Category: Journal in the Woods Blog

Prologue

I try to make my blog a hopeful place and not one of sadness. My overall goal is to help people who may have isolated themselves because of grief, to reach those who may feel like they are the only ones experiencing certain feelings. Doing so heals us both.

But at times, I need to share the uglier side of grief. The raw side. The side people don’t want to talk about or even think about.

Although today’s post has a positive message at the end, it is raw and full of emotion. It may read as a somewhat incoherent, stream-of-consciousness, emotional catharsis.

Sometimes, grief is like that.

The important thing to remember is that somehow we find the strength to keep going. Some days it’s just being able to get out of bed. Other days, life feels happy and rewarding again. Although grief is a constant companion, my life and my being are not defined by it.

My Constant Companion

That day.

The worst day of my life. The day I learned my son was dead by his own hand. That was the day I gained my new companion: Grief. It was he that drew the breath out of my lungs and knocked me to the floor, where I tucked myself into a ball and screamed until my throat felt like a raw, bleeding mess.

Time stopped. How long did I scream? A minute? An hour? When I stopped and looked up, I was face to face with Grief. From that day on, Grief seeped into my very soul, shattering my being.

And he never leaves my side.

At times, he is a raging, angry bear. Roaring, destroying, fiercely defending his territory. He can be like a tsunami, striking suddenly and unexpectedly, an enormous wave swallowing all in his path, leaving me drowning in sadness, desperately trying to save myself from the overwhelming attack.

Other times, he is a quiet companion, a pale ghost one can only sense with the heart. Felt, but not seen.

I laugh with you sometimes. I laugh at the irony of Nico dying first and the absurdness of trying to continue without him. The morbid, completely inappropriate humor that rattles through my brain… Like when people (who don’t know he’s dead) ask, “What is your son doing now?” in my head I answer, “Um, Pushing up daises??” 

Grief knows no etiquette, it only knows…

persistence.

Grief-ever present, even as I laugh. I turn my head to see if you are watching. Do I have a right to smile, to laugh again? Will I be punished? I look to see your reaction.

None.

You are…? You are. You just are.

You do not judge, you do not comfort. You are just present, a fog that waxes and wanes but never completely lifts. The burden may lighten then grow heavy again, but you are here to stay.

No respite.

So we must co-exist. We must find our balance. I must negotiate the ebb and flow that you are. Feel the burn, rejoice in the lightness.

Just be. Just love. Just remember…

Haunting, taunting, soul sucking. Why? What did I do to deserve this? There is no justice-justice is not in the vocabulary of Grief. It has its own words:

solitude, faith, surrender…

But surrender does not mean giving up (not in the language of Grief). It means acceptance, on a deeper level. Letting go – of people, feelings… control.

Like an aging willow I must bend gracefully to Grief. Struggle? Struggle is a waste of energy. Fighting is futile and only hurts me more.

Let go…and be free.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When you lose something important in your life, you not only suffer that loss, but other losses stemming from it.

For example, if you break up with your significant other you may initially feel the loss of their company, but there are other losses too. Future losses. You may lament never growing old together, having children, etc. These losses are called “secondary losses,” and they are part of the grieving process.

Secondary losses can occur not only from the death of a loved one, but from any significant loss. Losing a job, losing your ability to have children, or losing physical function through illness or aging can also trigger secondary losses.

Suicide is a huge thing to deal with. As grief subsides, secondary losses begin to sting. It’s a different kind of pain than the initial loss. It’s less acute and shocking and more like a slow burn. It’s another layer to the grief process, a different shade of grief.

Triggers come out of nowhere… a bumper sticker on a car; “World’s Best Grandma,” hearing friends talk about their kids’ jobs, weddings and grandkids knowing I will never be able to have that conversation. I grieve for the son I will not see grow into a man, marry, or help me when I’m old.

The burn comes up. Not to be.

How peculiar to grieve for something I never had…

Sometimes I wonder why I did not have a complete mental breakdown when my son died. He was the center of my universe and the most important person in my life. I loved him with all my heart and soul.

Disbelief still reigns supreme. I understand he is physically gone, but it’s difficult to integrate that concept into my life. Sometimes I feel I’ve only scratched the surface of my grief, and I worry that a devastating breakdown is forthcoming.

