DFW Hangs Himself Leaving One More Lacuna

Woke up too early this morning, turned on the radio and was shocked by the news that David Foster Wallace had hung himself. I only knew and, yes, loved David Foster Wallace through his writing, so my pain from this loss is at best very abstract. However it comes on the heels of another loss by hanging which was a lot less abstract and much more personal; and around which I’m still trying to wrap my head. Wallaces death ain’t helpin’ any.

I understand wanting to be no more, but the step between here and there is something most of us can’t begin to comprehend[1]. And ever since I heard that Jerzy Kozinski killed himself by placing a plastic bag over his head and taping it shut at the neck I’ve wondered at the strength of will necessary to in fact take that step. I understand pain and I’ve seen desperation, and yet that explains nothing, for it is hard to understand how a person can feel so much pain without understanding the pain that taking one’s life might cause in others[2]. Obviously at that moment, nothing else exists but the self and the act.

Ah well, people I admire are gone, and I remain, left to wonder if Wallace left a note, and if he did, did it contain one of his wondrous footnotes.

[1] Even though suicide seems to be the leading cause of death in the world: one million deaths by suicide per year. That being said, in an often crappy world such as this, that still means most of us trudge on, don’t commit it, and still can’t comprehend it.

[2] for “soul pain", the kind that must lead one to commit suicide, implies empathy.