Things I am Learning and Have Learned
Suicide sucks. Suicide, for surviving parents is different from other ways of death.
Let me explain before everyone comes unhinged and throws bricks at me. I am not saying other mothers do not suffer from their loss. That would be asinine. The difference with suicide, our children made a conscious decision to end their life. Even when drugs and alcohol are contributing factors for their decision, our child still made the choice. It is the murder of the self that parents and other survivors live with and healing becomes unbearable.
When our children make the decision to end their lives, it creates a black hole, a vacuum of the soul, and that pain never heals. Even when our children leave notes explaining why, we still search for answers, because we never get answers. Suicide becomes a mystery that parents must endure forever. Some say that the pain gets softer over time, but the emptiness and sadness from this kind of loss will never go away. How can it? Our children chose death over life.
The shock and grief, for any parent who helplessly watched in horror as their child ended their lives, becomes compounded. By that I mean not only are they suffering from the loss itself, but that memory of how is scorched in their mind forever. They suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I am learning that this parent’s pain becomes so excruciating, the act of getting out of the bed becomes a major event. I don’t know how anyone comes back from that with any sanity intact. I am learning that some never will and some will.
As a parent of an adult child who chose to end his life, I’m learning, I am not embarrassed of how my child died. I don’t and will never hide my loss from others and if you are experiencing this, you shouldn’t either. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks or says, these were our children, our babies. No one knows what our children went through while they still breathed. I will never be embarrassed because my child made his decision.
One would think that in the 21st Century, the whispers would have stopped on suicide. I’ve learned they haven’t stopped at all. I personally feel that the opinions of people who say those choosing suicide are weak, and the whispers of hell and damnation are quite frankly, appalling. Society has come a long way, it still has a long way to go. I am learning that most people can’t wrap their brains around suicide. I’ve even heard some folks say, “suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” If that were true, mental illness should be cured by now. I would ask anyone who says, this walk in my child’s shoes for a few minutes.
No one really understands what makes our minds tick, no one has figured out brain disease. Mental illness is not fun, no one comes into the world wanting a brain sickness. We have no control over it, just like any other illness. Just because that pain can’t be seen physically, as in many other diseases, doesn’t mean it isn’t just as lethal. I am learning that makes the disease more so.
As a survivor, I can tell you I am learning, there are plenty reasons why people choose to end their lives. The main reason, is ending their inner suffering and intense pain. When a person lives with mental illness twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, that pain isn’t just temporary. People do not wake up and tell themselves “Well, this is a good day, I think I’m cured.” Or “Fuck it, this looks like a good day to die.”
Medicine doesn’t work for everyone either. I am learning there are lots of folks on medicine, and they cannot stand the way it makes them feel. A person will not take medicine if it makes them feel worse. It becomes a vicious cycle which is exhausting for them and anyone they have contact with.
I’m learning suicide becomes an option which ends suffering because people see no end to pain. No one can say, when, where, or if that pain will ever end. Suicides aren’t selfish. Suicides don’t set out to cause another person pain, they just want and need to end their own. There is NOTHING in this world that can make me think or believe otherwise.
I do not advocate people ending their lives through suicide. Yet I will not berate the memory of a loved one, or anyone who chose this path. If I could cure anyone with mental illness, believe me, I WOULD. Unfortunately, I am not that powerful.
For suicide survivors, there’s a ton of self-blame to go around, and as parents, we will, and we do blame ourselves. Realistically, there is no one to blame. Suicide is not a reflection of good or bad parenting. I am learning as a parent, I can’t blame myself. As a parent, I know I didn’t do anything wrong, and my son didn’t do anything wrong. Our children did not do anything wrong.
There are things I know now, that I wish someone had told me years ago. My son threatened suicide often to his friends. My son made nooses. My son hid his nooses all over the place. I never had a reason to look for one. I never saw them, because I never knew about them. My son never told me he wanted to kill himself. My son did tell me he wanted to die, and I knew he was depressed when he said it. I asked him if he planned on killing himself, he said no. I am learning even though I offered help, I couldn’t make my child get help. I am learning this is not my fault.
