The other side of a love that we all lost

In loving memory of Belinda Jane Bowtell, 24th October 1977 - 8th July 2011.




I lost a friend last week. She took her life, as lovers often do.  Lovers that are so passionate about the well being of others in their life, before their own.  Lovers that always care outwardly, but have never developed the tools or ever knew how to share what is happening inwardly to them.  

These lovers, carry so much on their shoulders. Completely willingly.  Because somehow, this has become their role in life.  But unfortunately for all of us, it hides so magnificently even their own inner thoughts, or turmoil.  For our lovers have no voice to share from what becomes a deeply lonely part of themselves.   That part, they hide so well.

The world lost a wonderful woman on the 8th of July 2011, because a concealed solitary depression took her to a place that she felt peace would finally only come in silence.   

In life, we meet so many people, we acquaint so many faces that we smile at, talk to, share stories, pass by, forget about, maybe see once every in while, because we choose to, or do out of habit, or keep because of normal conventional ties. We keep so many connected in nice friendly mate-ship.  

Then, there are those that we meet, that from the moment that we connect something deep with in us tells us that they are very special. A conscious feeling that from the moment we meet them, we know they’re unique. We feel that bond and we know the difference. Deep within. 

My friend Bel was one of those people to me.  She was one of life’s dancers. So outwardly strong. Pragmatic to the core, and always, always, shot straight from the hip and the heart. She called it how it was, consistently.  And I loved her for that. I thought I’d met my match, I felt that she was braver that I was. This woman, stopped me in my tracks; and I don’t say that about many people. 

I’ll never forget, the day she came boldly up to me when I arrived in Singapore, told me she knew who I was, loved my energy and thought I was someone she really wanted to know better.  Actually, she turned out to be someone I really wanted to know better. 

I lost my friend, and I struggle with the fact that I did because I didn’t see her darkness. I was blind through my own distraction. 

She was in love with her best friend.  Together for 11 years. They had what others, liked me, wished for.  They were a unit, a bond in absolute friendship, love and commitment.  They were best friends. She would always say, “you know, Dave could leave me one day, and life could end one day, but you know what, that’s life, and all I can say is that I’ve had the best life I could have asked for”. She was always so matter of fact. 

Her husband lost his love and soul mate to the silence of depression. 

Her family were real, honest, good people that loved unconditionally. They shared life’s ups and downs, family normality, laughter and joy. And work through the confrontation that of one of them was not balanced; but not the love that they lost. 

Her family lost their loving rock. Their golden haired girl. The one that brought they family together in a strength of will and love that made it all seem OK. 

Her friends and colleagues lost their axel of realness. An anchor for so many, not just me. A confident, for so many, not just me. The one that always stood up for what everyone wanted to say, but so few had the courage to. The one they would turn to for advice on how to keep going in a rough patch, a tough time, when something was confronting, or so challenging they didn’t know what to do. Or just a smile to keep you going.  She made it seem all OK.  In a very real way. 

Her friends lost their sanity point.  The source of positivity, and reinforcing answers; always at the right time. 

We had a very honest friendship. Well, I was very honest with her. Sharing many of my irreconcilable secrets.  The last lunch we had together, I asked her what was really happening behind her eyes?   She didn’t have the tools to talk. I knew this. But I could see a sadness.  I could see she was struggling, but felt like me, was not great at expressing it. I vowed that the next time we court up, we would only speak of her. She agreed, but always said, “you don’t want to hear about me?”.  We all have complications in our life that we struggle with, internalize to our determinant, and feel so afraid to share.  And no matter how significant or insignificant it is to someone else, it can be so isolating.   So scary to talk about. 

I started a new job this year.  I had the great opportunity of building a new business with a new team and she was the first person I asked her to come and work with me.  I wanted her to be my financial guru. God love her, she turned me down, because she and her husband Dave had a plan. They wanted to get pregnant early in 2011, and that just wasn’t in her moral code to start a new business knowing that.  

She got pregnant in February of this year. She had complications. Several morning sickness and horrific back aches and neck pains. She fell into a depressive state, and stopped working in March of 2011. She wasn’t coping. But even with medication and a trained psychiatrist, no one one could catch her silence.  

I’ve seen many emotional pregnancies, but I didn’t see this. 

I woke up at 6 am, the day she died. I felt her. I didn’t know why, but I reached to my IPhone and I immediately emailed her.  The message said, “where are you, I needed to see her”. 

The other side of losing the ones you love to suicide is finding acceptance. 


I don’t have the answers for depression. I’ve suffered from it myself. In 2004, after a very traumatic time in my life, I was in a very muted place. I remember, being the life and soul of the party in my London days, but driving home one day from work, in my BMW 5 series, thinking, “it wouldn’t hurt if I drove into that pole right now”.  A sunless, lonely, silent place that I didn’t have the courage to share with anyone for years later. But this is not my story, and that’s another blog, and through a lot of work, I have come to a very healthy place in life. But I know, as many do, about the depth of that silence place. 

