Robin Williams

I have spent the last 48 hours, as most others, being inundated by the media barrage in response to Robin Williams’ death.  It is enough to take my breath away.  I have been pretending to myself that I am just another person listening to and watching the coverage, but I now officially surrender.

It is part of the aftermath of being a suicide survivor that this kind of event becomes just plain personal and “extra hard”.  Sorry, but fancy words escape me.  It is just more intense than it is for others.  At least I think it must be. 

And it is not the fact that it reminds me of my son’s suicide.  Not at all.  Yes, it is a little more “in my face” than usual, but seriously, does anyone think I need at any point to be reminded?  I always say in my blog that I continue the journey of my life with as much joy and peace as I can, with the spirit of my son and his destiny always walking alongside me.

So it is not being reminded. 

What is so difficult is watching and hearing people’s responses to it.  Watching everyone talk the talk, and waiting for someone to start walking the walk.  We are going to do more…we are going to do better…everyone should be aware.

Being positive, I do believe that this one man has now definitely brought this problem to the forefront of our lives, and certainly, there must be very few people who have not read or watched at least some information about his death.  And, as the beautiful karma of life, he was so dedicated to making others happy and so beloved, that there seems to be little criticism or sarcasm in response to his act.  It seems that everyone is simply so sad and regretful to lose a beautiful soul and stunned that it was in this manner.  As it should be.

My worry is that this will last for this week, and soon, sooner than later, it will be yesterday’s news.  And all of our good intentions, all of our passion, to help those who suffer from mental illness and addictions, who are at high risk for suicide, will fade away.  We see it each time there is a news event…the school shootings, the military issues, other shootings, etc.   People are determined to be part of change, but it doesn’t change.  I don’t know how to fix this.  I try in tiny ways without being annoying to remind people.  I talk about it, I write about it, I join organizations and donate, I try.  And I am not afraid to literally ask someone if they are “okay” when they are very, very upset. (and they know what I am asking)  But am I helping?  I don’t know.

Maybe our loss of this great artist will push more people to maintain their efforts to work toward improved acceptance and even more importantly improved care for those with mental illness.  Maybe this time the conversations will continue longer.  Maybe because of his station in life there will be substantial funding for research and improved medications.  This is what we need to pray and hope for.

Ironically, for me, Robin Williams was not one of my favorite comedians.  He was too edgy and over the top for me.  He made me nervous.  BUT, he was one of my favorite dramatic actors, and one of my favorite human beings.  I loved him more when he could just be himself, and in his serious roles his eyes gave away so much.  I especially remember watching in awe at the beautiful friendship he maintained with Christopher Reeves…how he was at his side, took time from his schedule, and surely was part of the force that kept this Superman alive.  Now there are so many other stories coming out about his kindness to others, his true humanitarianism, it is overwhelming.

What I have learned from my life, is that in times of tragedy, all we can do is to keep on going and survive in one way or another.  Robin Williams would want us to take as much good from this as we could.  We need to ride the tsunami wave that is happening right now, and learn, educate, and help.  I hope we will and I hope it will last a long, long time.

At the same time, we can remember and revere this one man on this huge earth, who was able to do so much while he was here, who so embraced all that is good in our human selves that he is now on the minds of and in the hearts of everyone.  And amazingly, we can watch and see how a beautiful existence can continue to help and teach, through the universe that is our humanity, even after his earthly body is gone.

RIP  Robin Williams…your pain is gone, but your brilliance shines on forever.

Memories Can be Awkward

Last night, I went to a 50th class reunion for my grammar school!!  Class reunions by nature, I think, evoke all kinds of anxiety, beginning with is anyone going to recognize anyone!  And, lots of us didn't recognize each other at first.  (we did have nametags).  Once past that however, it is an amazing experience to go back in time, and reconnect with our youth and all those who were part of it.  We have all traveled a long road since then, yet for this one night, we were all together again, sharing memories and laughing at all the innocence and angst of our youth.

For me, and perhaps there were others who had similar situations, I knew I was walking into a situation where I would be asked more than once about my family, and "how many children do you have?".

Such a simple question for most people.

Such a quandary for me.

I am able to talk about Erik now easily and happily, and in fact am always grateful for an opportunity to mention him, so the question is not a problem for me.  The problem is that I feel badly because I know that when people ask about my children, they are expecting a "normal" answer..."I have one child, three, five children", etc.  They are not expecting me to say, "Well, I had two sons, but I lost one..."  and then trail off because I immediately need to respond to their reaction, and usually end up assuring them that it's okay they asked, that I'm okay, and please don't feel bad.  I decided a long time ago, that even though there are times when it would be easier to say I have one son, that I was not going to pretend that Erik didn't exist and not mention him.  In most one-on-one situations, I now have this down pat, but I have to admit, in such a festive and party atmosphere, it is hard to out of the blue clobber someone with the information that you had a child that died.  No one doesn't think this is the most tragic of situations.  No one can imagine it happening to themselves.  So when it arises at this point, I always become the "consoler" rather than the "consolee".

One of my themes of this blog is that things always take you by surprise in the road to recovery, and no matter how much you think you've mended, or learned how to handle a specific situation, there is always that bolt of lightning you didn't expect.  So, sure enough, after negotiating through the first half of the evening, and mentioning Erik a few times as I had expected to, I had my lightning bolt over the salad at the buffet!  I was standing across a nice man who had been a classmate, not realizing he had lived in our community when my boys were growing up.  He did not ask me a generic question about my kids, but instead began telling me how well he remembered Erik playing basketball, watching him, what a good player he was...and so on.   As he spoke, I was so warmed by the fondness in his voice, as I often talk about Erik and his high school basketball career, and how it was his joy in life.  But also in that split second as he was talking, I had a moment of panic in thinking of what to say to him.  How do I tell this man who is being so kind sharing a great memory of my child, that this memory is now just that, only a memory, and this wonderful young man is gone?  How do you say that to someone with salad tongs in your hand?  It becomes a moment of being a little surreal, and boy I was tempted to not say anything.  But out of respect to Erik, instead I told him in as supportive a way as possible, that I was so happy that he remembered my son, but that we had lost him a few years ago.  And then I felt so bad, because this poor man, who was simply chatting and getting his salad, looked so stunned, and almost as if he might cry, and I wondered for a moment if I shouldn't have said anything.

Maybe others would choose not to say anything.  And that's okay.  Maybe that's the better thing to do.  I don't know.  But in my heart, Erik was here, and now he's gone.  It was part of his legacy that his life was short.  And so I will continue to mention his life and his death.  I do it for him.  It is attention I don't really care to have, I would rather Erik was still here...and I could have told this man that he is teaching his son how to play basketball.  But I can't.

The most important thing is, and I sent this person an e-mail telling him so, that this is actually a joyous moment for me.  Someone talking about Erik and especially remembering him on the basketball court.  So while I am sorry I had to "shock" him for a moment with what I said, I sincerely thank him for remembering my son.  And it doesn't matter that it's been over four years now.  In fact, the more time goes on, the more grateful I am for any excuse to remember him, and even better, to know someone else is remembering him.

For that's what we have now, is memories, and what a great surprise for me, that someone I hadn't realized knew him, remembers him in such a great way.  So I want to say to this classmate, Joe, thank-you for your words and kindness, and never for a moment feel bad that you brought my son up...over the salad bar.  It was a great thing!

Always Searching

I haven't written anything new here for a long time.  I sort of ran out of steam, and it seemed that the blog wasn't being read, so I figured... had a good run, I will someday do a hard copy version of things I have written and leave it with my grandchildren.  I feel as though it will always be a tribute of sorts to Erik, and if people read it, maybe a few of my words could be in some way helpful.  My heartfelt goal was always to hopefully inspire or comfort someone, to say that it is possible to feel life and joy again after the heartbreak of losing someone to suicide.

Today I had something happen that so belongs to the message of my blog that I just wanted to write about it.

It had been a very arduous, stressful, and upsetting week for me.  My life, eight years after my divorce, seven years after I bought this house I was sure would be my last,  and four years after I lost my son, has come to a major juncture and taken paths I wasn't expecting.  My plan of working til 66, which is really financially necessary, is not seeming realistic with some of my health problems worsening.  And, lo and behold, as a testimony to second chances, I have a new person in my life to plan a future with, who is to me the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. He however lives in another city.

I have spent 4 or 5 days of nearly constant thinking, discussing, and flailing about, trying to decide what I can do to be financially responsible and independent, and trying to know if I am courageous enough to take a leap into a totally committed life with another person.  And, I am wanting to know who is going to guarantee that this whole new life is going to work out okay and I am not going to end up penniless, or a widow in a strange city, so on and so forth.  And, at the worst moments of this momentous pity party for myself, wondering how it is that my life at 64 years of age is completely unsettled and now looking like a "do-over".
I don't know if I have the emotional or physical stamina for all this, and I really just want my life to be settled, and boring, and predictable.

So when my boyfriend handed me an article in his city's newspaper, that spoke directly to me, cut me to the core, and had me in tears, I just wanted to share it.  And if you believe in serendipity like myself, it is hard not to smile thinking that this article was printed on this Sunday morning, after this week of total anxiety in my life, and that if we look for it or maybe just are willing to accept it, there are always other people to speak to us and inspire us.

This article was written by a journalist named Nestor Ramos and these are some of his words of inspiration.  He wrote this as his last article for the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle.  His story was that he had moved to Rochester only five years ago, starting over in his life, and lost his wife two years after their move.  He is now moving again, and has found a new person who is going with him.  He writes this:

"...while I'm leaving, I'm not starting over.
After all, life doesn't really do subtraction, does it?  That's as true for places as it is for people:  Everything just gets piled on top of everything else.
Sometimes something big and heavy gets tossed on the pile:  illness and sorrow, tragedy both public and private.  Looking down at the pile, that one big thing is all you can see for a while.
But then new things -- small things -- start getting added:  A smile, a handshake, a hug.  That big, heavy thing starts to get buried too.  You don't get to choose what's in the pile any more than you can choose which memories rattle around in your head.
Today, tomorrow, whenever: you look at the pile and...that's your life."

Later in the article he talks about his five years in Rochester and at his job and he says:  "They're all in that beautiful pile I'll carry around forever: friends made and kept, lessons learned the hard way, loved ones lost and found.
Why would anyone want to give that up in the name of starting over?...Thank God, there's no such thing."

I often joke that when tragedy strikes, we become the target of endless cliches and analogies...What doesn't break us makes us stronger...one day at a time...et al.

However, I am so grateful to Mr.Ramos for this inspiring and beautiful analogy which came to me at a perfect moment.  I will be making changes in my life.  We all do, some more than others.  Some are imposed and some are sought after.  But I will no longer think of events stopping and starting what is the essence of my life.

I will simply add them to the pile.

                                                                                                                                       

Getting Through

I decided to see what other thoughts I could find about this challenge of getting through the holidays.  I just love to go to Google and type in some very specific thought and see what comes up.  So I went and simply typed in "getting through the holidays after a loss" and voila, there were eight trillion articles.  Well, not quite that many, but a lot.

