I started a journal for Cha before she was born. I'd write all the typical pregnancy details, telling her how much she was loved and wanted and then wrote out her birth story and her first few days of life. The journal includes ramblings on different topics I want her to know, and the 'real story' of things that are happening in her child hood. Such as, the real reason she's not allowed in a neighbor kid's house (because there are some drug issues and police involvement).
Such is the case for many new moms, I wrote in it pretty regularly for a while. And then I stopped. In my mind I didn't realize that I had stopped tho. Every night when I lay with her, putting her to bed, I write out in my mind journal entries. I draft them in my head with the intention of getting up once she fell asleep and put them down on paper. But then I'd fall asleep.
The other night I actually managed to stay awake and after she was out I got up and grabbed the book. I crept downstairs and sat on the couch to get caught up on my writing. I still can't believe what I saw.
The last entry in the book was September 29, 2006. The day of her first birthday. How is it possible that I haven't written anything in six years?! What was most disappointing was that I began the journal entry with how I was excited to celebrate her first birthday with.....
Then I stopped mid sentence. Ugh. I remember her first birthday clearly, tho I couldn't tell all the details. The food, the presents, her milestones. They are a faded memory. Not that it's necessarily important for her to know these things, but I actually enjoyed reading all the details up til that point. I had forgotten a bit of what was written, to be honest.
Such as this....when Cha was three weeks old we drove out west to introduce her to my parents and the rest of the family. I was a very nervous and unsure new mom and I was having a hard time with breastfeeding and pumping and making sure I wasn't breaking her. We were driving in Ohio and Cha had a massive blow out so we pulled over so I could change her. The blow out was so horrific that it was up her shirt, both front and back. The smell was almost blinding. I was not the most calm or graceful new mother so changing a mess of a diaper in the back seat of the car (did I mention it was 2 in the morning??) had me frazzled. Since I was a new mom and lacked experience I failed to pack a plastic bag to dispose of dirty diapers. There was no way I was going to keep that stink in the car so I threw it over my shoulder, onto the side of the side on the Ohio Turnpike. And that's when the state patrol pulled up and shined his light on me. I thought for sure he was going to arrest me for littering, or at least force me to go pick up the diaper. He got out of his car and started walking up to me. I cried out that my daughter had gotten sick and I had to change her clothes. He stopped dead in his tracks and thankfully kept his distance. He kept the spot light on me and waited for us to finish and drive off before he moved.
I tell this story to Cha every time we drive out west. She actually tells the story now and points out where it happened (she claims to remember the spot). Only it didn't happen in Ohio, it was Indiana, so says the journal. Thankfully the rest of it is correct.
So the other night I forced myself to stay up late and fill the journal in with the highlights of the last six years. I only got four years updated and skipped most of the details, which is sad because as they say the beauty is in the details.
Two days ago was the third anniversary of my brother's death. As expected, it hit me hard. I talked to Cha about him and I recounted some of my favorite memories. We talked about the drive out to my parent's house after he died and all the details surrounding that trip (including her calling the St. Louis Arch the castle where her brother lives). She asked how Uncle Keith died and I told her he was very sick and his body just broke down. That's enough to hold off a seven year old. In the journal however I wrote more detailed information regarding mental illness, depression and suicide. I'm hoping the 20 year old girl I imagine her to be when she reads this book will appreciate the honesty and agree that seven is a bit to young for such heavy topics. I also want her to know how powerfully strong her grandmother was, and understand how her death hit me so hard.
I'm looking forward to the day when she's old enough for adult conversations.
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Saturday, November 10, 2012
getting there
This has been my 2012.
I am really looking forward to 2013. I'm excited to start a fresh new year.
I am really looking forward to 2013. I'm excited to start a fresh new year.
Friday, January 6, 2012
gottahava wawa (and a good cry)
I work from home on Fridays. I usually start the day by dropping off Cha at school (or the bus) and running to Wawa for coffee. Wawa is our local convenience store, similar to 7-11, Circle-K or am-pm and in my not so humble opinion, they have the best coffee on the planet. They are a mini town center, where you can meet and greet your neighbors and get caught up in what's going on in the 'hood. They are also just about the only place where I feel comfortable wearing PJs in public.The store was especially crowded this morning, tho I couldn't tell you why. Three registers were open with the same three cashiers I see every week. The lotto machine was down and customers were joking with employees about how it got broken. I got third in line behind a guy who also had a cup of coffee in hand. A buddy of his tapped him on the shoulder and asked if he could cover a 24 oz cup. He said go ahead and the buddy went to the back of the store to get his coffee.
