I'm A Coward

I wish I could say how many times people have told me, "You are so brave."

 I am here to tell you that I am not brave at all.  In fact, I tend to think of myself as more cowardly than most people.  I guess if I analyze it, I can appreciate what others are saying; it just isn't my perception of how I have handled the the loss of my son. 

So I am here to say to you, surviving the loss of a loved one to suicide is not the time to act courageous.  I am telling you, "Don't try to be brave."

If it is your nature to be very independent and not ask for favors, if you are someone who likes to feel in control of things, if you feel you have responsibilities that cannot be neglected for a time, this is the time to morph into a different person - at least for a little while.  This is the time to care about yourself, and feel sorry for yourself if you want to.

 At first, every day will be a balance of managing the tasks of the day, and wandering through the onslaught of emotions that have been forced upon you.  It is okay.  Hopefully you are surrounded by people who realize this and are supporting you and taking their cues from your needs for that day.  If you need to cry, it's okay; if you need to sleep, it's okay; if you need time alone, it's okay; if you need to be in charge of things for your loved one's funeral, and can do it, then that's okay too.  But if you need to ask someone for help...ask.

 I would plan the major portion of my son's services, and then all of a sudden couldn't do more.  So I would say to my sister, "This part is all done, but can you order the flowers from everyone for the funeral parlor?"  I would actually admit that I didn't care about the flowers right then, and that I knew she would do a beautiful job anyway.  The thought of interacting with restaurant managers to plan a luncheon seemed beyond my abilities as well, so again my sister and family took charge of that, and of course it turned out beautifully.

However, there were things that I had to do, such as choose a gravesite and decide on services, so I saved my emotional energy for those.

The only time I tried to act a little braver than I really felt was in the presence of my older son, Jason, who was so devastated and upset as well.  That I felt was necessary, and if something came up while he was with me, I would put that feeling or thought on hold if I knew it would upset him more than he already was. 

Someone may need help from their physicians to get through those initial days, or for a time after that.  They may need to put off doing anything for a few days, until they are able to focus and absorb what has happened.

I remember that at one point I was telling my sister I was worried over something I had said to someone, and, knowing I would "get" the dark humor and laugh, she said, "For a little while, you could say almsot anything to anyone, and no one will get mad at you!"  So I had to laugh thinking about it, and while I realized she was right, decided I should be careful not to take too much advantage of that philosophy!

I guess that one of the things I have learned from my experience, is that what they say about having to "go through" the process, and not around it, is true.  I'm not saying that we shouldn't allow ourselves a little denial here and there, that is a survival mechanism.  It would be almost impossible to process and accept the whole reality of a suicide all at once.  But we need to parcel out our energy so we can get through each day, according to what we are up to.

So it becomes a weird task of prioritizing what we can do and what we can't.  When I say don't worry about being brave, what I mean I guess is to not worry about "doing it all".  Life as we know it has been interrupted, so the regular daily tasks need to be put on the back burner, til we can gradually get back to some sense of normalcy again.

To begin the journey of survival and healing, at first thing we need to accept is that there is no sense or logic that will explain what has happened, and how we feel.  Allow yourself time and space to handle things the way you need to handle them.  Keep going, keep breathing, and sooner or later, you will feel your strength and desire for life come back. 

In other words, don't be too brave.  It's okay.

 

Stronger



Looking back on support systems that helped me and strategies I used to travel this long and bumpy road of the grieving process, I have to confess that I can't think of anything I didn't try.  It is my nature to be resilient and to pick myself up after a bad spell...and I had faced challenges before.  At one point after my divorce, I joked with dark humor that my life could be described as one big cliche'... "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger"... "everything is a learning experience"...when one door closes another door opens"...and so on and so forth.  One time someone said to me that I would be stronger and I guess I really wasn't in the mood, because I sort of lashed out and said, " I don't want to be stronger, how much stronger do I have to be?"  But, most of the time  I can be philosophical and find a way to go forward.

After Erik was gone, at first, the support came to me without my even seeking it out.  Family and friends were there a lot - my family did errands, planned the funeral breakfast, and purchased flowers; cards, flowers, and money arrived at my door, and it is true, food appears by the trayfuls.  While I was always the kind of person who hated to ask someone for a favor or rely on someone else, I somehow knew that this was a time to accept as much help as I could get!  So, I did, and I maintain my adage that I "floated through the week on the support and love of my family and friends".

But the real work of grasping and processing what had happened, healing the deep heartache and pain I faced everyday, managing the guilt and questions, and redefining myself and my life, could be done by only one person, and that was me.

I tried so many things I would like to talk about them in my next few posts.  They will include: accepting help from others, talking, accepting cards and condolences and responding to them, finding little ways and little things to use as remembrances of Erik, crying, sleeping, reading, researching about suicide and spiritual afterlife, participating in on-line forums for suicide survivors, journaling, grief counselors, medical doctors, working, not working, participating in support groups, counting my blessings, and participating in the family support day last November.

One thing I found was that sometimes the things that seemed as though they would be the most helpful, I did not care for.  For example, most people who know me would have expected me to delve into journaling and support groups, and neither were appealing to me, even though I tried them.  Probably the most consistently helpful to me was my reading, whether it was a books or doing on-line research, and talking to others.  And, far down the road, I actually made a concerted attempt for the first time since my divorce to date or meet someone, which looking back now really does seem like the last piece of the puzzle in deciding "who I would be now".

In scanning my list, one thing is conspicuous to me, and it is that there are many ways to find help and support.  In our day of internet communication and information, one has to simply input "suicide survivor" into google, and all sorts of avenues are laid out for us.  It is for us to try them out, see what feels like it is helping, and utilize it.

Also, a part of this is the timing.  There are things that didn't work well in the initial stages, but help me now.  Likewise, there are things that helped at first, but no longer hole the same meaning to me.  And, it is true that there are always ups and downs, times I thought I was really out of the woods, only to find myself backtracking and feeling worse than usual again. 

So we need to map out our own journey as best we can, what will help us, and sometimes try things that we really don't believe will help, and work on it day by day.  At first it may be a concerted effort and take a lot of thought.  But as time goes on, we will sift out and keep what buoys us up, and get rid of what we don't like or don't need anymore, and it will just be a part of us, the new us. 

We will always have those sad feelings and miss our loved ones, they will travel alongside us, but the new person we are will be better, kinder, more joyous, and yes, stronger.



The Journey -- We Are All Different and The Same

 

       From the moment we know our loved one is gone, and that in fact they left us by taking their own life, the world becomes a completely different place.

        Those first days afterwards our energy is consumed by our efforts to just keep breathing and trying to realize in our own minds that what has happened is real.  At the same time we need to deal with the cruel reality of planning our loved one's final rites, as well as many other logistical tasks that need to be done.

        Often there is so much to do and so much support that we can coast along in a fog of what comes our way for those first few days or weeks.

        Then, suddenly, the chaos is over and we are left in a deafening quiet which forces us to say, "Oh my God, this has really happened", and struggle with the second reality of  "how can I keep going without them?"

         We realize that all the wonderful people we  have leaned on need to get back to there lives. 

         So the dance begins.

         We may have others who have offered to help us, but we need to fight our way back to some semblance of a "normal" life.  A different life, as a different person, but a life that has some meaning and functionality for us. 

        How do we do this?  How do we make that journey?

        The journey itself will be very different for each person.  No ones heartbreak is easier or harder than the next person's, but the ties we had with the deceased and the history of our own lives will start our journey from a place different from everyone elses.

        I was 59 years old and had recently gone through a divorce after a 31 year marriage.  I was old enough to have experienced the death of family members and friends.  I had always worked in a helping profession with families with challenges.  The year after my divorce had been extremely difficult, and I had made some bad decisions in taking care of myself at that time.  I  guess it seems that I had been through experiences that in some small ways prepared me.

        Still, I had two sons and now one of them was gone, my survival was not going to be an easy one.

        Another factor that makes each person's experience very different is whether the person who we lost to suicide had a known history of mental health issues, or if they on the surface had appeared to be happy and content with their lives, even perhaps very successful, and the act comes as a complete shock.

        The other significant issue is whether the person had to "discover" the body of the deceased and see the person after their death, in the setting where it happened.  Often this is in their own homes.

        As I write about things that might help someone, or talk about what I found helpful, I am painfully aware that it may be very different for someone else.  I guess my hope is to present the thought that there are many ways out there to help ourselves recuperate, but only we can figure out which ones to choose and decide which ones are helping us.  These are the guideposts and supports as we travel down that road of our journey to healing, different for each of us - sometimes forward, sometimes back, but one we can endure.  But we are all the same in our pain and our need to heal.