One of the first ones listed was an article sponsored by a PBS website/program called This Emotional Life.
The article was done by a Dr. Camille Wortman, who specializes in studies regarding devotes her practice to dealing with grief with a special focus on sudden tragic loss.  The article is very clearly written in an outline format, with very specific suggestions.  I felt very good that a lot of things Dr. Wortman speaks to are things I have often talked about in this blog.  On the other hand, clearly this woman is an expert and professional in this area, so the article is very thorough and insightful, and I highly recommend looking at it for suggestions and help.  I attempted to set up a direct link, but I think it is protected because it is part of the PBS website.  However, if you go to google, and just type in:

getting-through-holidays-advice-bereavement

you will definitely obtain the article.

One of the things Dr. Wortman wrote about was "the ambush", which is something I have talked about so often.  What she says is that there will always be those things that happen that we simply can't prepare for or avoid because we just can't see them coming.  The example she gave was about a woman bringing out her Christmas tree ornaments, and suddenly finding one that her son had made for her when he was small, including his palm print on the ornament.  Of course this poor mom dissolved into tears, and her bravery in attempting to carry on and have a tree in the first place, was poorly rewarded by this extra bittersweet moment.  Yet, how beautiful that she has that ornament, how special such a small thing can become when we are embracing the memories of a loved one.  It almost comes full circle to say that we have to continue to participate in rituals and celebrations, so that some day others can remember us and our participation.  And that ornament can be on her tree, and yes, her son who is gone too soon has literally left that little hand print one her life and so many others, so visible on that tree.  And if it makes her too sad this year, she can put it toward the back of the tree so she doesn't have to see it all the time, and perhaps as each year goes by, the ornament can be moved forward and upward, to a more prominent place.  It is hard work, this grieving business, but we can do it, and with some thought, salvage even the hardest of moments.

For myself, I seem to never stop learning something new when I try to think about things, or even literally do research.  And it makes me feel connected to read about what others do and/or what advice others give.  As I am thinking about this, I am remembering that I usually say "whammo" about these moments.  You know...I was doing okay, and then, "whammo", there was that object, that song, that word, that little boy who looked just like Erik, and for a moment, I have to get a grip.  At first, it may cause a complete meltdown.  But then, it becomes easier to have the thought and keep going.  And in the end, would I ever want to live in a world that doesn't remind me of Erik when I least expect it

...hhhmmmmmm...that's an easy answer.  Of course not.  I will always be grateful for the sudden reminders, for as many times as they may make me sad, they also make me smile.  And that's what we do for the people we love.  We have feelings, for without our feelings, who would we be?

The Holidays are Back

I think that Christmas has snuck up on everyone this year.  The weather was so mild, Thanksgiving was very late with only three and a half weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  And so here we are, Christmas is only two and a half weeks away...incredible!

When I think about the holidays and people we miss because they have left us, I am realizing more and more, each year, that every situation is so different, and it is different for two main reasons.  Each person lost to suicide was unique and special, and played a specific role in our lives.  And, each of us is very different, and were at different places in our lives when we were thrown into this turn of events of learning to live with suicide loss.

So our heartache is intense on an equal level for equal reasons, but the resolution is so different for everyone.

When I lost my son, I was already in my late fifties, and had been recently divorced.  My holidays were becoming quieter and more nostalgic already.  No more major trips for toy shopping, no more back to back turkey dinners for my family and my husband's family.  No more juggling going to my mother-in-law's or sister-in-law's for Christmas Eve and then my sister's for Christmas Day.

So, were my son still here, my holidays would be quieter and feel different anyway.  I am trying to
remember that.  Granted, losing my son takes all of this a step further, and while each year is easier than the last, I have made my peace with the fact that there will always be limit to my anticipation for Christmas.  To put it simply, jolly is just not part of my Christmas vocabulary.

In some ways, this makes me feel sad, or almost guilty, but as they say..."it is what it is".  I do my best, and I will enjoy most parts of the upcoming weeks.  I tend to steer clear of Christmas music and certain movies, and I avoid the toy stores.  I have learned to try to assess a situation ahead of time, and figure out where the land-mines might be.  And then I do my "count my blessings' routine, and find my joy in that.

I guess what I am trying to say here is that I am thinking of those who don't have the same options.  I can't imagine what it would be like to get through a first Christmas after losing your husband. and have to still be there for your young children, or to be a newly-wed and suddenly have lost a brother or parent, and your mate is at a loss to console you.  For this exact moment, I am actually trying to remember what I did the first Christmas...I honestly can't.  Partly, this will be my fourth holiday without Erik, and some of the past ones are starting to blur together.  Last year seems the clearest to me, and I was blessed to be with my son and grandchildren, and a new man in my life.  We made turkey dinner and presents were fun.  I was able to get some of the old sparkle back.  But it takes a long time.

One good thing is that there seems to be a lot of recognition that in general, everyone doesn't get to have a Norman Rockwell Christmas.  People have loss, people are fighting illnesses or have lost jobs, and the joy of the season seems to sometimes be a cruel reminder of things that are not joyous.

