Sebastian, patron saint of athletes, that he would always be strong in body and mind. Dymphna, patron saint of mental illness, to help protect his mind. The most devout member of the family ("God was the only thing Eric didn't need proof of," says his brother Justin), Eric had prayed to St. Looking through his phone following his death, his brothers found prayers Eric had written. After Eric's service, the lineup to speak with Joy was over three hours long. Any fears of the stigma surrounding mental illness and suicide were unfounded. Her mother's French Catholic priest quieted any worries Joy had about her religion's historical indictment of suicide, saying to her simply, "God doesn't care." Their communities in both Alberta and Saskatchewan rallied around the family. "We told everyone that, unfortunately, despite everyone's best efforts and tremendous love, Eric died of suicide." (She, like many who have lost a loved one to suicide, rejects the phrase "committed suicide" and its criminal implications.) The decision to talk openly about how Eric died, to not cloak it in the "died suddenly and unexpectedly" euphemism, was instant, unanimous and obvious. Joy knew from the moment it happened that she was going to speak frankly about it. More and more families are pulling away the veil of how they lost their loved ones. For most, it's not about wanting to die, but about wanting to quiet the pain. "That was part of the surprise-that he didn't reach out that night."īut sometimes suicide is not a decision it's an impulse, less a plan than a compulsion that, for whatever reason, gets acted upon. "We would respond immediately and circle around him," says Joy. Eric had been in crisis before, but had always reached out to his family. No one will ever know exactly what happened that night on his grandmother's farm, but Joy describes it as a perfect storm, all the complex factors colluding and colliding with tragic, heartbreaking results. Despite the Jekyll-and-Hyde effect alcohol had on him, he was drinking a lot. He was impulsive and diagnosed as a "rapid cycler," meaning that, when the dark clouds came, they moved in quickly and settled in deeply. There was a family history of mental illness and suicide, and Eric's history of depression, which began in his early teens and was being treated (successfully, Joy thought) with anti-anxiety medication. "But the truth is, there wasn't just one." The funniest guy in the room, talented mixed martial arts fighter, tough hockey player, loyal teammate, adoring boyfriend, generous soul and beautiful, gentle, artistic boy seemed to have it all.Ī suicide turns family and friends into investigators trying to piece together the tragedy: What signals did I miss? Why did he die? How could I have stopped it? "I know everyone wants to find ‘The Thing.' We all want to find a reason," says Joy, a single mother since her divorce in 2007. 2, 2013, en route from Calgary to his grandmother's farm in Kenaston, Sask., for the long weekend, Eric Schmit posted a giddy Facebook status update: "I'm comin' with bells and whistles, Kenaston!!!" The following night, after a day spent goofing around on go-karts with his younger brother, he took his own life. I still want to talk about him," Joy says simply. Every year, Eric's would-be age continues to climb, even though his life was cut short.
"When I meet people and they ask me how old my kids are, I tell them, 'Justin is 29, Conner is 19 and Eric would be turning 22,'" says Joy Pavelich, 52.
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