguish he felt every time he looked in the mirror.  And when he felt the façade begin to crack, he could not bear for us to see the broken self he knew; he believed that his final act was a gift to all of us sitting here.  He believed that we could all heal, where he was unable.  He believed that this grief would pass and we would all be better off. And the only peace or solace I have is that if he is finally at peace.  I will spend the rest of my life trying to make sure this disease doesn’t get the final say.  Despite the ugly scars of pain, we will begin to heal and live and breathe anew.  We will live, love, fight and smile.  We will look back with admiration, fondness, love and respect on a man that loved his family so deeply.  Today those feelings are returned more than even he could have fathomed. 

E-

I walked into the grocery store today only to be hit with a wave of emotion.  Marc Cohen's "Walking in Memphis" was playing and I know how much you loved that song, but hearing that song took me to our Marc Cohen wedding song "True Companions".  I listened for about 30 seconds and had to leave, just to cry a bit and remember.  I hate that now its all just remembering...

Love you,

W