So what do we suicide survivors do about this?  We do what we always do...we survive, and as time goes on, we start to thrive again.  For those who this Christmas is one of the firsts, my heart and prayers go with you.  Do your best.  Cry but try to find moments to share with others to find at least a little peace and quiet happiness.  Do not try to be brave...do what you need to do for yourself, your family and friends will understand.  Cling tightly to where ever you find love, be it your Faith, your family, friends, or a place of comfort - your home, a place of volunteer work, or a getaway in the country.  You have my personal exemption from having to do anything...if the stores drive you crazy, and you leave in tears, stay out of them.  Go to the drugstore and get gift cards for everyone.  If you used to bake cookies, go to the bakery.
Take care of yourself, and get good sleep.  Try to get out to a friend's or a coffee shop.  Do something you never thought you would do...like adopt a pet, (or try writing).  If you go to counseling or support groups, go more often.  Or, in the end, just keep breathing, get through these extra hard days, so you can get back to a slightly easier road to recovery, to start a new year, to build back up and think forward more often than back.

Do what you gotta do, it is what it is, and know that some day, you will find peace and joy again, and it won't necessarily be Christmas.

Kindness is Classic

I am watching "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer".  An no, there are no children or grandchildren here, just a silly grandma being overly sentimental with the holidays at our doorstep.  And yes I am enjoying it very much...just smiling at the corny parts and feeling...well, just plain sentimental.

Last winter I wrote step by step regarding survival of the holidays when our lives have endured out of the ordinary loss, or tragedies.  I hope to write more often again this winter.  I am a year further into my journey, and some things seem very different, while others stay the same.

However, for tonight, I am just going to write about Rudolph.  Who among us between the ages of thirty and sixty don't consider Rudolph nearly as iconic as Santa himself?  

While I am having fun, I can't help but wane philosophical over why this little vignette captures the hearts of everyone.  I could talk about the writing courses I have taken and analyze this   program...hhhhmmmmmm...let's see.  Yes, it has a likable protagonist, it catches your interest with the first few lines of the story, it has interesting supporting characters, it has colorful scenes, and it has a definite story with climax and resolution.  More recently, I have learned that the ongoing thread of every great story is that someone is trying to obtain something they desperately want.  So the obvious is, of course,

that Rudolph does not want to be different, and wants to be accepted.  Wow!  So obvious, yet how far have we come in this respect in our everyday world, and how far backward have we gone?

I am not sure if families and children are still watching Rudolph.  Maybe it's too silly or unsophisticated.  I would wish that they might, and that we could all go back to basics for our children and teenagers.  It is part of my new soap box to say that the stressors and expectations we put on our teenagers these days is completely unacceptable, and then we wonder why they are engaging in behaviors that are unacceptable.

To come full circle here, is the obvious I know, and I say it not because I think we don't all know it, rather to take a minute to have us all think about it again.  At our core, we all want to be part of the community, we want people to like us, we want to feel secure and connected.  The poor misfits in the Rudolph story were rescued in the end, and all lived happily ever after.  Our misfits are not living happily ever after.  Some of our teenagers are not finding their niches or their comfort zones.   Not only do they feel rejected by their peers, they may feel they are disappointing the adults in their lives.  At the worst end, they are being bullied.

The holidays are a time of sharing, caring, and love.  Sounds so corny.  Yet, if we could embrace that corniness, all of our lives would be enriched.  Our children would be in less danger for sadness and bullying.  And for those of us who carry memories which are bittersweet, we can use that warmth to take us through these next five weeks.

My husband and two sons always watched "Home Alone" together, and it was our tradition.  I had seen it the first time at the show with Erik, and I always remember how we both laughed so hard that we cried.  It was a big deal in the family...we had the CD...and Erik had a McCauley Caulkin shirt because he looked just like him.  I still cannot watch "Home Alone" since Erik died.  But I can watch Rudolph, so I will think about that.

To all my readers, we will begin this holiday season, and do our best.  And when we're strong enough, we will promote the idea so sweetly given us by Rudolph, that we all simply want to be accepted and loved.

My Father Was Right



My father always told me, that the older you get the faster time goes by.  Tomorrow, September 11th, would have been Erik's 29th birthday, and of course I am feeling sad and missing him.  It occurred to me that I could look at last year's post, so I did, and it seemed so weird.  Another year!  How could that be?  And now his fourth birthday we've been without him.

I seem to have a much harder time with his birthday than his deathday.  I think for the anniversary of the day our loved ones died, you pretty much don't want to remember it, you just feel that you need to recall the person and mark the number of years they've been gone.  So it is sad, but it is consistent in its sadness.  It's the day they died.  It was probably the worst day of our lives.  There is no confusion or conflict.  We wish it didn't happen, we would change it if we could.  We hate that day.

But, for me, his birthday stirs up so many different feelings, and so many memories.  The day he was born, his childhood, family get-togethers, how he looked, how he laughed, how he loved his basketball. ...

Walk Out of Darkness - Sept. 14, 2013

On Saturday, September 14th, the Western New York chapter of AFSP will sponsor its Walk Out of Darkness.  It is held in Delaware Park, and begins at 10:30.  For more detailed information, this is a good reason to google the AFSP website and be aware of what it has to offer.

I did not attend the walk the first year after we lost Erik, but did attend the second year.  I did not attend last year because I was "mad" at AFSP,  (yes, ridiculous reason), but I will be attending this year.

This is one of those things that can be so helpful to someone, or may not be appealing at all.  Thankfully, there seems to be a huge ...

Song for Father's Day

 

For those who have lost their dads, and the dads who have lost sons or daughters.

 

Dads

It suddenly occurred to me that just because I am fortunate enough to still have my dad, at this stage of my life, I am one of the very few who do.  One of my best friends just lost her dad in January. I know this will be a hard day for her.  He was 90 when he died and a WW II vet.  I look on facebook and see post after post of friends my age who are remembering their dads who are gone now.  Especially fun and touching are the black and white photos with my friends as children and their young dads with their Brylcream haircuts.  I notice that the passing of years doesn't seem to diminish the sense of love and loss, whether it's one year or twenty, or thirty.  We all get just one dad.