One of the assistant managers announced to us that another line was open with no waiting, but I didn't want to move, and neither did the guy ahead of me. When he got to the front of the line the cashier said hello and asked if he wanted cigarettes, his regular order. He said yes and thank you and then the cashier said she hadn't seen him in a while and asked where he'd been. He said his father just died, pancreatic cancer, he fought for 18 months. The guy was out for three weeks helping with the arrangements and spending time with his mom.
When his transaction was finished his buddy called out from behind me about his coffee. The guy said he forgot and asked the cashier to ring him up. She did and he turned to me and apologized. Behind my tears I told him no problem and that I was sorry about his dad and that I had just lost my mother too. He said thanks.
Nearly a year and a half later and the pain of losing my mother still feels 'just'. When the guy left the cashier said 'You may think you may be, but you're never ready to lose a parent.' All I could say is 'Cancer sucks'.
I'll be enjoying my coffee over a good cry.
Miss you mom.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Sharing
In December 2007 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was open with the details and shared them with anyone who was interested. In turn I heard from many friends, family and near strangers who had similar experiences. I learned much from those who shared their stories. It made a difficult time easier..
In pretty much all of 2008 (and beyond) I battled with anxiety and depression. I did not hide the fact but was too paralyzed with fear to speak much about it. I could not bring myself to share many of the details. I posted a link recently that sums it up perfectly tho I did not have the words to describe it when it was happening. However, what little I did share was met by a virtual crowd of people screaming 'been there, done that'. I had no idea depression and anxiety were that common.
In November 2009 my brother took his own life via self immolation. I shared the news with everyone. I was shocked to hear the whispers of people who had lost loved ones to suicide or who had made attempts in the past themselves. It happens more than you know. I went to support groups to share my experience and to listen to others who felt my pain. For me, talking was the best medicine.
In September 2010 I lost my mother. The time leading up to her death was incredibly painful. I knew it was happening yet I could not bring myself to talk about it. There were a few emails to close girlfriends about my fears and perhaps an extra cocktail or two when I really didn't want to think about the reality. I was not in denial I was just tired of putting myself out there, again. Quite frankly, the pain is exhausting.
What I have learned most since December 2007 is the importance of being open and sharing. Keeping things inside, whether they are feelings or secrets, is dangerous. After my brother killed himself a friend shared that her boyfriend took his own life 20 years ago, while they were together. She did not tell her family and kept the details of his death secret from his friends. Twenty years later she's still carrying the same pain.
Not too long ago I learned that someone I love was abused in a very horrendous way. I shared the pain with my girlfriends because I needed to talk about it. I could not keep it inside. The pain was too much. And as always, the story was met with a loud roar of 'it happened to me too'. Who knew I had my own little support group of women who were abused when they were girls.
I have not found one feeling or experience that I've had that hasn't been validated by another person. And that's kinda what it's about, the validation. If I have it alone I must be insanely crazy, on the verge of losing my mind. If others have it as well, knowing there's a connection helps things hurt a little bit less.
Some have accused me of over-sharing or giving way too much information. That may be true but the more I share the better I feel, and I know that my words have felt others feel better as well.
In pretty much all of 2008 (and beyond) I battled with anxiety and depression. I did not hide the fact but was too paralyzed with fear to speak much about it. I could not bring myself to share many of the details. I posted a link recently that sums it up perfectly tho I did not have the words to describe it when it was happening. However, what little I did share was met by a virtual crowd of people screaming 'been there, done that'. I had no idea depression and anxiety were that common.
In November 2009 my brother took his own life via self immolation. I shared the news with everyone. I was shocked to hear the whispers of people who had lost loved ones to suicide or who had made attempts in the past themselves. It happens more than you know. I went to support groups to share my experience and to listen to others who felt my pain. For me, talking was the best medicine.
In September 2010 I lost my mother. The time leading up to her death was incredibly painful. I knew it was happening yet I could not bring myself to talk about it. There were a few emails to close girlfriends about my fears and perhaps an extra cocktail or two when I really didn't want to think about the reality. I was not in denial I was just tired of putting myself out there, again. Quite frankly, the pain is exhausting.
