Dignity, Hope and Grace in the Wake of Suicide

On this fifteenth month memorial date of my son, Jason's, death by suicide, I am struck by the incredulous amount of grief that I have suffered through and survived. After turning out the living room light last night, I sat staring at the little mahogany box of Jason's remains. In an instant my thoughts once again took me back to that lonely bedroom in Stuart, Florida where my only child held his nine millimeter pistol to his forehead and pulled the trigger. That, which on many occasions had rendered me emotionally crippled for hours, managed to creep in and out of my mind without consequence. Without a tear or sigh, I quietly noticed the momentary ruminations then sadly put them to rest for the night.

Though my memories of the events that followed that fateful telephone call from Jason's father remain somewhat of a blur, I will never forget the words that changed my life forever. They still echo in the corners of my mind. The shock of receiving such horrific news hit my like a thirty foot wave pounding me into the sand then dragging me out to sea. As if I were drowning, I couldn't catch my breath and felt like I was sinking into an abyss at the bottom of the deepest ocean. My earliest memories of life with Jason flashed before me and all that was left unsaid and undone came screaming to the forefront of my consciousness.

It's funny how shock works. It's almost like a hiatus from despair. I never understood why the newly bereaved seemed to hold up so well during all the wakes, memorials or funerals I had attended. But then I had never experienced a significant loss until Jason's death. The world outside had become so much larger and all movement appeared to be in slow motion. Colors were more vivid and the sun was so bright. Everything was surreal, almost animated, and I felt like I was observing it all from the bottom of a deep dark hole.

After the memorial service was over and Jason was safely placed on my living room bookcase, I fell into the pits of despair. Leaving the house was not an option and hiding under my covers became my safe haven. There were hours of uncontrollable sobbing followed by racing thoughts of "what ifs" and "why?" I blamed myself for not having been able to protect and save him from himself. I blamed everyone else who knew him for not seeing the signs and most of all; I blamed God for not intervening. All I wanted was to be left alone. All I needed was my son back.

After two weeks of isolation, I was a filled with anger and rage, which turned into fear, and I began to suspect I was close to, if not in the throws of, a nervous breakdown. Fortunately, I had the good sense to call my doctor. With assurances that everything I was feeling and experiencing was normal for this level of trauma, my physician prescribed some medications to help me stabilize and referred me to a therapist for grief counseling.

In retrospect, had I not taken my doctors advice, I know this story would have an entirely different outcome. Thanks to the foresight of an excellent therapist, I spent five weeks in intensive outpatient therapy and gleaned a multitude of coping skills that have, at the least, prevented me from spiraling into a state of chronic depression or post traumatic stress syndrome and at the most has saved my life.

Coping with and surviving suicide is a very complicated and long process through not only grief, but in coming to terms with this kind of loss. We suffer in silence; much like our loved ones did, because of the stigma of shame surrounding suicide. There is a tremendous amount of guilt most of us feel. How could we have not seen the warning signs? Why weren't we there for them? What could we have done differently in our relationship to protect them or make them feel loved? Like old tapes, we consider these questions over and over, yet for most of us, they remain unanswered.

In the months that followed, I found that writing was very cathartic for me, and at first I used journaling as means to get in touch with and confront my feelings of guilt, blame and shame. I shared feelings with other parent survivors and poured my heart out on several on line suicide support groups.

During the first three months after Jason's death, I found it impossible to focus on anything, so I took time off from work to regain some semblance of composure while practicing my coping skills. Upon returning to work, though still consumed with my grief, I welcomed the distraction. Those who knew what had happened showed me great compassion and leverage, while others were somewhat intrusive and inconsiderate. I quickly learned how to set boundaries for myself, revealing only as much as I wished to share.

Still unable to completely control my emotions, I made no apology when those unexpected waves of grief would overwhelm me. I would quietly slip into an empty office until the sadness passed. In time, those moments became less frequent and not nearly as persistent.

As the weeks became months and seasons changed from summer, to fall and then winter, I began to notice my sadness was being interrupted by moments of peace and calm. I looked for things to laugh about and began blogging and writing poems on MySpace. Weary of the incessant grief I have been living with and longing to move forward, I began to communicate with other writers I had befriended and found that writing about everything and anything was helping me to regain a sense of hope.

For me, writing is my way to move beyond the shadows of death, but there are so many paths to healing. Finding a way to remember Jason while honoring his memory through my writing has given me a renewed sense of purpose. Though my days of grief are not nearly behind me yet, I know there will come a day.

If you are surviving the loss of a loved one to suicide, please do not suffer alone. Find a support group, seek professional help or contact your spiritual leader. Know that you are not alone in your suffering and there are others who walk this path of sorrow with dignity and grace. If you are looking for support and don't know who to contact, please visit www.suicidology.com for more information.