Today we’re honored to share a reflection from guest author Deborah Greene, who also lost her father to suicide. She writes here about the toughest journey she’s had to navigate in life.
The Grief Backpack
It’s been just over two years since my father’s suicide. Some days it feels as if it was just yesterday that I was standing in Whole Foods and got the call. Still on other days, it feels as if a whole lifetime has passed. I know that I have found healing, just as I know that I will never be healed. I am learning to live with his death, just as I know that I will never be at peace with it. Such is the truth of a suicide loss.
This journey has been the hardest one I have ever traveled. In the beginning, the pain was so great I carried it daily like an enormous backpack on my shoulders. It weighed me down, as I was constantly aware of the burden I was struggling to bear. My knees would buckle, I was winded and wounded. Every step forward was a struggle. I slipped, I faltered, I begged for the chance to go back to what was. I wanted to go home to before. That backpack felt as if it was full of stones, bricks and boulders. And I often questioned just how long I’d be able to carry it, even if I’d be able to carry it. It is no exaggeration to say that it took every ounce of my strength to keep going day in and day out. It would’ve been easier to stay in bed, wrapped in my sorrow. The terrain over which I had to lug my burden, so unfamiliar and barren, only made every step more uncertain. If there were rocks upon my shoulders, it felt as if my feet were carrying them too. Others did what they could to lighten my load, but in truth, it was and still is mine to bear.
If the backpack was the metaphor then, two years later I can say that there are days I still must carry it. The truth that I rarely speak out loud is that I am in pain every single day. It lives within me and in one form or another, it reminds me daily that it is there. But I am grateful that it isn’t always so large, so heavy, so overwhelming. There are days the backpack can stand empty in the corner, and I can carry the pain in my pocket. Some days it grows a bit larger, and I must hold it in a change purse, a fanny pack or a messenger bag. It is with me on those days, I’m aware of it, but it doesn’t weigh me down in quite the same manner. My knees don’t buckle, I can stand up straight and my stride is far more steady & strong.
Those days allow me to breathe more easily. I can live more in the present, taking in the joy, the blessings and the love that surrounds me. I can relish even the most mundane of tasks, because it feels somehow more normal to partake in them. It is a new normal yes, but it is evidence that I am surviving and even thriving.
I wish I could plan the level of pain each day will bring, or my ability to shape how it impacts me. I try to set my intentions for the day through meditation. I use breathing techniques to center myself. I sit in stillness, and I listen to what I am feeling. Some days I get only static. Other days offer me clarity. Some days looking inward is so painful I must open my eyes, and still other days I find it soothing & comforting.
No, I never know what the day ahead will bring. The morning may allow me to slip my sorrow into my pocket, but the afternoon brings with it a storm that forces me to pick up that backpack again. And still by evening, perhaps the pain has eased and I can hold it in the palm of my hand, look at it and lay it to rest.
The point is this…
I am carrying it. I am living with it. I have not allowed it to hold me in one space or place. No matter how heavy it gets, I have moved along this path, one that is so far from linear. And as I look back at how far I have come, it gives me the faith that I can continue onward.
The pain of my father’s suicide will always be with me. But I have discovered that I have the strength to hold it, to bear it and even to let it go. And for that, I am grateful.
“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”
― Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy
Deborah Greene lives in Superior, Colorado with her husband, 3 daughters and 2 rescue labs. She lost her father, Lowell Herman, to suicide on April 20, 2015. She is devoted to honoring his memory, by raising awareness about suicide loss & prevention. She blogs at reflectingoutloud.net where she shares openly & honestly, about her journey through traumatic grief and learning to live as a “Survivor of Suicide Loss.”
My ex-husband committed suicide in front of our son on April 20th, 2015. I know my son tries to deal with this pain, but I have no idea how to help him. I donate to suicide prevention in his Dad’s name for all meaningful dates. I try to talk to him, with no avail. He went to counseling at 1st, now he won’t go. He will not speak to a priest since they all turned their backs on him when he needed them the most because suicide is a sin. I know he has to grieve in his own way as I also do. We were married for a long time, he left me twice, once when he walked away, 2nd time when he committed suicide. I feel lost.
Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated..
Marlene,
I wish I could offer words or suggestions for you and your son. We are all so fragile from this devastation. The suicide of someone we love connects us in so many ways yet in some ways we are left to find our own way through our struggles and suffering. I don’t want to generalize but it seems men grieve differently. What’s been helpful to me (talking, blogs, reading, prayer) doesn’t seem to provide much help to my brother. We are both suffering profoundly since my sister took her life and this is what we share together when we talk, or text; the loss, the shock, the despair is our common place.
In my lowest times, prayer has been my only refuge. Sometimes my prayers are from such despair the only words I can say are “Help me God, please help me and my brothers”. God has provided me relief and I pray my brothers, too. I wish I had turned to God first while trying to help my sister. I relied on my own understanding. I will pray for you and your son.
Kelley
My cousin committed suicide 6 months ago. The way I handle it is we all have free will and make choices in this life. That was his choice. I respect his choice. Although I don’t agree with the choice he made he must have been in a bad way to make that choice in the first place. At times it feels as painful as a punch in the stomach that he is not here. How I deal with it is my choice. So I choose acceptance of his choice in that moment. I find this helps.
Free will is often not talked about in the aftermath of a tragic loss. We feel like we “should have” done something to change the outcome. Free will takes away our power and control. It is the one thing we can’t take away from another human being. Thank you for drawing attention to free will.
I daughters suicide will be 2 years on Dec 19 it is the hardest thing I have ever went through I am still so angry miss her more every day but I feel her with me all the time
Hello I lost my sister 25 years ago to suicide everything you have said is so true I still go day by day but the pain is not as intense as it once was I have moments in my days where it will hit me like a hammer right in the heart.
This really is a great analogy. Thank you for sharing.
Wow this really has pulled me up short. What strength and honesty – I so wish peace for everyone- I think I understand better what you are going through. Thankyou for sharing xx
The one year mark of my dad’s suicide is coming at the end of this month…..and the anxiety of it feels overwhelming….I never knew such awfulness could exist. Thank you everyone for sharing your thoughts, struggles, and successes. Your willingness to be vulnerable by sharing your experience provides strength to others.