What I have learned most since December 2007 is the importance of being open and sharing. Keeping things inside, whether they are feelings or secrets, is dangerous. After my brother killed himself a friend shared that her boyfriend took his own life 20 years ago, while they were together. She did not tell her family and kept the details of his death secret from his friends. Twenty years later she's still carrying the same pain.
Not too long ago I learned that someone I love was abused in a very horrendous way. I shared the pain with my girlfriends because I needed to talk about it. I could not keep it inside. The pain was too much. And as always, the story was met with a loud roar of 'it happened to me too'. Who knew I had my own little support group of women who were abused when they were girls.
I have not found one feeling or experience that I've had that hasn't been validated by another person. And that's kinda what it's about, the validation. If I have it alone I must be insanely crazy, on the verge of losing my mind. If others have it as well, knowing there's a connection helps things hurt a little bit less.
Some have accused me of over-sharing or giving way too much information. That may be true but the more I share the better I feel, and I know that my words have felt others feel better as well.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
that's messed up
So the mom I mentioned a few days ago, the one who died? Well, she's alive. I can't even imagine what prompted whomever to post an obituary for a living person. The paper has since taken it down but it was up long enough for many people in the community to take note. It was up long enough for damage to be done.
A friend was kind enough to tell me over the phone. She wanted to make sure I heard the news before I stepped outside my house one day and saw a dead person walking around. In my current state of grief and missing my own mother terribly, I'm not sure how I'd respond. And what about my child who was told that the woman passed away, like Grandma and Uncle Keith and Aunt Florence and Pap Pap and Cousin Bobby? Will she suddenly think that there's a chance that all dead people will come back to the land of the living? I refuse to think of what the woman's children are dealing with and what they are forced to handle. Too much pain.
Death is much easier to explain than the mental illness that leads a person to publicly announce a death that did not happen.
A friend was kind enough to tell me over the phone. She wanted to make sure I heard the news before I stepped outside my house one day and saw a dead person walking around. In my current state of grief and missing my own mother terribly, I'm not sure how I'd respond. And what about my child who was told that the woman passed away, like Grandma and Uncle Keith and Aunt Florence and Pap Pap and Cousin Bobby? Will she suddenly think that there's a chance that all dead people will come back to the land of the living? I refuse to think of what the woman's children are dealing with and what they are forced to handle. Too much pain.
Death is much easier to explain than the mental illness that leads a person to publicly announce a death that did not happen.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
be gentle on my girl
Our neighbor just died. She was 32 and left behind four kids. Cha played with her kids and I talked to her regularly on the playground or bus stop.
This morning I had to tell Cha that her friend's mother had died. With every cell in my body I wanted to make her feel better by saying that her mom and dad were not going to die. But that would be a lie, because one day we will and we have no idea when that will be. It could happen in 40 years or it could happen this afternoon. I just don't want Cha to have those thoughts in her head. She already struggles with nightmares and separation anxiety. I am pained thinking about how frightened she feels when she's alone. I need my baby to feel safe.
I keep a private journal for her and hope she'll read it many years from now, after I'm gone. That's my plan. I want to stay safe and healthy so my child has her mother as long as possible. I want to journal about how proud I am of her college degree and parenting skills. I want to share with her my private thoughts about getting old and senile and give her advice on how to deal with an aging body. I want to journal about the fun her dad and I have with an empty next and an open road.
Right now I really need people to stop dying.
This morning I had to tell Cha that her friend's mother had died. With every cell in my body I wanted to make her feel better by saying that her mom and dad were not going to die. But that would be a lie, because one day we will and we have no idea when that will be. It could happen in 40 years or it could happen this afternoon. I just don't want Cha to have those thoughts in her head. She already struggles with nightmares and separation anxiety. I am pained thinking about how frightened she feels when she's alone. I need my baby to feel safe.
I keep a private journal for her and hope she'll read it many years from now, after I'm gone. That's my plan. I want to stay safe and healthy so my child has her mother as long as possible. I want to journal about how proud I am of her college degree and parenting skills. I want to share with her my private thoughts about getting old and senile and give her advice on how to deal with an aging body. I want to journal about the fun her dad and I have with an empty next and an open road.
Right now I really need people to stop dying.
Friday, October 28, 2011
favorite wisconsin story ever
My cousin Bob worked at the Tamarack in Portage and every time we were in town (which is usually a couple times a year) we stop in and say hello.
One night we went in and asked 'Is Bob working?' The waitress said 'Who?' We replied 'Bob.' The name didn't register at first until she said 'Oh! You mean Bahb! (said in the finest Wisconsin accent). Who knew there were so many different ways to pronounce Bob?
