The death of Quinn Kirby’s brother Matt at the age of 23 illustrates why the term “committed suicide” is no longer socially acceptable. “There is no doubt in my mind that it was the illness and not him making that decision,” she says about his death by suicide six weeks after his first episode of psychosis. In the aftermath of Matt’s death, Quinn left a career in advertising and now works fulltime for the CAMH Foundation as manager of the Gifts of Light program. “This is where Matt wants me to be,” she says. “I see him in some of the clients here.” She keeps his memory alive in a private memoir. On one beautiful August afternoon on a bench outside the CAMH daycare, she shared some of her reflections.
“He saw value in everything and everyone. He had this way about him, he could connect with anyone. He wanted to see those who were struggling succeed and would do anything in his power to boost someone’s confidence who truly needed it.
He was a prankster – cue his cheeky grin. He would do anything to make you laugh. It was his medicine. His family (including his two canine companions) always came first – but a very close second were his friendships. He could make you feel like you had no worries in the world.
But his own worries – his dark thoughts and pain, were so deep that none of us knew how powerful they were. It angers me that he will never be older than 23…He was supposed to celebrate his 30th, 50th, 90th birthday. He had plans to show off his tattoos to his grandkids and great-grandkids.
Everything we thought we knew about our lives, our home and one another has been flipped upside down. Grief has the power to restrict your ability to breathe, think and speak. I guess that’s why I’ve turned to writing. Matt’s sudden passing has forced my family to feel the overwhelming brutality of loss, every day since.
The irony is that the most painful and tragic part of my life has also allowed me to find myself, disheveled and exhausted, yet at the doorstep of a fulfilling and life-changing career. It has allowed me to feel even more grateful for each family moment, caring friend, outburst of laughter and those “easy” days.
Matt has given me the gift of compassion. The understanding that it’s the hard days and the losses in your life that will ultimately determine who you are and how you will live moving forward. Something I am required to remind myself of nearly every day, and wish so badly that every hurting soul could know, is that when tragedy or grief strikes, you have the ability to get through it. You as a resilient, loved and valued human being have the ability to get through anything.”