It's So Preventable

By Marni Pyke
Daily Herald Staff Writer
8/3/03

Sherry Bryant holds a photo of her deceased son, Todd Bryant, and the Everett L. Hageman Volunteerism Award.

Six days before Christmas 1993, Todd Bryant made the most important decision of his life. As the world around him cheerfully prepared for the holiday, the 22-year-old was experiencing a despair so profound, he couldn't face the future.

On Dec. 19, he hanged himself, leaving the pain and depression behind.

Todd's death devastated his family.

"I couldn't walk and talk for months," says his mother, Sherry Bryant.

"I remember trying to figure out -- why? My whole life became focused on getting the information, looking for a clue."

In the midst of her anguish, the Naperville resident began a quest to stop others from taking their own lives. Her efforts soon will culminate with the release of a statewide suicide

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Todd's path again.

"We can fix it. It's preventable," she says. "It's not a mystery or an overwhelming task. It's so preventable.

"I'll be fine."

Bryant, 58, is a licensed clinical social worker who counsels clients out of an office in Oswego. The room looks like it has heard a lot of confessions.

Comfortable chairs, muted lighting and scenic photographs she shot create a reassuring environment.

On shelves behind Bryant's chair are pictures of her family.

A vital, smiling Todd looks out of one frame.

"He was wonderful," Bryant says.

Todd graduated from Bradley University with a civil engineering degree in 1993 and easily found a job.

"He had a girlfriend, an apartment, a car," Bryant recalls. "He had what most 22-year-olds really want in their lives."

In October 1993, Todd told his family he felt depressed. Several weeks later he called Sherry in distress.

"He said he'd held a knife to his throat and he wanted to kill himself," Bryant says.

She raced to her son's apartment in McHenry and took him to the hospital. But medical staff members were reluctant to admit Todd after he assured them he was OK.

"He conned them. He said, 'I'll be fine. I'll go to therapy,'" Bryant says.

She was able to convince doctors her son was suicidal only after she showed them the butcher knives he'd kept in his bedroom.

"I pulled a knife out of my purse and said, 'These were by his nightstand. He means business.'"

But four days after leaving the hospital, Todd killed himself.

Unfinished story

To cope with her grief, Bryant spent months talking to anyone who had been in contact with her son.

"I wanted to find out what caused it, I wanted to find out the mystery," she says.

"I even found the policeman who took him down. That was my hobby, that was all I did."

Bryant also sued the hospital and received an out-of-court settlement.

She donated the money to Suicide Prevention Services, a non-profit agency in Batavia, which she helped establish.

As Bryant struggled to come to terms with her son's death, one comment from a Franciscan monk consoled her.

"I talked to him for over an hour asking him shy God didn't help. I did everything I could, we all knew something was terrible wrong and God did not help at all.

"He told me, 'Todd's story isn't over,'" she says.

Bryant educated herself on the issue, researching the causes of suicide and contacting experts.

"I love learning," she says. "That saved my life. Learning makes me feel good. That's the way I fight my own demons."

One idea continually reinforced was that Todd's death and other suicides are not inevitable.

"Some people think that suicide is just something people decide, but it really happens when the pain exceeds the resources for coping with pain," Bryant says.

"There's not enough resources. There's a myth about suicide that it's people who are weak or people who just make impulsive decisions.

"They're not impulsive. They let it happen after a long period of pain and continual suffering."

Taboo subject

Bryant believes the issue of suicide gets attention only after it's too late.

"When you get to a crisis, that's the only way we've ever treated suicide," Bryant says.

While every hospital has a protocol for handling broken limbs, there's no consistent plan for patients who want to take their own lives, she contends.

And in society at large, suicide is still a taboo subject.

"The No. 1 thing we don't want to do is ask about suicide," Bryant says. "That's totally wrong. We need to talk about it.

"It's like when I was a kid, you weren't supposed to tell anyone you had cancer. Suicide is a public health issue, not a weird, bizarre incident."

Statistics show 30,000 people a year die from suicide, including more than 2,000 in Illinois.

The numbers anger Bryant.

"The suicide rate in the United States is 85 people a day. If 85 people died from Firestone tires, we'd hop on it," she says.

Cold-calling

The obvious thing to Bryant and others at Suicide Prevention Services was to pull together a statewide plan dealing with the issue.

It wasn't so obvious to others.

"I cold-called everyone," Bryant says.

Her doggedness didn't surprise Stephanie Weber, SPS director.

Recalling how Bryant drew up the agency's incorporation papers, Weber says, "Sherry hit the ground running and hasn't stopped."

"When she sees something that needs to be done, she'll say so. Then if it's not done, she'll say it a second time. After that, she'll do it herself."

After more than two years of trying to get government support for the suicide-prevention strategy, Bryant got a response.

"By some accident, I got on the Illinois Department of Public Health Web site and sent off an e-mail. One person responded and said, "Sure, I'll talk to you about suicide prevention.'"

As a result of that breakthrough, Bryant is now volunteer chairwoman of the Illinois Suicide Prevention Strategy Planning Committee.

Illinois Department of Public Health officials praise Bryant for her tenacity.

"She's someone who has unfortunately experienced suicide but has used that energy herself for good things," says Mark Schmidt, IDPH division chief of injury and violence prevention.

"What impresses me about Sherry is that she does her homework and she's a quick study. She has a very good strategic mind."

The group is due to release a statewide policy aimed at thwarting suicides.

It seeks to teach people about the problem, increase resources for those suffering from depression and restrict access to weapons, medications and poisons used to commit suicide.

Town-hall meetings will occur this fall to explain and publicize the strategy.

The Illinois legislature is expected to vote on it during its winter 2004 session.

'I want action'

Bryant's path to suicide prevention advocate was a winding one.

As a child growing up in Indianapolis, she always dreamed of becoming a teacher. Her love of reading steered her toward a bachelor's degree in English and education, and she landed a job with Indian Prairie Unit District 204.

"When I got into the schools, I realized I really liked kids," Bryant says.

"But while I loved teaching literature, I hated teaching grammar. What was real clear was that I wanted to do something with people."

It's Bryant's people skills that have pushed the suicide prevention plan as far as it has gone, some believe.

"What impresses me about Sherry is her ability to read people and understand their issues," Schmidt says. "She can work with an amazingly diverse constituency."

Bryant's efforts in suicide prevention earned her a state award for volunteerism that Lt. Gov. Pat Quinn presented in April in Springfield. The Everett Hageman award is given annually to someone who works to improve public health in Illinois.

With the statewide plan due to become a reality soon, Bryant's workload hasn't lessened.

Asked how much time she spends volunteering, Bryant laughs and says, "More than I work. This weekend, because my husband's going to be gone, I'm looking at 20 to 30 hours."

From her pain, Bryant found a cause. From her work, she found hope. And she's not giving up.

"Plans are wonderful, then they're put in someone's drawer. We don't want that to happen," she says.

"I want action. And I am just amazed we got this far."