Bobby passed away Wednesday afternoon from a heart attack. He was only 40. Both his father and grandfather died young from the same. Sad is an understatement.
When my dad called me with news it didn't compute. He said: 'Your cousin Bobby died' and I couldn't put the words together. You see, another of my cousins is very sick at the moment. He's at the end stage of a cancer that spread to numerous organs in his body. That call would have been sad, but it would have made sense. A call about Bobby? Does not compute.
I would love to be there for the service, but I just can't. I mean, physically I could hop in the car today and be there in time but emotionally it's nearly impossible. I am not ready to gather around the family and mourn the passing of another loved one. I need more time. I am also not ready to tell Cha that Cousin Bobby, who we just saw in July has died. There's been far too many death notices in her short life already.
We may go visit for Thanksgiving or wait until next summer and I can tell her then. I just don't know. We both need some time.
Rest in Peace Bob.
One night we went in and asked 'Is Bob working?' The waitress said 'Who?' We replied 'Bob.' The name didn't register at first until she said 'Oh! You mean Bahb! (said in the finest Wisconsin accent). Who knew there were so many different ways to pronounce Bob?
Bobby passed away Wednesday afternoon from a heart attack. He was only 40. Both his father and grandfather died young from the same. Sad is an understatement.
When my dad called me with news it didn't compute. He said: 'Your cousin Bobby died' and I couldn't put the words together. You see, another of my cousins is very sick at the moment. He's at the end stage of a cancer that spread to numerous organs in his body. That call would have been sad, but it would have made sense. A call about Bobby? Does not compute.
I would love to be there for the service, but I just can't. I mean, physically I could hop in the car today and be there in time but emotionally it's nearly impossible. I am not ready to gather around the family and mourn the passing of another loved one. I need more time. I am also not ready to tell Cha that Cousin Bobby, who we just saw in July has died. There's been far too many death notices in her short life already.
We may go visit for Thanksgiving or wait until next summer and I can tell her then. I just don't know. We both need some time.
Rest in Peace Bob.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Peggy Noonan, Tom Sizemore, Michael Stipe and Mom
One of my favorite R.E.M. songs reminds me of one of my favorite movie scenes ever which is the topic of one of my favorite essays.
From Peggy Noonan's Everybody's Shot (a must read):
Today is the anniversary of my mom's death. Somehow it's comforting to know that everyone's mom dies. We're all in this together.
R.E.M. just announced that they are breaking up. Sad news.
From Peggy Noonan's Everybody's Shot (a must read):
There's a small but telling scene in Ridley Scott's "Black Hawk Down" that contains some dialogue that reverberates, at least for me. In the spirit of Samuel Johnson, who said man needs more often to be reminded than instructed, I offer it to all, including myself, who might benefit from its message.
The movie, as you know, is about the Battle of the Bakara Market in Mogadishu, Somalia, in October 1993. In the scene, the actor Tom Sizemore, playing your basic tough-guy U.S. Army Ranger colonel, is in charge of a small convoy of humvees trying to make its way back to base under heavy gun and rocket fire. The colonel stops the convoy, takes in some wounded, tears a dead driver out of a driver's seat, and barks at a bleeding sergeant who's standing in shock nearby:
Colonel: Get into that truck and drive.
Sergeant: But I'm shot, Colonel.
Colonel: Everybody's shot, get in and drive.
"Everybody's shot." Those are great metaphoric words.
Today is the anniversary of my mom's death. Somehow it's comforting to know that everyone's mom dies. We're all in this together.
R.E.M. just announced that they are breaking up. Sad news.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
gonna need a big balloon
I started working on a letter to my mom. Next Thursday is the first anniversary of her death and I plan on attaching the letter to a balloon and releasing it to the sky. There are many things Ive been wanting to say and I hope the letter will give me a bit of peace.The location of the release is a bit surprising. It makes sense to do it in a place where I feel close to her. My parents lived at least 1,000 miles away for over half my life. We were never physically close but we spoke and visited quite often.
One special visit was just two years ago when my parents came out to PA. They stayed in a hotel up the road from us and one of my favorite pictures of my mother is a shot in front of that hotel. Cha and I were waiting in the hotel for their arrival and my little girl was so excited when she first saw their car, then her Grandma and then her Grandpa. It was emotional for me to stand back and watch her embrace her grandparents.