I am learning there is no blame. I don’t blame, or could I blame anyone for knowing about nooses which I didn’t know about. There will always be the shoulda, coulda wouldas, but forget it. You, me, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, girlfriends, boyfriends, cannot prevent a suicide if the individual is hellbent on self-destruction. I’m learning we might divert it for a little while. We might divert it long enough to save the person and they die at a ripe old age. Might is merely guessing.
I am learning there is no way to know what would save them. No one knows. If I could’ve saved my son, believe me, I would have. I would take his place now if I had the chance. I’ve often thought about joining him, but when my pain ends, for everyone I know and love, their pain begins. Which is the only reason I have not joined my son.
I have learned that I should have or could have had the courts lock him away in a place where he couldn’t harm himself. However, I’ve also learned that the state can only keep someone locked away for 72 hours. My son was 29 years old when he made the decision to leave me permanently. And if they have no insurance, the state will not keep a person longer than those 72 hours. And then what?
Should I’ve drug him to work with me? Should I never let him out of my sight? Back to the shoulda, coulda, wouldas. Yes, I would have drug him to work with me had I known. He also had a job, I am sure he wanted to tell them that he couldn’t come in to work on any given day, as Mama was taking him with her. It makes zero sense. I have learned to stop beating myself up over this.
When other people compare a beloved pet’s death to my son’s death, or a divorce, which is, the death of a relationship. I don’t get angry or put off by them sharing their experience. Their reality of death, is their own. Often, these are the only deaths some people ever experience in their entire lives. Losing a pet and dissolving a marriage by their very nature are intense, painful, difficult, and shocking. Everyone must grieve their losses. Having experienced both situations before my son’s death myself, I thought they were the worst deaths ever to experience, and they were. This isn’t a contest.
Let them compare. Be gentle with them, please. No one wants anyone to go through what we go through now.
My child’s suicide is the worst death that’s ever happened to me. I won’t judge someone else’s suffering. Nor will I be angry with those that compare their suffering to mine. It’s natural for people to do that. Most of the time, people have no clue what to say, and that’s okay too. Let them speak, allow them to share their pain. Personally, I’m glad they thought to say anything at all. Again, this isn’t a contest.
I’m learning we will all suffer in different ways. We all have different relationships with the person that chose to end their lives. The common denominator is, suffering, we all suffer. Some folks will be angry, through the passage of time, it is possible, they will get over their anger or maybe they won’t. Their choice, not mine.
While we are suffering, we’ll lose friends, and that’s fine too. We can tell ourselves those people were never really our friends. I don’t believe that. I do that people leave because we cause them pain now watching us suffer. People will leave us for their own sanity. People leave for many reasons and while sad, it is usually for the best. It is possible, they came into our lives for a reason, and they are now finished with whatever reason. They might come back, they might not. I have learned that other folk’s issues with my child’s suffering is not for me to worry about.
I am learning that the people who choose to stay with me are the golden ones. The friends who hold us up, hold our hands, allow us to cry on their shoulders, those who listen to us and often say nothing, those are the only people that matter. Sometimes they leave us alone, to process our grief. That is also fine. I know when I need them all I need do is reach out.
When we know we cannot take life on life’s terms anymore, it’s okay to seek professional help. There are professionals who may not have lost a child, but they can help us in our situation. I adore my therapist. She listens to me and offers great advice when I need to talk. Sometimes we talk about wildlife outside her window. We talk about what I am doing to unburden myself from this agony.
If you choose and discover you are not comfortable with the therapist you chose, don’t give up. Keep looking for someone that makes you feel comfortable. If you think you can do this by yourself, by all means do what feels right for you. For me, I knew right away I needed help, I knew I would not survive this. I am also on medications. Together, my psychiatrist, therapist and I, figured out is working for me. One day, it’s possible, I’ll decide medications and therapy aren’t working anymore. For now, I stick with it.
