Suicide, Our Children and Grief

It's been over 4 months now that Tim decided to leave this world. The moment I saw him, I changed. I changed so drastically, I don't remember who I once was. I will never walk in that person's skin again. They no longer exist. Not that there isn't some basic personality left, only that preconceived Ideas, thoughts, what I believed, changed the night I found Tim dead.

A number of years ago, a friends son hung himself. At the time, I thought that it was the most devastating thing a parent could ever go through. What could have possibly been on the young mans mind to hurt his dad that way? Was he so self-centered and uncaring that it did not matter to him what it would do to his parents? I was like most people who had not lost a child, ignorant. I looked at it all through the eyes of others. Even had I not, I still would not have come close to understanding what the loss of a child through suicide really was. One cannot understand unless they have been there and even then, they only know what they themselves are going through. It's a lonely, one person journey.

That first night, as I looked at Tim and begged my husband to save him, I entered a parents worse nightmare. His lips were already blue, but still, in my shock, I thought he could be saved. Denial is the first emotion and would continue for weeks and months to come. There are still moments, not hours, but moments when I realize he is gone all over again. The pain is quick, sharp and devastating, but now it moves on instead of sitting tight on my chest. It comes back at odd times and I have learned to breath deep and wait for it to pass, for pass it will. I was saved from the soul searing question of why this had happened. I was there through it and and knew why. Knowing does not change the fact that your child is gone. It does not ease the pain of loss. But it does relieve you of having that on your heart along with the rest of what you will go through.

We are taught from a young age that suicide is a sin punishable by hell. I do not believe this and never have even before I lost my son. The bible was written by men who had their own agenda. It is not that I don't believe in God, it is that I feel he has been misrepresented. The bible, in its own way is just a learning tool, the same as history books. If you look at it that way, history is misrepresented also. It is usually the victor who writes history and are notorious for spinning their tales to put themselves in a good light. Every time something in the bible is questioned, the answer is usually that you should not question but have faith that it is so. My response is that God gave me a mind, free will to choose. He did not make me to blindly follow the sheep over the cliff and not question why they were going over the cliff in the first place. I am not putting down others faith, that is their choice and what they need. I do not question one's beliefs, I ask that they don't question mine.

That night, after finding Tim, brought out the first of many phobias to come. I could not sleep of course, but I also could not abide the dark. I still can't so a light stays on at all times. When the shock wore off a little, other small things started coming to light. I was cleaning out the dishwasher and ran across the coffee mug he always used. It brought me to my knees. I almost broke it. It sits up in the cupboard, away from my eyes for now. His clothes, his hand writing, his voice on my phone mail. It is an endless list of things to run across that will leave me breathless, tearful and sad. I won't go through all the phobias, it is enough to know that there are many. I hope one day that most will recede back to where they came from. I know some won't.

I have searched the suicide sites and bereavement sites looking and begging for relief from an agony I never knew existed until I lost Tim. That is where I learned that each one of us suffer differently, and the same. It is when I realized that the agony would never cease, that it was mine till the end of my time. I lost hope then. I understood why some parents suicided out after they lost their child. I knew that I could not go, year after year with this kind of sorrow and pain. I did not understand those that said they have lived with it for 10 years, 20 years, 30 years. How was that possible? Some were as deep in the pain as they had been from the first day they lost their child. I told myself, in the early days, that I could not do this. Yet, I have. It is not from being strong. There is no strong when it comes to the death of a child. Strength has nothing to do with it and when people tell you how strong you are, all you can do is look at them sadly. It is not something you can explain to them. They have to experience it to know.

There are many faces to suicide and it is as individual as the grieving process is. Yes, there are those who chose that way to teach others a lesson, or get even. There are the ones who thought someone would save them before it was too late. There are those who were just plain done. We do not know the depth of their pain, physical or mental. We do not know the thoughts or lack of them that goes through their heads. We do not know the circumstances, usually, that lead them to their path. Yet we would stand judgement on them and call them selfish, self-centered, uncaring. I asked an attempted suicide once why he tried it. Did he not think of those that loved him and would be so terribly hurt? He looked at me blankly for a little while and I could see he was remembering. Finally he told me that love had nothing to do with it. That the mental pain, the physical pain, the sorrow is so great that it crowds out everything in your mind. You do not think of those who love you. You do not think of what it will cause. All you can think about is stopping the pain once and for all. All hope is lost, all reason gone. There is no future if that is what they have to look forward to.

I grieve my son. My pain is greater than anything I have ever experienced, yet I see a light. The sharpest edges have dulled. I know that I will carry my loss, but it becomes manageable. It is up to the individual person on how they will carry that sorrow. You can keep it in front of you as a shield against the world or you can hold it in your heart as a memory and tribute to the one who is gone. You can let the pain rule you insane or you can rule the pain. It is nothing to feel guilty about to carry on after they are gone, it is wrong to not do so. I don't cry all the time now, but yes, I do cry. I do not talk about him all the time, but he is in my thoughts if only as a shadow sometimes, stronger than that at others. I do not forget nor will I ever. He is my only son, my second born. 33 years with him. Even if had only been a day, I would not forget.

I feared that I would carry this for years to come. I know now that yes, I will always hurt for my lost son, but the horrible, paralyzing pain will not be a part of that. There is life after loss, but accept that you will be different.

I see the little boy who took my hand in trust.

I see the young man who's last spoken words to me were, "I love you mom." Yes he did, he loved me as I love him.