We drive by that hotel nearly every day and Cha calls it 'Grandma's house'. I feel close to her when I see it and a piece of me believes that a piece of her lives on in that hotel.
Now to find a balloon big enough to carry the load.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
this explains things
Grief Overload occurs when a person experiences several deaths at once or in close succession. Multiple losses deplete the coping resources of the best adjusted people, leaving them stuck in grief with poor means of resolution. AIDS may be the challenge for members of the gay community, but also car accidents that take out many members of a family. Elders may suffer this as they experience multiple losses in their elder years, friends, family members, other acquaintances. This can also be a severe problem for teens or children who face school shootings. The longer the exposure to the trauma, the more difficult the grieving.
(and while I was googling I found two items which irked me. I had hoped bloggers were above plagiarizing. There's basically the same, no? Single in DCity and Dr. Lou LaGrande.
(and while I was googling I found two items which irked me. I had hoped bloggers were above plagiarizing. There's basically the same, no? Single in DCity and Dr. Lou LaGrande.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Hurting
Confession: I am a friggen mess. Usually over the span of 24 hours I am angry, sad, depressed, anxious, bitter, melancholy, tired, achy, tense, overwhelmed, overstimulated, guilty, worried, cranky, sorry, grateful, and irritable with the more than occasional hot flash. Some days I can't stand to be me and prefer to keep my nightmare mood swings to myself. I have been assured by professionals that this will pass. I am desperately counting on it.
We are holding a memorial service for my mother and brother at the end of the month. That, in addition to the upcoming one year anniversary of my brother's suicide is taking a toll on my mental health. I have to keep reminding myself that it will get better.
The service will be held at the church where my parents were married. I've heard wonderful things about the pastor who will be performing the service but I've never met him and he did not know Mom or Keith. He asked if I, along with other family and friends, would email him stories and background to include in her sermon. Easier said than done.
Every day I tell myself that I've got to start writing something down about my mother. I never get more than a paragraph before I completely shut down. It's just too painful. I have beautiful memories of my mother. Great stories of fun times and moments of side splitting laughter. As I'm sitting here a dozen memories flashed before me but I cannot bring myself to think of them too long, and certainly not spend the time to write them down. Once the tears start I can't control when they stop, so I do what I can to keep them from starting. Memories force me to acknowledge that my mother is really gone forever. They slap me in the face with the truth that there will be no more laughing with my mom. No more phone calls. No more hugs or smiles or goofy times. Remembering happy times is too damn hard.
On the flip side, I had very little trouble writing something down about Keith. I shared the harsh reality of my brother's life and his death. I wrote of his love for his children and also the sadness in his world. I cried while I typed and had to stop several times to catch my breath. That said, it is much more difficult to think about the good times than the bad. In my email to the pastor I told him I was still working on something for my mom, but it will come later.
The pastor called me this afternoon after he read my email about Keith. I wasn't emotionally prepared to speak to him so I let his call go to voicemail. Several hours later I listened to the message and had a bit of a breakdown. He said what needed to be said and what I needed to hear. He's a man of compassion and I have faith he will do a beautiful job on the sermon.
This is all so hard. Every single bit of it. I go to suicide support meetings every month and see my therapist weekly. I thought I was handling things 'okay' but it feels like I've only touched the surface of recovery. Trying to wrap my heart around the loss of my mother on top of everything else is simply overwhelming.
I spoke to my dad tonight after I listened to the pastor's message. It was a good chat and we both admitted that we're looking forward to the service being over with. I know it is very important for the family and will provide much healing, but honestly the day after can't come soon enough.
23 days and counting.
We are holding a memorial service for my mother and brother at the end of the month. That, in addition to the upcoming one year anniversary of my brother's suicide is taking a toll on my mental health. I have to keep reminding myself that it will get better.
The service will be held at the church where my parents were married. I've heard wonderful things about the pastor who will be performing the service but I've never met him and he did not know Mom or Keith. He asked if I, along with other family and friends, would email him stories and background to include in her sermon. Easier said than done.
Every day I tell myself that I've got to start writing something down about my mother. I never get more than a paragraph before I completely shut down. It's just too painful. I have beautiful memories of my mother. Great stories of fun times and moments of side splitting laughter. As I'm sitting here a dozen memories flashed before me but I cannot bring myself to think of them too long, and certainly not spend the time to write them down. Once the tears start I can't control when they stop, so I do what I can to keep them from starting. Memories force me to acknowledge that my mother is really gone forever. They slap me in the face with the truth that there will be no more laughing with my mom. No more phone calls. No more hugs or smiles or goofy times. Remembering happy times is too damn hard.
On the flip side, I had very little trouble writing something down about Keith. I shared the harsh reality of my brother's life and his death. I wrote of his love for his children and also the sadness in his world. I cried while I typed and had to stop several times to catch my breath. That said, it is much more difficult to think about the good times than the bad. In my email to the pastor I told him I was still working on something for my mom, but it will come later.
The pastor called me this afternoon after he read my email about Keith. I wasn't emotionally prepared to speak to him so I let his call go to voicemail. Several hours later I listened to the message and had a bit of a breakdown. He said what needed to be said and what I needed to hear. He's a man of compassion and I have faith he will do a beautiful job on the sermon.
This is all so hard. Every single bit of it. I go to suicide support meetings every month and see my therapist weekly. I thought I was handling things 'okay' but it feels like I've only touched the surface of recovery. Trying to wrap my heart around the loss of my mother on top of everything else is simply overwhelming.
I spoke to my dad tonight after I listened to the pastor's message. It was a good chat and we both admitted that we're looking forward to the service being over with. I know it is very important for the family and will provide much healing, but honestly the day after can't come soon enough.
23 days and counting.
Monday, August 2, 2010
loss
I hope you don't mind. A dear friend of mine lost a loved one to suicide recently. Tonight I sent her a rambling note with my thoughts. I still miss my brother daily and the pain is still intense.
Dear friend,
Things I have learned both in and out of the survivor of suicide support group....
In the early days I could not say the word suicide. It was 'took his life' or 'passed away'. Suicide was just too hard to say.
You can't turn your brain off and will find yourself thinking about it all the time. Obsessing over the details. Fretting over the last minutes, what was he thinking, how was he feeling, did he think of me, etc. Neither of us saw the body but I cannot stop going there. Trying to imagine what he looked like, how he felt and smelled. How he screamed and how much pain he was in. I cannot decide whether it's a blessing that I didn't see him or not. It's very difficult because we will never have the answer to that question.
The first survivors of suicide meeting I went to was incredible. The facilitator talked a bit about the group's guidelines and then told her story (she lost her college age son). One thing she said that day that made so much sense to me was that during those first few weeks we (the survivors) seem to have super power strength. We can endure much more than we EVER thought we could. Seriously, I never thought I'd have to strength to clean Keith's room and sort thru his journals. The facilitator said that during that time the survivors are still in shock and are under almost a full body Novocaine. That was exactly how I felt. The novocaine was keeping us from feeling the intense pain so we could get thru that painful beginning.
But after time the novocaine wears off and the real pain begins. I have heard people speak who lost children or spouses only weeks before. They said they didn't think it could get worse but it does. That novocaine is gone and you just lose it. It will get worse before it gets better.
I became very aware of how often people make reference to suicide, and how often it is joked about. I am totally guilty of it and have a different view now. People will say insensitive things because they have no idea what to say. It's hard not to get offended but I think back on how clueless I was and how I would nave no idea what to say either. I do get mad however when people pull that God crap on me. In times like these, strangers have NO business talking to you about god or religion or anything spiritual. Now is not to time to save anyone's souls it's about healing.
One of the great things about the support group is that after a while you'll find that people in your life expect you to be over it and stop talking about 'it'. You can always talk about it in meetings with others who know exactly how you are feeling. Honestly, I still need to talk about it almost daily and no one really wants to hear it. I have met several ex-wives who said they didn't think they had a right to come to meetings and talk but it's such a personal thing that no one is ever excluded.
One woman lost her ex husband via shotgun to the head. It was a recent loss and she was going on about how she thought it could have been an accident. How she wasn't sure he really meant to shoot himself. That's true but the facilitator brought up passive suicide, which is doing dangerous things when you know there's a possibility that you could die but you take no precautions. The ex wife knew he had been having bad thoughts so it was possible that he was being careless with a gun hoping that it would go off. It doesn't really matter in the end but it's that thinking, the fine details, that can drive you bonkers.
Hearing about your loss has really taken me back to those early days after Keith's death. It's still a fresh wound and who knows how long it will be. I feel like I can put myself in everyone's position and the pain is unbearable all around. Every single person he left behind is going to feel it for a long time.
Dear friend,
Things I have learned both in and out of the survivor of suicide support group....