I can't imagine what it might be like to have a dad who died by suicide.  I had noticed when I was participating in one of the on-line forums that one of the women had lost her dad nearly twenty years ago, and was still working it through in her mind.  We say that losing a child is an aberration of nature, that parents should die first.  Yet, when a parent dies, it is devastating for a different set of reasons.  Our parents were supposed to be our security, the ones to help us.  To have them leave by their own hand, and what seems like choosing to not be there for us, must shake us to the core.  Especially if someone is young, they then have a whole lifetime of not having their parent.  The empty chair at graduation, the bride who doesn't get walked down the aisle, the grandchild that doesn't get held.

I don't want to say a lot, because I don't know how it feels.  I know parts of how it feels, and it always feels bad.  I know that fathers who lost sons are also feeling bad today, and I know my ex-husband is thinking of Erik.

So to all who are having a hard day today, I just want to say you are being thought of, and my prayers are with you.  God bless you.

Mental Health Care

Today I had taken a sick day from work and wound up clicking on the TV to watch Dr. Phil.  I tend to have a love-hate relationship (well, not a relationship, feelings toward him I mean) with Dr. Phil, because sometimes I think he is so profound with such common sense, and other times I think he is a little "too much".  But today I am glad I watched, only to be reminded where my heart is.

Today's episode guested a family of parents and two boys, young men, one of whom has severe conduct/emotional problems.  I suppose that it caught my eye because he reminded me of Erik in appearance, and our family structure was also one of two sons.  The young man had problems which on the surface seemed very different from Erik, but he was 25, the age of Erik when we lost him, and he also lived with his parents. 

During the program, they did not name a diagnosis for his problems, but referred to the family having sought help for him many times, including therapists and counseling, but all to no avail.  The greatest difference in this young man's problems and my son was the fact that he became extraordinarily violent with his family, and in fact nearly killed his brother at one time, hitting him in the back of the head with a wooden object.  His outbursts were so aggressive and violent, as well as frequent, that my heart just went out to the family.  It seemed they were in fear for their lives, yet were unable to find any solution to solve the problem or find the right help for their son.  They had tried everything, had been struggling for seven years, and had made no progress.

Been there, done that.

And here they were, on the Dr. Phil show.

At one point I had one of my tsunami moments and was brought to tears, which doesn't happen to me that often any more.  But throughout the interview, it was clear that this man meant no ill will to his parents and brother, and was at a loss to explain why he is unable to control his behavior.  His description of the despair and remorse he feels afterward, broke my heart.  Finally, at one point, he looked his mom in the eye and simply said, "I love you, mom".  She replied that she loved him as well. 

How unfair is this?  This typical family, good people, who had probably led a lovely existence and maintained their family life, torn to shreds by their son's mental health problems.  How were they unable to find help for their son?  Where is the medical community?  How is it that we can clone living things and transplant body parts, but we are so short of learning enough about our brains and body chemistry to treat mental health problems.  Or are there just not enough of us who care?  Or are the politicians not willing to designate enough funding for the research?

I'm not sure what the answer is, but I am sick to death of it.  Young men like this one, (and my son and young women), are healthy young people who should have an opportunity to live a productive and happy life.  These parents should be rewarded for their efforts in raising their children in a loving and nurturing home.  If destiny has thrown them a curve ball, and they continue to try, try for seven years, where is the help and resources they should be able to find?

I just can't believe in my heart that the medical community couldn't be doing a better job.  There is a missing link here.  I don't know if it is awareness, willingness, lack of compassion, or poor priorities when delegating dollars.

I do know that the suffering is excruciating, and that the number of people visited by this tragedy is growing every day. 

There is movement toward doing better.  There are organizations and individuals campaigning for awareness and raising funds.  If you do an internet search, it would seem that help is everywhere.

But it isn't. 

Take my word for it.

The Military and Suicide

On Sunday, I watched the PBS program done every year in Washington DC, to honor and remember our military and their families, and especially those we have lost or have been injured in service.

The program was beautiful, with tributes and music to stir our souls and make us take time out of our busy lives to remember those who deserve to be remembered.

Partway through the program, Joe Mantegna and Gary Sinise did a re-enactment of the story of twin brothers who had both been in the military, and been deployed several times in the past decade.  At times they were in the same arena, and others were not.  The younger brother sustained serious injuries in his last deployment, including amputation of one of his legs.  His older brother never got over the thought that he should have somehow been there to prevent it from happening.

The older brother also witnessed other losses and horrors of war in his deployments.  Upon returning home, he found the adjustments difficult and suffered from PTSD.  He struggled to participate in a "normal" life with his beautiful wife and three young children, always keeping in touch with his brother.  However, as the years wore on, he was unable to progress out of his depression and dark moods, and he ultimately died by suicide.  The story was so poignantly told as the two actors, each speaking of one of the brothers, presented the strong emotions of both brothers on their journeys, including the surviving brother's thoughts after the other was gone.

The surviving brother, wife, and three children were in the audience.  I thought they were so brave to be there, with tears flowing freely as they listened to this short depiction of a situation so heart-wrenching on so many levels.  Afterwards they were greeted and embraced by Joe Mantegna and Gary Sinise.

 

I was filled with so many emotions...but the predominant one was to stand up and cheer for the producers of this program.  Congratulations to them for bringing this out in a respectful and honorable way, in a way that said that these young men who come home with PTSD and TBI's, who are unable to re-enter the mainstream of life, and who are at such high risk of ending their own lives deserve as much recognition as those with very visible injuries.  Thank-you to those who supported putting a spotlight on this problem, to make people aware, and hopefully obtain better care and support for these soldiers and their families, and my sincere condolences to this family who will never stop feeling the effects of these events.

