Snowdon

There was a knock on the window of the mini bus. 

I was startled awake as the door slid open letting in the cold night air. 

I was immediately taken back seven years to that cold night in a car park in Nantwich. I had no idea where I was. Or how I had ended up there. 

But this time I was at the foot of Snowdon. It was 4am. 

Completely exhausted, I pulled on my hiking boots and clambered outside. 

Just one more climb.

I looked out towards the rocky Pyg track ahead of me. I willed myself to reach the summit. The final summit. 

And I could leave it all there. 

Just put one foot in front of the other. 

Focus.

Keep going. 

The 2017 Samaritans Report found that there were 6639 suicides in the UK and the Republic of Ireland in 2015. Female suicide rates had increased in the UK by 3.8% and male rates remained three times higher than those of females. 6639 tragic losses. Countless devastated family members and friends. The UK still faces a mental health and suicide crisis, yet it seems only now people are finally waking up. 

6639. 

Last year I had the crazy idea to take part in the UK Three Peaks Challenge in memory of my best friend Kannan. There were approximately 45 other people alongside me, all bound together by common experience and undertaking a physical challenge that was beyond comprehension. Each of us had pledged to reach the summit of the three highest UK peaks (Ben Nevis in Scotland; Snowdon in Wales; and Scafell Pike in England) within 24 hours. Each of us were there for a reason. 

The group had travelled to Fort William in Scotland the day before. As we descended on the town for a pre-challenge pint (or two), people began to swap stories of why they were there. Despite me being at a point where I was able to share my experiences, I kept quiet. I still did not feel able to share my memories, even with people who had likely faced similar tragedy to me. That’s when I realised. Sure, I had signed up to this challenge to raise awareness of mental health and suicide, and to do so in Kannan’s memory. But I was also there for me. 

I had to let go. 

View from Ben Nevis Summit

We set out to climb Ben Nevis early the following morning. The views were stunning. The contrast was stark. A feeling of being dwarfed by the Grampians versus the size of the grief I was carrying with me. As I approached the summit, freezing mist blocked the views around me and I was completely alone. In that moment, the disconnect Kannan’s suicide had caused me came forward. The isolation. Pushing myself to keep moving; seeing the path ahead; knowing there were people not far away but not being able to reach out to them, connect with them. This was the reality of how I’d been living over the past few years. All the feelings I discussed in my post three years ago were floating in front of my eyes. Guilt. Hurt. Inadequacy. Loneliness. 

At the summit of Ben Nevis
(Approx. 9am)

I walked on for twenty minutes without a word or sight of anything other than a wild stag wandering the path next to me. As I climbed, the mist began to disappear, and I realised I was emerging above some of the clouds. The summit of Ben Nevis was almost in reach. Part of the group had already made it. I touched the trig point at 9am, signifying a successful first climb and the view was breath taking. Our guide explained that he climbed Ben Nevis at least 15 times per year and had only seen a view from the summit twice before. We were lucky but there was no time to celebrate. We had two more mountains to face before we called it a day.

Scafell Pike in the Lake District was a long, rocky slog in sheer darkness. The group was silent the whole way up. There was an unspoken agreement to leave each other with our own thoughts as we climbed through the night. We summited at 11pm. By this time, I was already sick with exhaustion and my motivation was wavering pretty fast. I had nothing to give Snowdon at that time. But the memories of Kannan’s laughter rang out of the darkness as I made my way back to the bus. He was somewhere out there in the night and he was spurring me on. 

At the summit of Scafell Pike
 (Approx. 11pm)

It took every last morsel of energy to pull myself off the minibus and carry on when I arrived at Snowdon. This was to be no easy feat but I knew successful completion would change me forever. I clung to that. I needed to let go. 

As I climbed, the Welsh mountain threw everything it had at me. The wind raged through the valley sweeping me off my feet twice. The rain hammered against my face. The Llyns beneath the path lay menacingly ready to swallow a weary hiker. Pushing on, I felt I was battling everything I had suffered since losing Kannan in 2010. I was weak. Tired. Cold. Emotional. But I was determined. Eventually, I pulled myself up onto the ridge where the summit towered ahead.

My tears began to fall as soon as I saw the summit. I laughed to myself that I was about to complete the challenge. I was not particularly fit. I had never considered myself a strong person or someone who could overcome adversity. But here I was approaching the peak. The previous seven years had brought me to that point. My grief had carried me there. The importance of leaving that grief at the top and then carrying myself back down that mountain was exploding out of me. I pushed on. 

At the summit of Snowdon
(Approx. 8am)

When I reached the summit, I became 20 again. The 27-year-old who had been so worn down and consumed by his grief disappeared immediately. I saw the faces of my friends. Kannan’s friends. Kannan’s family. My family. Those who had supported me. I saw every opportunity for friendships, relationships and experiences that my grief had taken from me over those seven years. I saw my guilt, my loneliness, my anxieties. I watched as the howling wind blew all of those demons away over the mountain range. I was no longer that person who was controlled by grief.

I walked off that mountain the person I was when I met Kannan. 

I was me again. 

When we build close friendships we impress part of ourselves on that other person and they likewise impress themselves on you. Your existence becomes connected. When Kannan died, the part of me that was impressed on him was ripped from me and died with him. Forming new friendships in the years after his death was not easy. The rejection and hurt I felt coupled with the feeling of having been an inadequate friend prevented me from being truly receptive to anyone new. I was not prepared to take the risk of becoming attached to anyone else. Since Snowdon, that inability has completely disappeared.

The week after the UK Three Peaks, I qualified as a solicitor and relocated to Birmingham. By leaving that grief on Snowdon and having a complete fresh start, I have been free to hit the ground running ever since. I’ve met some fantastic people, been open to new experiences and most importantly, I actually like myself. 

Even after my experience, I do not profess to know the best way to support a friend with depression or how to support a friend who has also been bereaved by suicide. Until very recently, I was completely unable to offer any comfort to anyone suffering a bereavement by suicide due to my own upset. Other than an acknowledgment that there will forever be unanswered questions and closure will be difficult to achieve, I had no other words to offer. I am still not sure that I do. 

But I do know that talking is important. Sharing our experiences is important. The more people who discuss mental health and suicide, the more support can be offered and more tragedy can be avoided. 

I return to the closing paragraph of my post from 2015. I still do not accept that time is “a great healer.” We need much more than just time to heal from grief. Time just rumbles on, leaving those grieving stuck within it. It cruelly reminds you that your inability to process your grief is interfering with your experience on this earth. 

The real healer is courage. If you can build up the courage in yourself to confront your grief, you will heal.  

#Hatnav

"The beautiful courage of us, the hope that defines our kind, is that we go on, no matter how much life wounds us. We walk. We face the sea and the wind and the salted truth of death, and we go on" 

- from Mountain Shadow, the sequel to Kannan's favourite book - Shantaram