In the early days I could not say the word suicide. It was 'took his life' or 'passed away'. Suicide was just too hard to say.
You can't turn your brain off and will find yourself thinking about it all the time. Obsessing over the details. Fretting over the last minutes, what was he thinking, how was he feeling, did he think of me, etc. Neither of us saw the body but I cannot stop going there. Trying to imagine what he looked like, how he felt and smelled. How he screamed and how much pain he was in. I cannot decide whether it's a blessing that I didn't see him or not. It's very difficult because we will never have the answer to that question.
The first survivors of suicide meeting I went to was incredible. The facilitator talked a bit about the group's guidelines and then told her story (she lost her college age son). One thing she said that day that made so much sense to me was that during those first few weeks we (the survivors) seem to have super power strength. We can endure much more than we EVER thought we could. Seriously, I never thought I'd have to strength to clean Keith's room and sort thru his journals. The facilitator said that during that time the survivors are still in shock and are under almost a full body Novocaine. That was exactly how I felt. The novocaine was keeping us from feeling the intense pain so we could get thru that painful beginning.
But after time the novocaine wears off and the real pain begins. I have heard people speak who lost children or spouses only weeks before. They said they didn't think it could get worse but it does. That novocaine is gone and you just lose it. It will get worse before it gets better.
I became very aware of how often people make reference to suicide, and how often it is joked about. I am totally guilty of it and have a different view now. People will say insensitive things because they have no idea what to say. It's hard not to get offended but I think back on how clueless I was and how I would nave no idea what to say either. I do get mad however when people pull that God crap on me. In times like these, strangers have NO business talking to you about god or religion or anything spiritual. Now is not to time to save anyone's souls it's about healing.
One of the great things about the support group is that after a while you'll find that people in your life expect you to be over it and stop talking about 'it'. You can always talk about it in meetings with others who know exactly how you are feeling. Honestly, I still need to talk about it almost daily and no one really wants to hear it. I have met several ex-wives who said they didn't think they had a right to come to meetings and talk but it's such a personal thing that no one is ever excluded.
One woman lost her ex husband via shotgun to the head. It was a recent loss and she was going on about how she thought it could have been an accident. How she wasn't sure he really meant to shoot himself. That's true but the facilitator brought up passive suicide, which is doing dangerous things when you know there's a possibility that you could die but you take no precautions. The ex wife knew he had been having bad thoughts so it was possible that he was being careless with a gun hoping that it would go off. It doesn't really matter in the end but it's that thinking, the fine details, that can drive you bonkers.
Hearing about your loss has really taken me back to those early days after Keith's death. It's still a fresh wound and who knows how long it will be. I feel like I can put myself in everyone's position and the pain is unbearable all around. Every single person he left behind is going to feel it for a long time.
“Suicide is not chosen; it happens when pain exceeds resources for coping with pain.”
Suicide: Read This FirstFriday, May 14, 2010
6 Months
This week marked six months since my brother died. The actual day just happened to be the same day as the monthly Survivors of Suicide meeting. I've only missed one meeting in that six months and find the sessions very helpful, even more so than the cancer survivor meetings which I stopped attending long, long ago.
There were five attendees who were dealing with the loss of siblings, which is rare. Most of the losses are parents, children or spouses. Siblings seem to be the forgotten mourners. The facilitator said something during the first session I attended that has stuck with me. Siblings are the longest relationship you will ever have in your life. Longer than your parents, spouses or children. They have known you since birth and you are in each other's lives (one way or another) until death. Yet even with that significance, siblings don't get the same amount of attention when there is a loss. People are quick to check on the parents or spouses of a suicide victim but never realize that the brother or sister might need the same support.
So it was good to talk about losing my brother with others who have lost theirs. A few things that we all had in common? A tremendous amount of guilt. We were their brothers/sisters, why couldn't we save them? And every one of us in the room felt things ended on bad terms. There were harsh words, angry hang-ups, mean emails or long term silence. Normal sibling bickering that ended in the most cruel way. There is no making-up or saying 'Dude, I'm sorry.' Just stupid, angry words that will hang in your thoughts forever.
Another thing that we all experienced was the internal struggle within in the family, especially with remaining siblings. Some no longer speak, and others are so pissed at the way their surviving brothers/sisters have acted since the loss that all they do is fight. Families are torn apart and are never the same. Isn't that the last thing you need at such a crappy time in your life?