Coping Strategies

So Mother’s Day is over.  Here are some of my coping strategies.

I spent the day with a very nice person who has come into my life, he is very understanding and supportive.  One of my favorite expressions is from Dr. Phil.  He calls that person in your life that you should be able to depend on and rely on, “your soft place to fall.”  I just love that.  Everyone needs a soft place to fall.  It may be a spouse, a significant other, a sibling, a friend, or most anyone.  They become as they say on Gray’s Anatomy, “your person”.  (After my divorce  my father became the one who I felt was always there, and who would give me sane advice, and hopefully would support me in my endeavors.  He was “my person” then.)

Good thing I was with my person, because the beginning of the day was spent fighting back tears, and mostly losing the battle.  This was my fourth Mother’s Day without Erik, I didn't know why I was so upset!  I had promised myself I would spend the day with my son Jason and my grandchildren, but decided a sobbing grandma was not a great asset at a picnic.  Jason happened to call in the middle of one my meltdowns, so when I started apologizing he told me that I should do what I needed to do to make myself okay, and if I wanted to stay where I was, that it was fine with him.  So that was my second strategy, doing what I had to do for myself, instead of feeling guilty and going to a gathering I would have a hard time feeling a part of. 

My third strategy was in spite of all the support I had, at the end of the day, I ate a lot of cookies.  Now, I am sort of joking about this, but not really.  For me, sugar is my addiction of choice, and it is apparent in my dress size.  Often people figure that it is better than drinking, gambling, narcotics, etc.  But the reality is, as we all know, it really isn’t  healthy. 

I am sharing these ideas with hopes that others found ways to get through this day and any others that are difficult.  I used two smart ones, and the third not so smart one.  If you are new to the survival game, they are something to think about, and it is okay to very deliberately plan how to get through certain anniversary days or holidays.

Plan on being with someone who can be your “soft place to fall”.  It may be that the person who used to be your soft place to fall is also fighting their own battle for survival, and for a little while can’t be there for you like they used to.  It’s okay.  Try to rely on others.  Surviving the death of a family member, especially a child, is extraordinarily hard on relationships. 

If it is too hard, be honest with family members and tell them you don’t want to hurt their feelings, but that you need to not attend the party or gathering.  I have tried just going to a family gathering because I felt I had to, and it set me back.  I have tried just saying I wasn’t coming, and then worrying about it, and it was almost as bad as if I had gone.  If you can find the right person, and say – “I can’t come, and the reason why is…”, you will open yourself to their support and then spend that time trying to take care of yourself instead of  worrying about someone being upset with you.  When Jason told me it was okay not to join him and the kids at the picnic they would be at, I believed him.  And I felt good that I had at least let him know that I wasn’t indifferent to his feelings, that I had wanted to try, but just wasn’t there yet.

And finally, be aware that these are the times that our more unhealthy coping mechanisms will surface, and God knows we might think we have a good “excuse” to go back to them “just one more time”.  So remember to be cautious if you have old demons that don’t believe in letting you do something “just this once”.  Plan to otherwise occupy yourself, or have support around you.  If you have serious issues and have a support group or sponsor, call them.  It is okay to say, “I know it’s been four years, but I think I’m going to have a really hard time getting through this day.”

And once the day is over, know that you made it through one more thing, and will continue down the road you're on.  And if you took a little detour, that’s okay, just follow the signs to get back to the highway.  And once you're back on path, we will all be there together.

A Poem for Mother's Day

Always

 

Your time with us was so much shorter than I ever wanted it to be.

We tried so hard to keep you here, your grief we couldn't see,

A mother would always give her own life for her son,

But you didn't give me that chance.

I would have done just anything to keep you here with me.

 

Twenty-five years was shorter than I ever thought it could be.

The treasure of your existence, something I clung to desperately.

I just didn't want to lose you,

Life sometimes isn't fair,

But I know your destiny was set, by something greater than me.

 

The world has taken you away, some say by your own hand,

I know you wanted to stay, but just couldn't understand

how to find some joy and solace, how to make your life okay.

I never was angry you left me, I know you did what was planned.

 

So sometimes I think the universe won,

Your time here was short - a mother should never lose a son.

 

But there is something that you taught me,

A lesson so great and so real,

That on this day of all days, this is what I feel:

 

I did not have you for only twenty-five years-

I had you then, til now, and for always.

Because you still exist, your spirit so strong,

You're here every minute, and will be my whole life long.

 

So not for twenty-five years, but for always:

 

I have your little baby self, head on my shoulder and forehead so soft, always,

I have the toddler with white-blonde curls, always moving and climbing, always,

I have your preschool graduation, with you so shy you turned sideways as if no one could see you then, always,

I have the little boy laughing so hard on the living room floor at his favorite cartoon, always,

I have the bigger boy playing soccer, running as fast as the wind, always,

I have the basketball star, a picture of joy and ease on the court, always,

I have the young man so wise beyond his years, consoling me when I was in tears, always,

I have those last years we were together, as harried as they were, always.

 

And that's what I hold tight to now, that I have the spirit and joy of you,

Always.

For that I am grateful, with no regrets, always.

 

by Mary Ann Kirisits

 



A Song

This song always makes me think of Erik.



