A personal note

I’ve been struggling over how to begin this post, or even whether to write it at all (an unusual bit of indecision for someone who counts on their ability to make lightning-fast decisions under pressure on the podium as a matter of course!). But as a musician I am as much a communicator as an artist, and if words can illuminate or aid, they are worth expressing. I know that was a bit oblique; bear with me here…

The reason I am a conductor is something my father told me when I was 17. The whole story (or, at least the salient bits) were outlined by Sam in this previous post; suffice it to say, I was a teenage pianist struggling with tendonitis, and it was my father who took me aside and told me that even if my fingers stopped working in the way I wanted them to on the keyboard, I could still hold a stick.

Dad had always been my greatest musical support: he started me on the piano at the age of 5; he was an accomplished amateur pianist who delighted in acting as accompanist in my endless succession of auditions and competitions; he was a supporter of the Honolulu Symphony who took the whole family to every Sunday subscription concert. He helped me incorporate the orchestra I created and conducted during my summers home from college, beamed with pride at my first concerts at Harvard and sent a hothouse full of flowers for my first concerts at Curtis. Despite the differences we had (and there were many), I always knew he believed in what I was doing; and in a way, I was fulfilling his dream of making a life in music (he had taken, after college, what he called the “safe course” and gone to law school, eventually becoming a successful lawyer).

Dad took his own life on March 28, 2001. He was a young 60, in good health, happily married for 32 years with two grown children flourishing on their own, enjoying career success and the love of countless friends and colleagues. In retrospect, perhaps the warning signs were there: the tendency towards deep melancholy; the long solitary trips he took to exotic locales (as if he were trying to find something outside of himself that he couldn’t find within); the insistence, in the year before his death, to get his financial matters into meticulous order.

I was, ironically (at least in my mind), guest conducting as part of a job audition when I heard the news. The phonecall came early on a Friday morning. The concert was that night, and I chose to go through with it rather than fly immediately to Hawaii. Some questioned that decision, but for me there was no other option; for myself, I needed to know that I could still go on as a musician without my father, and I needed to be in that hyperfocused, strangely calm zone that one enters when on the podium before I returned to the chaos at home. I completed what I set out to do that week, and I think my father wouldn’t have expected any less of me.

My life was irrevocably changed. One cannot pass judgment as to whether it is a purely negative change – or maybe I just refuse to contemplate that possibility, because it would be far too painful. Apart from the usual grief that follows the loss of a loved one, there was the nagging sense of both guilt and betrayal, along with a pervasive feeling of abandonment. I never felt as lonely as I did those first few years after Dad’s death, even with my husband holding my hand, next to me on the couch, or in a roomful of friends.

But by the same token, the magnitude of loss and the feeling that I had been blind to the anguish of a person so close to me has made me far more aware of and connected to those around me. I find that I have a greater empathy for other people, for everyone’s struggle to navigate through life, for the inherent connections we all share. And I think that empathy and connection have nourished my musicianship. If anything positive came out of my father’s death, it was that I learned to cast a much gentler, more sympathetic eye on humankind, if not myself.

Suicide is still somewhat of a taboo topic, although it’s becoming less and less so. When I tell my story to people, I still get uncomfortable/stunned silences; few are prepared to respond because we are not taught how to do so, which distresses me. Suicide is the 11th leading cause of death in the U.S., with over 32,000 people a year taking their own lives. Over 80 people take their own lives every day, with nearly 1,500 additional people attempting to do so. It is a part of human society, a part of life; my hope is that by writing about it I can help remove some of the remaining stigma.

I wanted to write this post not just to tell a personal story, but to also reach anyone who may have been touched by suicide, or knows someone who may be contemplating taking their own life, or is thinking of it themselves. Over 60 percent of those who take their own lives also suffer from major depression, which is one of the most treatable psychiatric illnesses (with 90 percent of people having a positive response to treatment). There are a number of excellent organizations who address all aspects of suicide, from prevention to survivor support groups, notably one based in Minnesota, SAVE (Suicide Awareness Voices of Education), and other organizations such as the AFSP (American Foundation for Suicide Prevention).

I fervently hope that no-one will travel down the path that Dad chose, although I know I am hoping beyond reason. The best I can do is to keep at my work, making music, which has the power to provide both deep solace and extraordinary joy, reminding us of the profound privilege of being alive.