I'm so thankful for finding this group. It helps to talk, yell and cry with people who know exactly how you are feeling and hear from those who are farther down the recovery road. To hear that altho it will never be alright, it will be better. It's wonderful to have the freedom to say things that you could never say to your family and friends and not be thought of as bitter or crazy.
Anyway, here are a few especially hard moments:
Saying their name, or meeting someone with the same name
Saying 'my 2 brothers' instead of 'my 3 brothers'
That first family picture without the missing loved one
That point when you can tell that family/friends/co-workers, etc. really don't want to hear about it anymore
I miss you Keith.
There were five attendees who were dealing with the loss of siblings, which is rare. Most of the losses are parents, children or spouses. Siblings seem to be the forgotten mourners. The facilitator said something during the first session I attended that has stuck with me. Siblings are the longest relationship you will ever have in your life. Longer than your parents, spouses or children. They have known you since birth and you are in each other's lives (one way or another) until death. Yet even with that significance, siblings don't get the same amount of attention when there is a loss. People are quick to check on the parents or spouses of a suicide victim but never realize that the brother or sister might need the same support.
So it was good to talk about losing my brother with others who have lost theirs. A few things that we all had in common? A tremendous amount of guilt. We were their brothers/sisters, why couldn't we save them? And every one of us in the room felt things ended on bad terms. There were harsh words, angry hang-ups, mean emails or long term silence. Normal sibling bickering that ended in the most cruel way. There is no making-up or saying 'Dude, I'm sorry.' Just stupid, angry words that will hang in your thoughts forever.
Another thing that we all experienced was the internal struggle within in the family, especially with remaining siblings. Some no longer speak, and others are so pissed at the way their surviving brothers/sisters have acted since the loss that all they do is fight. Families are torn apart and are never the same. Isn't that the last thing you need at such a crappy time in your life?
I'm so thankful for finding this group. It helps to talk, yell and cry with people who know exactly how you are feeling and hear from those who are farther down the recovery road. To hear that altho it will never be alright, it will be better. It's wonderful to have the freedom to say things that you could never say to your family and friends and not be thought of as bitter or crazy.
Anyway, here are a few especially hard moments:
Saying their name, or meeting someone with the same name
Saying 'my 2 brothers' instead of 'my 3 brothers'
That first family picture without the missing loved one
That point when you can tell that family/friends/co-workers, etc. really don't want to hear about it anymore
I miss you Keith.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
always together
Keith! Jim! Joan! Dan!
I can't count the number of times my mother yelled our names when we were kids. The four names, always together and always in the same order. I can still hear it in my mind and it makes me smile. It's odd the things you hold on to from your youth.
Last month, on what would have been my brother's 47th birthday, Charlotte and I went tree shopping. I wanted to plant something to honor his memory, like the tree we planted for my Aunt Betty who passed away two years ago. We stopped by several nurseries and I found something I'd never seen before. It was a fruit cocktail tree. A single tree that grows four different fruit - peach, plum, nectarine and apricot. The four fruit, always together. It made me cry (tho pretty much everything does lately). I decided we had to plant that tree in Keith's memory and show that we will always be together. Somehow.
We finally got around to planting it today. Well, actually Matt did the planting while I stood silently and cried. Matt took great pains to make sure that the tree was planted just right. He gently dug the hole and sifted the soil, using only the good stuff. Matt spent a good hour getting that tree set properly in place because that's what his brother-in-law deserved. All the while I stood and watched and remembered.
It's simply beautiful.
I can't count the number of times my mother yelled our names when we were kids. The four names, always together and always in the same order. I can still hear it in my mind and it makes me smile. It's odd the things you hold on to from your youth.
Last month, on what would have been my brother's 47th birthday, Charlotte and I went tree shopping. I wanted to plant something to honor his memory, like the tree we planted for my Aunt Betty who passed away two years ago. We stopped by several nurseries and I found something I'd never seen before. It was a fruit cocktail tree. A single tree that grows four different fruit - peach, plum, nectarine and apricot. The four fruit, always together. It made me cry (tho pretty much everything does lately). I decided we had to plant that tree in Keith's memory and show that we will always be together. Somehow.
We finally got around to planting it today. Well, actually Matt did the planting while I stood silently and cried. Matt took great pains to make sure that the tree was planted just right. He gently dug the hole and sifted the soil, using only the good stuff. Matt spent a good hour getting that tree set properly in place because that's what his brother-in-law deserved. All the while I stood and watched and remembered.
It's simply beautiful.
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