Suicide. Suicide. Suicide It doesn’t matter how many times you repeat it, it never gets easier to say. The word itself is uncomfortable. I get it. It’s a hard topic to talk about, much less live with. The stigma attached to suicide brings with it a lot of shame and isolation for those left behind. Believe me, at this point, it would be incredibly easy to bury myself in my misery and keep it all locked up inside of me. But, what good would that do? It would just lead me down the same dark path of depression that my brother found himself in and it certainly wouldn’t help me in my mission to serve others. Approximately 44,965 people a year are choosing suicide. That means there are 44,964 other families a year out there that are hurting just the same as my own and feeling isolated in their grief. I don’t know if this will ever find their way to any of them. Maybe it will and maybe it won’t. I hope it does. I want them to know they don’t have to sit in shame and be alone in their grief. I, too, know the devastation that we call suicide. I know your pain.
Now, listen. I know that we all have grief in our lives. It is a part of the human experience. I am not so egotistical to think that families fallen victim to suicide loss are the only people to ever be sad. I have grieved the loss of loved ones prior to my brother’s suicide. I have lost grandparents that I loved dearly. It was incredibly hard to say goodbye to them and I miss them terribly. However, it was a natural loss. Whether we like it or not, grandparents are supposed to get old and die. It’s expected and it is a natural progression of life. In 2007, Tony and I lost two babies in pregnancy. It was an incredibly trying year in our marriage and it nearly broke me. Even so, the losses were still natural and our grieving process was entirely different. I am NOT saying that your grief over whatever loss you have suffered is any less significant than ours. I am just saying that suicide is anything but natural and it has exposed me to a different kind of grief. It is a grief unlike any other. It is a beast of its own kind.
People ask me all the time how I am doing. As my brother, Chad, mentioned in his blog post last week we have learned to dread that question. It can’t be avoided. It is, after all, the way that we greet one another 99.99% of the time. It doesn’t matter if it is on the phone or in the aisle of the grocery store, it is engrained into us to say “Oh, hey there. How are you today”? Don’t get me wrong. My family and I appreciate you asking us. It’s just that a casual question that was once so easy to answer now feels like a punch right in the stomach and it literally takes my breath away. However, I want to be brutally honest with you about my grief and answer your question. How am I really doing?
For starters, if I have told you even once in the last 12 weeks that I am “ok” then you might as well know right now that I was lying to you. Sorry. Here’s the truth. I am really, really, really sad. I am mad. I am full of self-doubt and guilt. I am hurt and I feel betrayed in my love for my brother. I want answers to my questions. I am tired. I am homesick for a brother that I will never get to see again. I want to hug him and touch him. I want to hear his voice and feel his arm around my shoulder the way he would always do when he spoke to me. And, I am absolutely desperate to hear his contagious laugh just once more. I could go on and on, but to make a long story short, I am fucking terrible. How’s that for honesty?
Literally every single minute of every single day I am thinking about my beautiful brother. Jamie is always on my mind. ALWAYS. It is exhausting. I feel as if my brain has been split into two halves. One half of my brain is doing what it has always done and it is trying its hardest to go through the motions of my day to day life. It’s taking care of my family, cleaning my house, doing the laundry, going to work, watching my girls play softball, etc. The other half of my brain is now constantly thinking of my brother. Constantly. I can be in the middle of a very in depth conversation, interviewing an applicant at work, or cheering on my daughter as she hits a fly ball out to right field, and there it is. Right there in the other half of my brain I am replaying every minute of my brother’s life. There is no off switch. Ever.
As I said in my last post, anger is a frequent visitor. I am mad. A lot. Think about this. If your loved one was murdered, you would direct your anger at the perpetrator. You would seek justice for your loss by means of our judicial system. Correct? What happens though when the victim is the perpetrator? To whom am I to direct that anger towards now? I feel like my family has been slapped with a life sentence of grief for an act that we didn’t commit. And yes, for that, I am mad. I am royally pissed off that I now get to carry this burden with me for the rest of my life. It. Isn’t. Fair.
The last 7 months of Jamie’s life were complete and utter hell for my family. I know that my family did absolutely everything within our power to get him help. But that doesn’t mean I don’t question myself every single day. Is there something else I should have said? Is there something else I should have done? What if this and what if that? I am constantly seeking reassurance from my family that we did everything we possibly could and in turn I am giving that reassurance right back to them. But it doesn’t matter. The self-doubt creeps in. The guilt for things that maybe I should have said or done differently hovers over me like a dark cloud. On certain days it is enough to eat me alive.
The questions I have for Jamie keep me up at night. I have so many things I want to ask him. I want to understand how alone and afraid he must have felt. I want him to explain to me how he thought that this was really the better solution. Did he really think we would all be better off without him????? I want to know if he knew how fucking much we loved him. I want to know!!!! I NEED to know!!!!! The unknowns are almost impossible to live with at this point. I do know that at some point I am going to have to find a way to live with unanswered questions. I know that I need to make peace with the unknowns if I want to heal. But, for right now I can't stop the questions in my head. I. Want. Answers.
I read something recently that said “You won’t ever be your old self again. You are growing into a new self. A new self that is born out of grief”. My friends, I can’t even tell you how incredibly spot on that is. I am simply a different person now. I am not the same person I was the day before my brother chose suicide. I feel differently about every single thing and every single person in my life. Some of it is for the better, and some of it is for the worse. My relationships with those even closest to me are different. I can’t help it. I can only be thankful for the fact that they keep loving me despite my grief and despite the fact that I don’t even actually know who the fuck I am right now. You know who you are. Thank you for allowing me to grieve. Thank you for being patient with me. Thank you for loving me.
When I was tossing around the idea of starting this blog I, of course, discussed it with my family. Their feelings about it mattered to me because I am, after all, exposing all of us by putting it out on the internet for all to read. My husband’s biggest concern was whether or not writing about our loss would keep pulling me backwards into my grief and prevent me from moving on. I won’t lie. For an instant the question pissed me off. However, it was a fair question. My response? I know that I can’t live IN my grief forever. But, I will most certainly live WITH my grief forever. Against my will, I have been given the task of carrying it around with me forever, so I might as use that grief to try to serve others.
If you are reading this and your life has been turned inside out by suicide loss, please know that your emotions and your feelings, no matter how horrible they might be, are OK. The only way to live with this kind of grief is to give yourself grace and allow yourself to feel all the ugly things you need to feel. Your feelings are justified and there is no shame in letting yourself feel them. On the flip side, if you are reading this and you have ever thought even just one single time that this world would be better off without you in it, then listen to me now. YOU ARE WRONG. Your life matters and you are loved. I am here to tell you that the devastation your suicide would leave in its wake is insurmountable.
I want to share with you something that my cousin, Travis, posted recently. It is from the International Journal for Pastors, and this particular quote was written by Audrey Andersson. “Grief cannot be compartmentalized. Catastrophic loss may happen in a split second, but its consequences continue for a lifetime. Difficult as it seems initially, life continues. A new reality gradually takes shape. People talk about ‘closure’, but a better description would be to reach an ‘accommodation’ with what has happened”.
I am grieving. I am sad and broken beyond belief. There will never be “closure” for this loss. But, I also know that I didn’t choose to die. Jamie did that. I know that I have a beautiful life and that I need to live it. I am not exactly sure what my new self or my new reality will look like just yet, but I will get there. Life continues. It has to.
XOXO – Jennifer
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)