       

Thriving after Survival - THRIVAL

        When I read the most recent statistics of suicide, it was over one million worldwide and thirty-six thousand in the United States.  It was interesting that it was also stated that for each suicide, there are approximately  six more people whose lives are dramatically affected. It seems that the impact of suicide becomes almost exponential in its repurcussions.

        First of all, I feel fairly certain the estimate of six people being strongly affected is a very modest estimate.  In our society of interconnectedness and communication, people feel very impacted by significant tragedies, and I am in awe of the outpouring that is seen when tragedies occur in communities, everything from memorial services to fund-raising for family members.

        While the numbers are important, I worry more about the qualitative aspect of life moving forward for suicide survivors.

         As with many other life events, the response of those left behind by suicide are as varied as the people themselves.  Some are able to move past to embrace life again in a positive manner, but some are unable to prevent a downward spiral in their own lives which is so severe that in essence, their lives are lost as well.  I have had occasion to hear about or have read about persons who after a suicide loss, particularly if it was someone's son or daughter, were unable to even after a long time recuperate to a point of leading fulfilling lives of their own again.

        I makes me so sad to think that some people survive but only barely, and in essence they lose their lives as well. 

        There is something I have been thinking about which I never "confessed" to anyone, not my closest friend, not my sister, and not my grief counselor.  A few years before I lost Erik, I had said something to him, and I think I said it more than one time.

        I used to say to him: "If you ever do anything to yourself , you better take me with you, because my life will be over anyway."

        I know those are very strong words.  I guess I said it at desperate moments when I thought I could guilt him into staying alive, as outrageous as that sounds now even to me.   Or I may have been appealing to his kind soul by saying that if he wouldn't keep going for himself, to do it for me.  In retrospect, I do think he held out longer than he might have just because he knew it would break my heart.

       So now that I have lost him, and although it has been the most difficult thing I have ever done, how did I in my mind and heart do a complete turnaround, and decide that I would not just survive, but  that I would thrive and be happy again?

        I think the first glimmer I had about finding a way to move forward was that pretty early on I suddenly had the thought that if Erik wasn't able to continue on, that it was my job to live for the both of us.  I suppose that especially because I was his mother, I felt I was somehow carrying his spirit with me and should find beauty and  meaning in each day I possibly could, and somehow it would make his life more meaningful.  Or maybe I was haunted by the idea that he had endured many difficult days and weeks trying to stay alive for me, so now I owed him the same, even if my heart was in pain and it took every bit of my emotional and physical strength to do so.

        Maybe I was just able to do the cliche' of flipping the worst of situations into something good, and decided I was going to be the most joyous and fulfilled version of myself that I could be; that I would be an better person than if I hadn't lost my son.

        Whatever the reasons have been, again I want to say it was not an easy task, and we suicide survivors have to be fighters and workers to recover.  I wish I could somehow magically touch all those who are still so grief-stricken that just getting up in the morning is difficult...(I know how it feels)...and bring them some inspiration to take the next step of their journey.

         I was talking about this to someone yesterday, and they said, "Oh, so it is not true that time heals all wounds, it's really working at it that does."  I think this is true...time does help, but it's what gets done during that time that makes the differnece.

        

A Bridge Called Love,  author unknown

It takes us back to brighter years, to happier sunlit days,

and to precious moments that will be with us always.

And these fond recollections are treasured in the heart

to bring us always close to those from whom we had to part.

There is a bridge of memories from earth to Heaven above...

It's the bridge that we call love.

Regrets

        The world is fraught with books and inspirational speakers (and inspirational wannabees like me!!) who give the message of not looking back, live for today, don't worry about tomorrow.  A professional worrier for the future, this has always been a challenge for me.
I have actually come a long way, but need to consistently

Serendipity

        There is so much written now about spiritualism and the paths that our lives take.  As with every other aspect of life, we have many choices to make and philosophies to embrace as we hopefully evolve and try to learn more as our lives progress.  If there is one thing I have learned, it is to expect the unexpected, and that if we keep our vision clear, little moments will be presented to us that offer clarity and serenity to our souls.

