Beyond the Shock of Surviving Suicide

The shock of loosing a loved one to suicide is incomprehensible to anyone who has never experienced such a loss. Beyond the initial shock of such a violent and unimaginable death lies insurmountable grief. Surviving the unbearable pain and sorrow in the wake of suicide is probably the greatest challenge most of us will ever have to face. As I continue to take steps towards recovery from the death of my only child, Jason, I see others struggling to survive the first days, weeks and months after receiving their tragic news that they too have lost a loved one to suicide. I share my story with all suicide survivors that they may someday find peace and healing.

In this third article, I feel it is important to delve more deeply into the mindset of one who chooses suicide and those left behind. I have chosen to share some very personal accounts of my relationship with Jason and his life, in order to present the dynamics leading up to one familie's tragedy. Suicide can happen in any family. It doesn't distinguish between age, gender, race, religion or socio-economic background. It happens when we least expect it, and all we are left with is unanswered questions, pain and a long road to recovery.

Jason's and my relationship was troubled from the day he came into this world. In 1972, there wasn't much information on post-partum depression and never having heard of such a thing, I couldn't imagine what was wrong with me in those first months after Jason was born. Unable to sleep, for fear of not being able to hear him cry out in the night, and with my hormones raging out of control, I thought I was going to loose my mind. After several months of uncontrollable mood swings and tranquillizers that made me so groggy I couldn't function, I knew I had to be crazy. My physician referred me to a psychologist, who assured me that I was going to be fine. My hormones would soon level out and the depression would subside. However, in my mind the damage was already done. Jason was nervous and fretful, and I was to blame.

As a toddler and young boy, Jason seemed to thrive and outgrow some of his anxious tendencies, but after his father and I divorced, my happy and mischievous child became angry, demanding and eventually out of control. Believing I had once again failed as a mother, I sent Jason to live with his father and stepmother. Two years later, the family moved over a thousand miles away to the east coast of Florida. I was crushed and angry and missed Jason terribly, but in my mind, it was for the best. Jason deserved a better than the life I could offer him. Afterall, I was never going to live up to my expectations of what a mother should be, and I couldn't forgive myself for my past sins.

Jason's and my relationship survived the distance, but he suffered terribly through his teen years and beyond. He later admitted to having lived through years of physical and emotional abuse at the hands of his first stepmother, and no amount of drugs or alcohol could numb or erase the effects of their relationship. It wasn't until after his death, that the extent of this abuse was revealed to me by one of Jason's closest friends. How I didn't know or suspect anything was wrong is beyond me, but the horror and guilt that followed this heartbreaking news sent me even further on my downward spiral into severe depression.

As I look back at some of my journal postings in the first year after Jason's death, it is almost as if all those years of self blame and loathing were being peeled away like the skins of an onion. Through intensive, followed by weekly, then monthly therapy sessions, I was able to confront many of these issues head on and make significant progress in letting go of the past.

My therapist introduced me to a process called EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing), which broke down the walls to my inner chamber of self-blame and shame. With only three sessions, I encountered memories from my childhood and early teens that had long since been buried deep in the caverns of my psyche, and with each session, I was able to put those repressed feelings of anger and fear to rest.

EMDR is a pyschotheraputic method practiced by specially trained therapists, in which guided lateral eye movement or other audio or physical stimuli is used to trigger emotional responses relating to traumatic events. This excellerated method of therapy helps the patient to process and desensitize the emotional effects of the trauma. EMDR has been an effective method used to assist those suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in desensitizing long-term emotional trauma. For more information, please visit http://www.emdr.com/index.htm.

Since I am not a mental health professional, I cannot recommend any kind of therapy but can share my own experience with EMDR as having had a positive effect on my healing process. I will add that my therapist, who is a specialist in this field, was very cautious and delayed using EMDR in our early sessions. Since I was newly bereaved and was still suffering from acute depression, she chose a more traditional method of therapy for the first three months. It was only after I began to stabilize from the severe symptons of depression that she initiated my first EMDR session. It was intense and emotionally charged, but by the time each session was over, I felt calm and relieved.

Unfortunately, our time together was short-lived and after four months of therapy, including the three EMDR sessions, this fine therapist decided to discontinue her practice in my community. I was referred to another therapist, not trained in EMDR, and with a more tradtional approach to therapy, we met each week for several months. Gradually, our sessions became less frequent until, with nothing left to discuss, I discontinued therapy altogether. I believe that once therapy sessions become awkward, and one has to struggle to come up with things to talk about, it's time to take a break. It is my hope that I wll at some stage of my recovery locate another EMDR specialist so that I can address issues relating to Jason's suicide in hopes of finding closure.

As I reflect on all these months of grieving and learning to cope with the reality of such an tremendous loss, I have to say that therapy was only one vehicle in my ongoing healing process. It was what I did and am now doing with the revelations and advice gained in therapy that was and is instrumental in my healing. By being proactiv, I could actually speed up the recovery time. As a writer, photographer and musician, I found that by doing those things that I love, I could create a sense of well-being in my environment. At first, I began writing all my feelings of sorrow, horror and despair, followed by anger and rage. Before long, I started writing poetry and whatever else came to mind. I began listening to music that was uplifting and sensual. The celtic harp has added another dimension to my love of music. I've even thought I might like to learn to play. Perhaps, I will.

Since having lost the most important person in my life, made me question everything, Jason's death nearly destroyed my faith in a loving God. I had never really been religious, but my connection with God had always been paramount. Loosing faith is devastating. Without it there is no hope, nothing to believe in, but worst of all, there is no hereafter. For months, I was angry that He had taken my only child in such a dispicable way. My anger turned to doubt, which was followed by absolute terror. If I was going to survive this horror, something had to give. Without my son, I was lost, but without God, I was immobilized. Prayers seemed to be ineffective, but I persisted. Then one day it came to me. In order to reconnect, I had to seek God in places that I felt most connected with Him.

I began spending time photographing nature, which holds very special meaning to me. As a child, I felt most in touch with the spirit world while playing in the woods behind my house. As gentle breezes rustled through the trees, I could almost see other worldly beings out of the corners of my eyes and tiny voices whispered and giggled around me. Perhaps it was just my overactive imagination, but today I find peace and hope when I walk through a forest or stand at the edge of a cliff, overlooking the ocean. Slowly, my faith is returning, and I am no longer feeling so afraid.

As I continue on this journey of surviving suicide, I still seek answers and know that it is a long and lonely recovery. With each step I take, one thing is certain, my son Jason lives on in my memories and will always be alive in my heart. Through all the obstacles we faced in life, he now knows the truth. He was, and always will be, my most treasured love. As I release his remains, one spoonful at a time in my favorite places in nature, I know his beautiful spirit soars throughout the universe, and he is free from his tormented life. I survive because of him and will continue to heal in his honor. Some day, I will live again for me, but today I live in memory of Jason.