You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, ‘I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.’ You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”
Eleanor Roosevelt
I’ve had people ask why I haven’t written in a while. Why the radio silence?
That is a fully loaded question.
The answer is multifaceted. And complicated.
I have so many words in me—waiting to get out. Honestly, some of those words need never see the light of day. They need to stay where they are. Either they are intensely personal, or they would hurt someone.
It would never be okay to hurt someone. Even if I think that someone “deserves” it. Words have power. I know this to be true. I’m sure you do too.
I want to be transparent, to tell you the truth about grief, suicide, child loss, PTSD, broken heart syndrome, and the domino effect of a loss such as ours.
But at the same time…it is so personal and hard to tell. It involves others, and I don’t want to go there. But it is a struggle not to go there! That’s the truth.
Therefore, it is, at times, better to be quiet…work it out within me. Wrestle with it, as Jacob wrestled with the Lord. Like Jacob, I have come out with a permanent limp (figuratively), and still, my heart is just as broken as it was on April 1, 2014.
We haven’t and will not ever “get over it!” We are doing our best to get through it.
A loss by suicide is a complicated grief. The emotions that accompany the loss are utterly devastating. The effect it has on an entire family is heartbreaking. Watching your loved ones grieve (in their own ways) is gut-wrenching.
My husband and I are blessed. We became soul mates 40 years ago, and our souls are forever intertwined. We have been crushed by the loss of our son and the subsequent losses. Yet, we hold each other up.
I can tell you (as I’m sure he would tell you too), watching the love of your life mourn such loss is heartbreak in a category all it’s own.
That’s the gist of it all.
The heartbreak compounds.
There have been days when we’ve wondered how much more we could take and continue to take a breath. Many days we have been sure that we just could not take one more blow.
I hear what your thinking. But, Faith, you’re a Christian. You’ve got this.
To that I say… I am indeed a Christian. I am a follower of Jesus Christ. Yet, I am human. God’s got this. I do not!
I fully know that I will see Stuart again. For that I am thankful.
My husband and I both struggle to put our feet on the floor somedays. We do it. We do the everyday things that must be done, but sometimes it is nothing short of a miracle that we did it. It is exhausting. We (playfully) argue about who will get to heaven first. Whoever is left behind will be a little jealous.
That’s our reality! We are stuck between two worlds.
I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. – Philippians 1:23
A very long post! I told you, I have lots of words pushing to get out.
It has been four and a half years since we lost Stuart to suicide. We miss him more every day. It still seems impossible.
Bereavement is a darkness impenetrable to the imagination of the unbereaved.”
Iris Murdoch
Beautifully said my friend. I, too, have so many words that just explode in my head, most of the time at night when I can’t sleep, but I have yet to put to paper. Writing was always my passion. I wrote corporate instructions in my last job with AT&T/Lucent. But since Chandler left us I haven’t been able to do it. Maybe I will someday but, if not, that’s ok too.
As I have said may times, this kind of grief goes to the very core of the soul and none of us will ever get over it. We just drag it along with us like a thousand pound weight until, at death, it will be released and we will see our boys again!
Thank you for writing about your dear son. I lost my son, Andrew, to suicide, 5 months ago, 8/22/18. He was 35. I am lost and devastated and beyond heartbroken. I search the internet for posts such as yours. When I find them, it helps me to not feel so alone. I keep going but it seems impossible to do so. Thank you.
Mary, I am so very sorry you lost your Andrew! My son was a few days from 35 and still… he was/is my baby. this is such a lonely journey. I am glad you found me.
Very soon, I will be writing more consistently and I hope it will help you and others.