I’m a bit like Bel, trying to find the answers, trying to be pragmatic in the face of adversity. Yet, suffering from a huge, irreconcilable case of denial,  I set off to research why this could happen to my friend.  5 months pregnant. Jumping off a balcony.  Leaving her lover and her best friend, sleeping in their bed. Carrying their unborn child, not knowing the sex of the baby, they called it, “Lentil Bean”.  Opening the balcony doors, standing there in the humid Singapore air, completely numb.  Holding a balcony rail, standing eleven stories high, in silence, committed to what she was doing.  Then, in the darkness of a starry night, at 4.30am, dressed in her pj’s, still wearing a maternity bra, she climbed over the rail and flew into her silence.  

Her husband talks of a hole in his chest, that he has no tools to know how to fill. I felt something so different. 

What I’ve discovered, and by no means is this the reality of Bel, but a possible reason; through researched information available by doctors published on the Internet is that there was an alarming number of pregnant woman that had committed suicide at 5 months. They had suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome before a pregnancy, then as a linkage to this pre-determination of self, suffered extreme chemical imbalances when they become pregnant. 

It helped me with my pragmatic acceptance. Or denial. But my chest, trying to connect to Dave’s hole he spoke of, was still numb. 

Her Auntie and Grandmother died late in 2010 in quick succession.  She was incredibly fond of them, didn’t show many this pain, but shared with me that she wasn’t coping with the lose these loves from her life. But in her true trooper style, so would so quickly divert, change the topic, and then say, “She was ok. She was fine.”  I hate that expression, “I’m fine”.

I spoke to Dave two days after she passed, and told him how depression has no arms or legs. There is no voice in this place. I shared my research with him, but I don’t know if he heard me, or was even ready to hear this? We all deal and process in such unique and varied ways. Time is not linear now.

The funeral was held in Melbourne on the Monday 19th July. A chance for all that could make it to see her face again. An unforgettable image of her hair of gold, her smile, shiny so bright and so wide, with her alluring brown eyes. I know she connected with every single soul in that room.

Was anyone in that room ready to say good bye to this woman that they loved? No, not at this time. No one was ready to lose this love. As I watched her white casket , lower slowly into her grave, into the earth, my face screwed up in agony.   It was quite there at the burial, it was in our silence that we all dealt with that moment. And then, she was gone. So quickly. 

The challenge of reconciliation.

I stood, watching her husband Dave stand at the edge of her grave, in his silence with his lost love. The tears that fell on my cheek, were the heaviest I’ve ever felt.  I too was not ready to say goodbye.  

The last communication I had with Bel, was me sending her a text in May, self indulgent in a busy workload, telling her, “I missed her, and I needed to see her and she how she was”. She responded saying, “this pain ruining her life”. 

My response, was that “I’ll get through this launch and I’ll come and see you, hold on”. My business launch was 5 days later.  I never saw her again. 

I went straight to Tullamarine Airport straight after the funeral to fly back to Singapore.  A 45 minute solitary taxi ride, dressed in black, I broke down.  Every part of me collapsed. I lost it. I felt shame for my distraction of not being there. My chest was not feeling a hole, but a burning inferno of pain.  I felt a pain in my chest, a tightness, a heat that I hated. I couldn’t breathe. I felt choked. My eyes burned, my heart thumped through my dress, I wanted to tear the fabric off my body. I wanted to feel blame for the loss of my beloved friend. I felt selfish, I felt horrible, I felt blind because of my own desire.  Irreconcilable pain. 

There is no blame, but there is the very confronting process of acceptance that everyone needs to go through. Shock, denial, anger, sadness, acceptance. But I do know that guilt is cohesive, and will only hinder life from moving forward. And I know this for certain,  our dear friend would have never wanted that for anyone that she loved. And has lost. 

I’m sure, many like me, feel like they have lost their source of truth, but are so devastated that they never really knew, or could be there to help hers. 


I, nor anyone else, could reach the darkness she felt. And as much as I really hate this expression,  “it is what is is”.  She had no arms or legs to reach out. She has found her peace. 

There is a saying that I shall close with: “Those that shone so bright, don’t shine for as long”. My friend Belinda Jane Bowtell, you shone in my life for a short but wonderful time. And the hole that we feel for you - one day, at some point, it will shift, as you would wish.  

No matter how many people you pass, or hold in your inner sanctum, please care for them. As much it is the role of some to protect gracefully, they also need nurturing too.  So, please; stop to ask ask of those that care so much for you unconditionally, how they are, and how they are feeling in life? Then ask again. Then, in three months time, ask again. Then just observe. Then, silently, reach out again, in your own un-confrontational way.   Because, you know what? They might not have the tools to tell you at any of these points, but it might  just be enough to thaw the silence.


It could just cure the deafness of depression, slowly. And one day, like it did for me, they may be brave enough to reach out in their own way. 

Through your love, you may help someone feel reconnected to the lose of love they have drowned in, for what ever reason.  

Hold the hands of the people that you love. 


All my love, 

TBS

xxxx

and..... I hear her saying, get busy living.

You’ll always be with me Bel. I will always love you.