        I had made a decision ahead of time that during the funeral itself, I wouldn't go to the gravesite.  It was the one thing I felt  I couldn't do.  It was a cold and dreary January day, and I learned later that after the casket was escorted to the gravesite by my ex-husband and my son Jason, a prayer was said and they were present while the casket was lowered into the ground.  I know if I had been present for that, I could not have not been able to bear it.  So I had left right after the prayers said in the cemetery chapel and gone to the restaurant where the breakfast was to be held.

        After the breakfast, I was driven back to the church by my sister and brother-in-law.  It seemed soothing to be driving my car home, and the weather hadn't made the driving bad.  The route back to my house took me right past the cemetery.  Without even reconsidering, and in spite of the fact that three hours before that I had felt unable to be there, I drove my car through the cemetery to the gravesight. 

        As I approached the gravesite, I was overwhelmed by the thought that it was so cold, and that Erik's body was in that cold ground.  I felt so angry that even though I knew it was temporary, that the gravesite looked so messy...like just a dumpy piece of earth, with dirty snow and soil mixed together.  Flowers were left on the mound of earth, but somehow it just made it seem worse, like some half-hearted attempt to make something that was awful look nice.

        And so of course I cried.  It was the first time it was just me and Erik together.  I didn't rage on or have a great assortment of emotions.  I just felt the purist sadness a human being could probably feel, and told Erik that I just plain wished he wasn't "in there".  I think I told him I wished it wasn't so cold, and that it looked better at the gravesight.  I only stayed a short time, and then went home to join Jason, worried how he was doing.

       When I got home, I found Jason in the living room.  We looked at each other and I think both felt so helpless.  Suddenly there was nothing to do or say.  He spoke for both of us when he said, "You know, all week long I kept thinking I couldn't wait until this was all over, and now I don't know what to do."  We spent a little quiet time together, spoke to Erik's dad on the phone to be sure he was okay, made a few phone calls, and talked a little about Jason's kids.  On top of everything else, the day of the funeral was my granddaughter's birthday.  It was the weekend of Martin Luther King, and the kids had a three day weekend, so we were going to have a cake for Marissa the next day.

       Finally I said I thought I would go upstairs to lie down and see if I could rest, which I thought would give Jason some privacy and time to rest as well.  It turned out that I fell sound asleep for the entire afternoon, until dark.  Then what happened I will always remember.

       I woke to find the room dark, which was a little confusing to begin with, because I knew that meant I slept a long time.  But what was very confusing, and what had woken me up, was some sort of sound that seemed like gunfire coming from outside.  At first I thought I was imagining it, or had a bad dream about Erik shooting himself.  But as I listened, I knew the sounds were real, and thought maybe it was a car backfiring.  Then it seemed to be going on and on, and I actually began to get a little frightened.  I was still so groggy, and wary of what I would discover, that I approached my bedroom window very slowly and with trepidation, still in the dark.

        As I pulled the curtain back, I heard the sounds again...boom-boom-boom.. and to my amazement, saw a beautiful spray of fireworks in the sky!!!  I couldn't believe my eyes.  So I stood in the dark, thinking..."what could be more perfect...the first thing I see as my life without Erik officially begins, is a beautiful panarama of fireworks."  It was as if for a few minutes heaven and earth were the same, and Erik and I were together.  I felt like the universe was telling Erik that he had been special, and that those fireworks were almost mystical, going off for just him. 

         And so I stood in the dark and quiet, wishing the moment could last forever.  The fireworks did go on for a little while and I practically held my breath, not wanting anything to disturb the peace of the moment...and of course, I will never look at fireworks again without thinking they are just for Erik, because he was special.



         

       

Thoughts and Cliches

I have written so much about the first week without Erik, from that Tuesday at noon that I heard the news, to the sermon in the church on Saturday. It seems weird, but instead of wanting to forget about that week, I want to remember and embrace every moment of it.

I Only Wanted You, author unknown

They say memories are golden, well, maybe that is true.
I never wanted memories, I only wanted you.

A million times I needed you, a million times I cried,
If love alone could have saved you, you never would have died.

In life I loved you dearly, in death I love you still.
In my heart, you hold a place... no one else could ever fill.

If tears could build a stairway and heartache make a lane,
I'd walk the path to heaven and bring you back again.

Our family chain is broken and nothing seems the same,
But as God calls us one by one, the chain will link again.

The Catholic Church and Suicide

    

    My family is Catholic and I myself fall into that cliche of the "fallen away Catholic".  I have at different times attended Church fairly regularly and at other times barely at all,