Though my dad lived more than 60 full and beautiful years of life, it’s sometimes hard to think beyond the way he lived his last day. I’ve wondered why, nearly two years later, I continue to immerse myself in questions and thoughts about it. I’ll ask myself, “Isn’t it time to move on from the suicide and focus on the bigger picture and lifetime of amazing memories we shared?” I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think twice about deciding to open up about this topic and revisit the various aspects of what I’ve gone through. After much self-reflection, I feel I have reached a comfortable point in my grief journey where I’m able to balance with equal weight the three decades of life I was fortunate to have with him and the one day I wish I could forget. Just as with anything in life, I feel that it’s important to strive for moderation after a suicide.
In the immediate aftermath, I learned that it is important to focus on and address the accompanying disbelief and trauma. I remember reading in one of my many books or pamphlets that survivors should actually repeat aloud that their loved one decided to take their life so that it does finally sink in. Based on my experience, I can vouch for the need to do this. As survivors, it’s critical that we seek the level of help and support we need to exist through this post-traumatic stress. But, it is just as important that we look beyond the act and celebrate the people they were before depression entered the picture.
It was rare to see my father without a camera in his hands. He captured everything on film, from our vacations, to our meals and the looks on our faces as we ran to the Christmas tree each December 25. As children, we cozied up in blankets to watch him guide us through slideshows and rolled our eyes when he made us pause before blowing out our birthday candles. The night after he died, I started to panic that I wouldn’t be able to remember anything but the end. It was just so unexpected and shocking. I remembered the inordinate collection of Rubbermaid tubs he kept in the basement full of photo albums and began to page through them. Even if his constant photo taking annoyed me in my earlier years, I thanked him after death for chronicling every aspect of our family life together. I snagged several of my favorite pictures and stayed up the rest of the night to put them into my own scrapbook. In my moments of sadness in the weeks and months after, I often turned to this special scrapbook my dad enabled me to put together. Twenty-nine will always feel way too young an age to lose a parent, but in maintaining perspective about the years of great times we did have, I feel comfort.
I don’t think survivors ever have to stop thinking or talking about the suicide or our loved one. The fact is, we will never have all the answers and should be allowed to continue exploring. Permission to do this is one of the most valuable aspects of my friendship with Jessica and Lindsay. Even now, we each continue to learn new things about our fathers (either in their last days or about whom they were as people in happier times). The reason is because we haven’t stopped talking. This has encouraged friends and family members to pass along an observation that helps to piece together the puzzle or a treasured anecdote that reiterates what funny men they were before. Following my mantra of moderation, I’m no longer worried about remembering “more” or either of us being defined by the act of suicide. Yes, there will always be that one day I think about from time-to-time, but there are more than 9,500 others with positive elements I can pull from instead.