I have learned that it is okay to cry. It’s okay to scream. I’ll cry and scream for the rest of my life. I’ll cry at unexpected times. I will fall apart in the grocery store, in the pet store getting dog food. I never know when the tears will come. They will come.
I do not like others seeing me cry. I do my best not to let anyone intrude on my pain or will I intrude in their life with my pain. I know it is ok to share it, but I’m protective with whom I share my loss. Sometimes, the tears just come anyway. I have learned there is nothing wrong with that.
I am learning that I will not get over my son’s death. Even though from what folks tell me, it gets softer as the years pass. A year in, I feel a little better. Not much. I do not believe I can or will get over the ache of never being able to see or hold my child again. I held him in my body for nine months. I watched him grow from an adorable baby to a little boy who laughed all the time and thought it hilarious making others laugh. He was goofy, he was silly, and he was my child. I watched my son grow into a goofy long-legged teen, who got into trouble with the law more than he should’ve. I forgave him that a long time ago.
I watched my son become an intelligent man. His choices were his own, and I wanted him to learn from his poor ones. I could not save him from making any decisions, even though I offered advice many times. As an adult, parents can only offer, we cannot make our children listen to advice. He was stubborn, not ignorant. I watched my son gobble up knowledge through his voracious need to read. Alex always had at least one book on his person. He read anything and everything.
My son was charming, soft hearted and very funny. He was a joy to be around, most of the time. He could be very co-dependent in a relationship. Again, when I offered help, he refused. I learned I could not make Alex do anything that Alex did not want to do. I couldn’t stop loving or adoring him.
My son became a gifted sensitive musician. He owned the heart of a poet. Was he too sensitive? Yes, I am sure of that. Aren’t most creatives? Sometimes that sensitivity hides behind a mask so that no one sees their vulnerable side. They become masters of deception showing only a tough exterior. They feel too much and often become their own worst enemy. Self-doubt, self-loathing, self-destruction. They cannot see the beauty, or the magic in themselves. Alex never saw his own magic, or the light that came on when he was near.
I have learned he would not have stayed even if he knew just how magical and special he was. My son believed the world was a cruel and an awful place to live. There was nothing to keep his darkness at bay. He knew he was loved. He was sick of fighting a war within himself, he believed he could never win. We all lost the day he left, not him. I learned that wherever he is, must be better for him than this place.
I am learning that I am now a member of the club that no one wants to be a member of. I am the mother of a child who decided to take his own life. I am a survivor of suicide loss. I do not mind when people say I am strong. I don’t believe it, but I stay for my son. I stay to make others aware. I stay because I must tell his story. I stay because I hope Alex’s story might just save the life of one person. Who knows? It could just be my own.
I am learning that while others celebrate birthdays and holidays, his birthday will come again and bring my family great sadness. I will always celebrate his entrance into this world because he lived. He brought me both joy and sadness while he was here. I know I will also grieve on his birthday; 29 years was not enough time with him. A hundred years with Alex would not be enough time.
May the Fourth, the day he was born. I know that every time I hear someone say, “May the Fourth be with you”, it will sting, yet, I will also smile. Alex is, and will always be a force around and within me. He forced me to look at life differently. I am learning life is short, too short. I don’t have time to put off anything that I once loved doing. Creating is in my bones, in my blood, and is my soul. I will create again. I know, each new day on this journey is a chance to begin a new creation. I am learning I can’t let my grief keep me from creating forever.
I know wherever my son is now, he is not hurting anymore. I realize that alone should bring me joy and it does, sometimes. I know that it is NOT selfish of me to grieve forever. However, there are people out there that need me. My grief has kept me at distance from those people that I love for far too long. It is the nature of grief.
There is a safe place now in a chamber of my heart where he Alex lives with me. He will not grow old there, and he is safe there. He was with me in his beginning of his life and he is with me forever in that chamber of my heart, now that he has left the world behind.
I want him to be proud that I was his Warrior Mama.