Being Erik's Mother

My beautiful Erik...he was something.  He was a handful from the start, cranky as a baby, never sleeping through the night, and always on the move.  He had blonde hair that was almost white and curled, but just at the ends, and the brightest blue eyes.  As a child he was always on the small side, which just made him all the cuter.  He was the opposite of his brother in every way,  but very funny and very sweet. 

I know I have said it before - but it seemed that everyone especially loved him.  I think it was because he always had a bit of a shy nervousness about him, which just made him more appealing and caused people to reach out to him.  I remember that his preschool teacher had always obviously favored him, and told me once that he was a favorite of the other little kids at the preschool.

This continued on that he was always popular and likeable, and while school was hard for him, he excelled on the soccer field or basketball court.  I may sound like a biased mother, but I often heard other parents or people watching the games, saying, "Hey, look at him", or, "look at that guy run", or, "look at him pass the ball."  I think he stood out because he always, in that one venue, look relaxed and so joyous.  He was never a poor sport, or hard on himself or the other players.  He just loved being there.

Then as his mid-teens turned into his late teens, he seemed to have issues and conflicts so much greater than the "normal" teenage angst.  And from there on until we lost him, life was a haze of mental health issues, frightening days, angry days, and sad days.

But this is not what I want to say right now.  What I want to tell the world right now, is that I never, ever, regretted being or wished I wasn't Erik's mom.  Maybe most people would say well of course that's true, but when I initially looked back over his last third of his life, all that we went through, and then the heartbreak of his death, I couldn't help but be surprised that I didn't walk around wishing I had gotten to be someone else's mother.

I even played out this little fantasy in my head.  I would pretend that I got to talk to God ahead of time, and he said to me, "Mary Ann, this is what Erik will be like, and how your life will be with him".  Then he would show me other sons to choose from, who were extraordinarily gifted, found school and careers easy, and lived long and very successful lives.  Then God would say, "So you can choose to have any of these souls to be your son, or you can choose to still have Erik, knowing how hard it will be".  And without even thinking about it, without missing a beat, I would always say in my fantasy, "Oh no, I only want Erik.  He's the one I want."

In my brain, I step back and think this is amazing.  Why would anyone choose to have a hard time instead of an easy time?  If there would be no judgment or penalty, why would I not choose a joyous easy family?  It seems like an enigma to me.

As I grapple with it, I guess there is only one obvious answer...it is the inexplicable ability of mothers for unconditional love.  It is that belief deep in our hearts that it was our destiny to be the mother of certain human beings, maybe one, maybe two, maybe ten, it is that  bond of motherhood.

And no matter how hard it was, and whatever heartbreak it brought, I will always be grateful I was Erik's mother, and would not have traded him for anyone in the world.  For me, this was motherhood.

I love you Erik.

Apology

I feel like I should apologize for saying that Mother's Day is stupid.  Of course, it is not stupid.  It is just so hard for me to make sense of the day now.

Mother's Day is actually a very beautiful day, and, if I remember right, it was "invented" by one of the presidents in honor of his mother.  It is so appropriate that the mothers of the world be honored and remembered in a special way, it is so inherent in our understanding about all that is love and compassion. 

My reaction to it is just part of the package of being a suicide survivor, and I realize it could take many forms over this one day.  What of the children whose mother left them because she committed suicide?  What about the poor dads who have to look at their broken-hearted children and support them while missing their spouses?  What about the siblings who know their moms will be extra sad?

My more rational self remembers that each type of relationship brings a unique pain to the suicide survivor.  I remember when I used to read postings in the support forums, it seemed the people who had participated in the forums for the most years were those who lost parents.  It made so much sense to me.  After all, our parents are supposed to be our security, our unconditional love, and our safety net.  I can't imagine what it is like to have that basic emotional security ripped out from under you.  To begin with, you are a child, so the process of even understanding what has happened probably changes every few years as you mature.  Then there are all the milestones that your parent is supposed to be there for...graduations, weddings, childbirth.  It is no wonder that these folks were still participating in the forums and searching for their peace and closure.

At the in-person support group, I remember feeling so badly for a woman whose husband had died by suicide.  She was so shattered, in so much shock, and in this situation, had so much anger.  And she also then had to deal with the reactions of their children and other family members.

Those who had lost siblings, in addition to their own grief, were so sad for their parents.  And yes, Mother's Day is extra hard for my son as well as me.

I guess it is the cornerstone of suicide that it brings a cruel reversal to many of life's events.  What should often be the most joyous or are meant to be celebrated, are reminders instead.  This happens for all the holidays for all types of loss...including divorce and children leaving the family home, separations for those in the military, etc.  But the sharp edge of suicide is that the person themselves caused their own departure.  Please notice I do not use the term choose to leave, since I am militant in my crusade against saying that people "choose to die".  No one would ever choose to die, our loved ones would have chosen to live life - had they believed it was ever going to be a possibility for them to do so with some sort of joy or peace, but they lost that hope.

So I will try to not panic so badly about Mother's Day.  However, I have to confess I will probably avoid obvious displays of the celebration of the day, such as the Hallmark stores and Sunday brunches.

And most importantly, I will on this day and all days be forever grateful that I was Erik's mother for twenty-five years, I thank God and the Universe for that.

Mother's Day

In a few days it will be May.  In Western New York, springtime is a long awaited happy and fun time, after what is usually a fairly long winter and sometimes not so great spring.  The effect of the warm and mild weather with long days of daylight until 9:00 o'clock PM on one's activities and mood is hard to imagine unless you live in an area of four seasons.  It truly is a tangible experience!

I am like everyone - so excited, relieved, and happy for the nice weather.  However, I have to say, that along with May comes the inescapable holiday of... Mother's Day.

I actually recall going through the first Mother's Day after the loss of my own mother, more than ten years ago.  Like the phenomenon I have written about so many times before, it seems that during these times, our perceptions play cruel jokes on us.  I remember that I tried to shop for a card for my mother-in-law the day before, and as I started reading the cards was barely able to contain myself.  I looked around the store, and suddenly the whole store was mocking me with roses, pink and red items, and pretty little things to buy for your mother.  I remember leaving the store, and when I got in the car, the radio announcer was talking about Mothers' Day.  I went home in tears, and am embarrassed to admit, I think I called my poor mother-in-law to tell her I was sorry and wouldn't be buying her a card, when I had a complete melt-down and started complaining that Mothers' Day was a stupid holiday and who the heck "invented it" anyway!  Little did I know then, that there would be greater challenges to face.

Of all the holidays since Erik's death, I am least successful in finding a way to cope with Mothers' Day.  There are no other things to focus on such as trees and gifts for Christmas, or dinners and flowers for Easter, all to be shared with a number of cherished loved ones in our lives.  Or for many, Christmas and Easter have great spiritual meaning and can be embraced for the comfort that they may bring.  Unfortunately, for those of us who have lost a child, there is no escaping the singular purpose of Mothers' Day: to pay tribute to motherhood. 

Motherhood, a word that imports the strongest of emotions, the greatest variety of circumstances, and a universality and longevity that surpasses all other human relationships...motherhood.  The closest connection one human being can have to another.  Unconditional and undying love.

I have often said that I respect and reach out to all those who have lost someone in any relationship to suicide - that while people say losing a child is the most difficult experience or loss a person should have to go through, I don't believe it should be held apart from other losses...
but...
for this one day, I take it back!  For this one day, it is the worse kind of loss, the most unimaginable, the cruelist twist of fate.  I have found no way to make it better or easier, and now I already dread it, two weeks away.

I don't know what it would be like, nor can I imagine, what it might be like to lose an only child to suicide, or to any other death.  My heart goes out to those who have lost their only child. 

I do have my other son, as well as my grandchildren.  But to be honest, it seems like this just makes the angst of the day all the worse.  For while there is no way to avoid being consumed with the thought that I am the mother of a son who is lost, at the same time, my other son is desperately trying to make it up to me, to remind me that I do still have a child, I still am a mother, and please find joy in that.  I know that if it weren't for him, and because my own mother is no longer living, I could easily hide away for the day and just pretend it didn't exist, or at least try to.  Or I could just for this one day regress and wallow in my pain and sorrow, that I am a  mother who's child left her by his own hand.  But I can't.

And I won't.  I will find that mix, that strength of all that is bittersweet, and celebrate the day with my son.  I will thank God that I have him.  I will appreciate him even more than I might have under "normal circumstances".  He will perhaps be more kind and thoughtful than most sons would be on Mothers' Day under "normal circumstances".  But, we are now like this all the time, and could get by without the special day.

So, I realize my attitude is very skewed and "not normal".  But I can't help it.  I hate Mothers' Day.  And who invented it anyway?  And I wish the stores and radio would just shut-up about it.  It's going to be a long two weeks.  Stupid Mothers' Day.

Limbo

A few weeks ago, I was speaking to someone who had lost a daughter through illness.  She spoke of going to as many as three different support groups, and had found them helpful.  What caught my ear, is that she said one of the groups was very informal and was composed of parents who had lost one of their children more than two years before that.

I think the week she told me about it, I was feeling particularly...something. 

I feel this something just a little bit all of the time, and a lot every once and a while.  I am at a loss to explain it.  It is nothing terrible, not sadness, not despair, not depression, nothing that interferes with my day to day living.  It is just a very vague, underlying, undefineable gnawing feeling of floundering just a little bit, as if the ground has become slightly less solid under my feet.

I know it has to do with Erik, although it is quite frankly more about me. 

If forced to define it or try to figure it out for myself, I guess I might say it is that ever present subconscious presence of knowing.  Knowing that no matter what I do, or how far I come, or how much I look like everyone else on the outside, I am forever different from the majority of people on this earth, for while the numbers are so much more than we want them to be, the percentage of people who lose a child through suicide is very small. 

Sometimes when I hear others talk about their children, or see others with their children, especially adult children, I think to myself, I think, "Oh, you get to be a regular parent, one who doesn't lose their child by suicide."  Or I just plain think, "Oh, you are a normal parent, it won't end for you in this bizarre twist of fate."

And the worst part of it all, is that as time goes by, it doesn't get better, it just stays, like some pesky little annoyance of the insect world buzzing around my ear, that I can't see, can't squash, and just will not leave my side.  And the more time passes, the more I know it is never, ever, going to leave. 

So this is very frustrating.  After so much "working through my grief", after rebuilding, after all of the conspicuous ups and downs of the first two years...and then three...I am left in this state of Limbo.  I am not figuring out what to do about this.  I need a support group!!  Or advice!!  Or some sort of epiphany to help me accept the something feeling and let it go.

I am grateful to be past the worst of it.  I as always assure others it is possible to feel better.  But today I am "fessin' up".  This is not perfection.  This is not heaven or hell.  This is Limbo...and it can feel a little lonely at times...

(If there is anyone out there who feels themselves in the same predicament, please remember my
e-mail address is at the side of this blog, and feel free to drop me a note, especially if interested in an informal cup of coffee.  Thanks!)

Alliance of Hope

The Alliance of Hope is an organization for survivors which provides a comprehensive forum including information, booklists, memorials, and a community forum. I hope you find it informative and helpful.