Tom died the Monday before spring break in 2015. He attended the same school where I worked. I took the week off, of course, to mourn and make arrangements. But the Friday before break, I was granted permission to attend my Theatre Arts class. It was safe with my husband, the principal, and a counselor present along with my students. We did our usual entry activity and then talked about the play they were watching in my absence. It was an hour of normalcy for me in the eye of my tornado of grief.
When class was over, one of my students stayed behind. She told me her parents were going to be gone over break and that she had planned to kill herself while they were gone, but because she saw how the aftermath of his death impacted me, she realized she did not want to go through with it. Thankfully, I connected her immediately with the school counselor, and she was provided the help she needed. At the time I was so happy she spoke with me, because it felt like a win during such a terrible time.
When she graduated, we became Facebook friends. I do not see her posts often, but when I do I have such selfishly mixed feelings. She is thriving while my son is gone, like he had to die for her to live, and it makes me so jealous. I am sobbing over his death for the first time in months as I write this. Of course I am glad she did not attempt suicide, and that she is living a full and happy life. But this is one of the few moments where I am angry at the universe for taking him from me in exchange for someone else.
I know this is not rational. But it is raw and real. And damn it, I miss him so much.
Kimberly A. Starr © 2021
Kimberly, you have no idea how much I needed to receive this email tonight. I feel less alone. Thank you – for sharing this story & your honesty.
I’ve noticed my thoughts need not be rational for my feelings to matter and need expression.
I turn things over and over in my mind to find my way out of similar thoughts and feelings.
I pray for inner peace; sometimes I sense peace and sometimes I don’t.
May you sense peace today.
Reading this today created the unusual (for me) need to reply because it really hit home. That tiny sense of resentment creeps over me as well. I hate that it does, but I have no defenses to it.
My only child, my son Brett, took his own life 5 years ago this month. The months and years that have passed make it only a teeny bit easier to bear. I have siblings who have children, multiple in each case, and they are doing really well. My nieces and nephews are healthy, successful, loving children to their parents. While I am happy for them most of the time, sometimes I experience resentment too. Why do they get all the happiness and get to experience the joys of being parents while I feel, and am now, so alone. It is sometimes hard to talk to my siblings and hear them go on and on about their families doing this and that. I don’t want them to feel uncomfortable talking to me so I say nothing but positive things, but often feel sad after these conversations.
I think this is the way grief operates and hopefully I can continue to cope. But the sadness never goes away, does it. I miss Brett so much – his infectious smile, his big hugs……..I understand your pain.
Hi Linda. I am so very sorry for your loss. My heart goes out to you. My only son died by suicide just over a year ago. I still wake up at times and can’t believe he is gone (crying while I type this…) and realize that I will never, ever be able to hug him again. I too feel resentment at times and I am still very sad. A part of me died the day my son decided to end his life, and I will never, ever be the same. I miss and love him so very much. And, no, I don’t think the sadness will ever go away but just know that you are not alone in your suffering and there are other mothers out there who are able to relate to the pain of your loss.
Julie, I feel so bad for you, knowing as I do how impossibly hard this is. Our children are always a huge part of us and when that part is gone it is impossible to ever be fully the same. Few people who have not had such a loss can understand as we do. My deepest sympathies to you and all those on this post who have expressed this type of grief. Linda
Kimberly, your comments resonate with me, and I am sure they do with many parents who have lost a child to suicide. Your feelings are not irrational, and no thoughts are right or wrong. How wonderful that you spoke out for this girl, and got her the help she needed. Of course, we want things to be the way they used to be, and they never can be.
I read your comments yesterday, 12th April in Australia, which was my youngest son’s 36th birthday, who took his own life 28/7/2014. People assume, that in time our grief will lesson. It changes, yes, but never goes away, and this year his birthday hit me hard.
I am not able to cry very often, but found I was able to sob deeply from my stomach, and felt sick. I practise mindfulness, as part of Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, and therefore don’t avoid my emotions, Having said that, I have learnt to conceal my feelings from my other two sons, who were not able to support me in the early stages, and and did not want to be around me, as I ‘made them sad”. This is still the case. Suicide is the most horrible, alienating type of grief. Have I blamed my son, or felt angry with him? No. He had struggled for years with anxiety, had sought treatment and was not a quitter. I often feel totally bereft, and have little enjoyment in life, but know I am not suicidal, I am under a psychiatrist, and have been on antidepressants for many years.
I have had similar experiences, and the same conflicting feelings since my daugher, McKenzie, died by suicide in 2017. Speaking out does help, but it also feels like I had to trade my daughter’s life for the lives of strangers. Hugs and strength
I am so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing.