A Year in Grief

A Year of Grief

The phone rang at 5:10 AM; this in itself wasn’t anything new. My son Luke had often text or called in the middle of the night usually drinking and not trusting the thoughts brooding in his head. This time the caller I.D. displayed his girlfriend’s name also not unusual, she often alerted me to his behavior and would have me try to talk him down or ask me to come over. There was almost always alcohol involved; drinking took away his will to live and gave him the strength to die. The last middle of the night call resulted with me driving over at 1:00AM he looked me in the eyes and said “Mom, I am trying so hard to stay alive”.  A few weeks later he did not reach out to me and his girlfriend found him in the morning

Luke was 26 years old, born August 1, 1988 and died May 14, 2015. He struggled with depression most of his 26 years; he always seemed a little sad, a bit too serious. One night when he was 7 years old as I tucked him into bed he said with anguished eyes “mom it is painful to be in my body”. He never felt like he belonged on this planet.

Having attempted suicide at least a dozen times in as many years it was amazing that he was interrupted, stopped or cut down by someone who had a “feeling” and went looking for him.  I found him tying a rope from the rafters in the garage at 2:00AM, a few years prior an overdose Christmas night. I spent his whole life keeping him alive, I always knew I would lose him one day.

My husband asked me if it was easier for me knowing that his death was inevitable. The answer is no on the contrary, I felt defeated. I couldn’t keep him alive, I wasn’t there to talk to him, hold him every time the shadows of depression came over him.

“Anger” The day he died I made a promise to Luke, that I would never be angry with him. I have felt many things these past months but anger has not been one of them.  When you read about the stages of grief anger directed at the person you lost is always a big one. I couldn’t understand how or why anger would enter the picture. Depression for Luke was a terminal illness and he is not to be faulted for not having the strength to continue the “fight” as often referred to with lost battles such as terminal cancer and the cancer patient chooses to stop treatment.  We attended a couple of grief groups and often heard “I am so angry with him!” We heard the details of their son, daughter, brother, or sister’s suicide. After a few different groups and several weeks we quit going, not quite what we needed I guess. Suicide is one of those tragic deaths were people are uncomfortable and don’t  know what to say to you. I find that if I am completely open and share my feelings that it actually makes the other person more comfortable and allows me to continue to share, seems a bit ironic that I need to comfort the comforter. I am sure this is true with other causes of death as well but there is a level of discomfort that people feel when facing someone grieving a loss from suicide. One thing I notice is everyone has a suicide story, a family member, a friend’s child, a neighbor or their child. I could list a host of statistics but it won’t change the fact that it happens every day in someone’s family.

“Guilt” Another stage of grief that is often spoken of is guilt. I find myself feeling the pangs of guilt creep in occasionally, “I could have done more”. But if I am totally honest with myself I should not feel “guilt”. I know I tried to keep him alive with therapy, medication and watching him closely. As he got older he rejected conventional methods so I taught him to meditate, gave him supplements and found him a shaman and I nagged a lot. Ultimately he chose to leave this world.

“Bargaining” I find myself occasionally bargaining/pleading; if you could have had the strength to quit drinking you would have been able to work on the depression, if you could have made it to 30 years old you could have turned the corner. This thought pattern never sticks because I don’t believe it to be true. Logic always makes its way back in and announces he would have kept trying to die, he is dead. I do find myself bargaining/pleading with his spirit every day.” Please visit me in my dreams tonight Luke it will bring me comfort”, “I loved the butterfly you sent in the woods last week please let it be there again today”. Visitations from someone you lost is a special kind of hope, keeping the possibility that they will visit you and you will be uplifted, that they understand your grief and want to wash it away if only for a moment. This is not based in logic it is based in love, from our broken heart that we carry every day.

“Denial” has been a bit tougher. It has a tendency to be cruel and surprise you when your guard is down. It happens for me through photos most often. I will wake up and come down stairs and see his penetrating almost black eyes looking at me from the wall where his photo hangs and I find myself sharply taking in air and thinking how can this be? When I see a photo unexpectedly, a Facebook post or in someone’s home I feel a stab in my heart. The one year mark is looming in front of me and brings with it thoughts of denial, how did this happen? He really did it this time? Was he ever really here? Following this is panic caused by the fear that he will be forgotten not by me but by others. I am so afraid he will be forgotten, everyone goes on with their lives where is there room for Luke among their new memories? What stage of grief is the fear of them being “forgotten”?

“Isolation” I am guilty of isolation, not in a negative way but in a way that it works for me not against me. For me a period of isolation helps me heal. The week between his death and his memorial service I spent a great deal of time in “Luke’s Woods” talking to him and reflecting this is where I have received most of his messages to me. We call it Luke’s Woods because he spent so much time there, clearing paths, 4 wheeling and bow hunting. The wood brought him peace and now brings me peace. I go there at least once a week usually more to be with him. We spread his ashes there, nowhere else made sense, his friends and family each took a small cup of his ashes and walked the woods knowing what tree felt like the one to spread his ashes under. We built a bench to sit and visit and I made a chalk board where people who love him can send a message.  In the early months I felt a level of discomfort when attending gatherings, fearing not being able to control my emotions when you get that “look” from someone. Sympathy from people has a tendency to break the dam, and heaven forbid I lose control so it is easier to stay away from situations that might expose me to unsolicited sympathy.  Talking to strangers believe it or not is easier than someone who knew him, no exchange of raw emotion.

“Acceptance” is fluid, moving, continually changing shapes. It can look like a still pool calling to you, when you reach for it you can fill your hands with its cool calm emotion but when you try to hold it you see it slip through your fingers and out of your grasp. Some days it is solid like a rock but you know it may crumble at any time. You don’t get over your loss, your grief changes and you can hold on to the acceptance a bit longer every day. Acceptance is a kin to denial, if you accept the loss the fear of forgetting drives you back to yet another chapter in denial and gradually the swinging of the pendulum slows and to risk sounding cliché; life moves on.

“Healing” I am still in the first year of loss but I have been working on “healing” through art. For me it brings peace and purpose. My life, hobbies and job have not brought me happiness; Luke leaving changed me and I needed a purpose. Some people find a new purpose starting causes, establishing foundations, supporting others though public speaking and similar avenues.  I have found it in glass.

“Purpose” I knew that I needed to create something to hold his memory alive, something beautiful something personal and creative. We were offered keepsakes at the cremation chapel but nothing spoke to me.  I knew I wanted something but wasn’t able to wrap my head around the idea of a keepsake until I literally saw his ashes suspended in a beautiful piece of fused glass.  I taught myself how to fuse glass and suspended his ashes in it. I wear a piece with Luke’s ashes close to my heart every day. It brings me peace to produce glass with ashes, honoring those who we have lost. Wearing a pendant with his ashes brings me peace and I know I needed to do this for others who lost someone they love

Mother’s Day has come and gone no dreams of him, no butterflies but Mother’s Day will always mark the last time I heard his voice, felt his arms around me.

I had a dream a few days before Mother’s Day; I was going to pick Luke up and he called me. He said he wasn’t ready yet, he was waiting for all the people to leave this large indoor flea market. As each room emptied he roped it off. He wasn’t in a hurry and didn’t ask anyone to leave. I got the feeling that he was closing chapters of his life reflecting on each as he moved on. Letting me know that he was here for now but would be moving on when he was finished in this world.