Parents who lost a child to suicide share their stories to help others cope

May 15--The last time Kathy Shott spoke to her son was shortly before Christmas 2013.

She recalled that he was sad -- the 31-year-old was going through a divorce -- but he also seemed to be looking to the future. She said he thanked her for the socks she had sent to him in Missouri and mentioned they would come in handy when he returned to work.

"Mom, don't ever forget how much I love you," she remembered him saying over the phone.

On Christmas Day, he took his life.

It's a story Shott, who lives in San Diego, has told multiple times since the death of her son, an Iraq War veteran who served in two branches of the U.S. military. She shares it in support groups that help people who have lost loved ones to suicide.

She and other parents agreed to tell their stories publicly after a 15-year-old boy called police to Torrey Pines High School with a BB gun in his waistband and a suicide note in his pocket.

Police shot and killed Jacob Peterson, a freshman at the Carmel Valley school, on May 6 after he pointed the BB gun at one of the officers and refused to drop the weapon. The note was discovered a day later.

Shott and the other parents who spoke to The San Diego Union-Tribune last week said they wanted to help others dealing with a similar loss. They said they hoped to encourage open discussion about suicide and the efforts to prevent it, and to fight the stigma they felt because of how their children died.

"Once the funeral is over, it's over. People go about their lives," said Shott, whose therapist told her about Survivors of Suicide Loss, one of many organizations around the country that provide resources to people dealing with this type of tragedy.

She attended her first support group in San Diego County just two months after Tony Shott, the youngest of her three children, ended his life. She's been attending them ever since.

In those meetings, she found people who understood what she was going through. She knew she wasn't alone.

"At least when you walk in that room, you aren't judged," said Kathy Shott, who retired from the Air Force after 30 years, reaching the rank of chief master sergeant. "We don't need to be judged anymore. We do it enough ourselves."

Shott said she now views her life in two parts: before Tony and after Tony. Before, she had known her son to be a "happy-go-lucky" kid who joined the Marines shortly after he graduated from high school and later served four years in the Army, where he worked as a military intelligence specialist. But life and military service changed him, she said. He was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder.

Support groups helped Shott learn to live her life "after Tony," rather than to simply exist. She now leads a meeting every month in Chula Vista and is working to start a group in June at Marine Corps Air Station Miramar.

But it's the Hillcrest group that feels most like home.

"I call the Hillcrest group MY group, where I get to talk about my feelings and how I'm doing," she said. "In the Chula Vista group, I'm the one that's trying to let (others) know -- we will survive together."

Diane Pignato was living in the Chicago suburbs when her daughter committed suicide. It was 2012. Shana Lebiedz was 28.

"She was actually 16 when she started to show some signs, you know, of distress," Pignato said. "I could see that she was having some problems."

Pignato said she took her daughter to counseling. Her daughter began taking medication for depression and seemed to get better after that, graduating from high school, then college and later pursuing a graduate degree in social work. She got married in 2011.

"All these great things were happening," Pignato said.

Then things began to change. After earning her master's degree, Pignato's daughter had trouble finding a job in her field. She became angry and started to isolate herself from family and friends. She stopped taking her medication and eventually told an uncle she had thoughts of suicide.

She was hospitalized once the family found out that she had a plan to end her life.

"I was trained in school that if they have intent and they have a plan, it's imminent," said Pignato, who worked in the Illinois court system as a forensic social worker before she retired.

Shana Lebiedz stayed in the psychiatric hospital about a week before she was discharged. Afterward, she refused to go to outpatient care, her mother said. She continued to isolate herself from family. She told her mother she was planning to cut down on her medication.

"I was freaked out," Pignato said. "I didn't know what to do. ... I just felt helpless."

Lebiedz left the hospital in August 2012. She died Oct. 1.

About three weeks later, Pignato found a support group in her hometown and began attending meetings. "I knew I needed help," she said. " There was no way I was going to do this on my own."

The groups, she said, helped her process her thoughts and feelings: sadness, anger, guilt, blame. The meetings, along with other resources -- books, lectures, online resources -- helped her understand what she was feeling and know that it was OK.

"This is normal," she said. "This is grief."

Pignato is in the process of moving to San Diego to be closer to her son and grandchild. She is involved with Survivors of Suicide Loss, practices meditation and is spending more time outdoors.

"You realize that that's your old life and you have to create a new life," she said. "I have actively created a new life."

Rozsa and Aaron Harris of San Marcos lost their 21-year-old son, also named Aaron, to suicide on April 17, 2015. It wasn't the first time he had tried the take his life. He made an attempt when he was 19.

After that first attempt, the parents let their son know how important he was to the family, including his two siblings. They sought help from a mental health professional for their son's depression.

"We did everything according to what people were recommending," Rozsa Harris said.

Because their son was older than 18 and a legal adult, he could decide for himself whether he would continue treatment, which frustrated his parents. They could not access his medical information without his consent, his mother said.

But he appeared to be doing better. He was in college and had a part-time job and a girlfriend, his mother said. He was quiet but didn't seem to be in a state of distress.

"I think I was just worried to bring up the words, 'Aaron, are you thinking about suicide?'" the mother said. "Those are exactly the questions you have to ask."

After their son's death, the parents started attending support groups regularly. They were hesitant at first, unsure whether they could speak about their son among strangers. But they learned at the meetings that they could talk if they wanted, about what they wanted, when they were ready.

There was no pressure.

"It makes a huge, huge difference," said the father, Aaron Harris, adding that the groups allowed him and his wife to meet people who managed to find joy and laughter again after a heartbreaking loss.

That gave them hope, he said.

?

Suicide prevention resources and support groups

--San Diego County's It's Up to Us program provides an array of resources at up2sd.org.

--The San Diego Access and Crisis Line, for anyone in immediate need of help, can be reached at (888) 724-7240.

--The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is available at (800) 273-8255 or by texting TALK to 741-741.

--Survivors of Suicide Loss, which provides support groups for those who have lost a relative or friend through suicide, can be reached at (619) 482-0297.

--American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, San Diego Chapter, has an outreach program that provides support to people who have lost someone to suicide: (855) 869-2377.

dana.littlefield@sduniontribune.com

Twitter: @danalittlefield

___

(c)2017 The San Diego Union-Tribune

Visit The San Diego Union-Tribune at www.sandiegouniontribune.com

Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.