An image that comes to mind is from Star Wars. I remember a scene from the original movie where we get our first look at the Death Star. The camera starts with and extreme closeup and you’re not really sure what you’re looking at. The camera slowly pulls back to reveal a wide-angle look. After what seems like a few minutes, the Death Star in its entirety is revealed. It’s overwhelming in its enormity.

That’s how I view my grief process. Am I still in the macro phase, where I’m not really sure what I’m looking at? Is the enormity of my grief too overwhelming to perceive when I’m this close to it? Will my grief process be a matter of slowly drawing back to see the immensity of it all?

Or is it the other way around? Am I looking at this huge ball of grief, so paralyzed by its size that I can only go micro, and process little bits at a time?

I encourage you to share your experiences with loss.

This card is from the Campaign to Change Direction Organization. Although it is somewhat oversimplified, it describes five signs that could indicate a person is in emotional distress and may need help.

In case you can’t read them, the five signs are:

• Not feeling like yourself (personality change)
• Feeling agitated
• Feeling withdrawn
• Not caring for yourself
• Feeling helpless

I have quoted from the Campaign to Change Direction website to help raise awareness of mental health issues and what you can do to help.

“The goal of the Campaign to Change Direction is to change the culture of mental health in America so that all of those in need receive the care and support they deserve. The Campaign encourages all Americans to pay attention to their emotional well-being – and it reminds us that our emotional well-being is just as important as our physical well-being.”

“If You Recognize That Someone In Your Life Is Suffering, Now What?

You connect, you reach out, you inspire hope, and you offer help. Show compassion and caring and a willingness to find a solution when the person may not have the will or drive to help him- or herself. There are many resources in our communities. It may take more than one offer, and you may need to reach out to others who share your concern about the person who is suffering.  If everyone is more open and honest about mental health, we can prevent pain and suffering, and those in need will get the help they deserve.”

Please visit www.changedirection.org for more information and some helpful resources.

Disclaimer: I am not a health professional and I am not dispensing health advice. This blog is about my personal experiences and opinions.

My grief process differed from what other people seemed to go through. My immediate response was to get books about grieving and loss from the library and try to make sense of my feelings. I read about the stages of grief and what I might expect to go through. I often felt that I was not going through the grief process in the “right” way.

But… is there a “right” way to grieve?

I have learned that the grief process is as individual as you are. In my opinion there is not a “right” way. What’s most important is to acknowledge and allow yourself to feel whatever comes up. When you start pushing away uncomfortable feelings or pretend you’re okay when you’re not, then there might be trouble. Of course, if you have suicidal thoughts or are having trouble functioning you should seek the help of a mental health professional.

I am very fortunate to have the guidance of an excellent therapist who had counseled my son for 15 years. I would often tell him that I felt I was not grieving in the right way over the loss of my son. I wasn’t crying much and was somehow able to work and function, although I definitely felt numb and dazed. He explained to me that not everyone goes through all the stages of grief or go through them in a particular order. He stressed that I should not try to force certain feelings (like sadness or crying) and instead let them come up naturally.

Generally, the stages of grief are described as denial, anger, depression, bargaining, and acceptance (Kubler-Ross model). Below is a useful link about the stages of grief from a medical viewpoint.

http://www.webmd.com/balance/normal-grieving-and-stages-of-grief#1

But not everyone goes through each stage, and it is common to bounce between stages. Triggers like the anniversary date of the death, the deceased’s birthday, or holidays can bring on stages of grief you may have already gone through and thought you had mastered. I’ve come to understand that it’s an ongoing process, and don’t have expectations about what I should be feeling.

For example, I would get upset when my grief would return after a few days or even weeks of feeling very positive and good. It made me feel like my emotions were not under my control. I couldn’t even pinpoint what triggered my grief, which really bothered me.

Now I just accept what comes and try to work through it. I don’t look at it as a setback anymore. Instead of feeling knocked over by unexpected waves of grief, I now try to ride them out. I accept that this may keep happening for the rest of my life.

As I’ve said in a previous post, you don’t “get over,” your grief,  it just evolves… hopefully into something less painful.

 

 

When you have survived the worst thing that could happen in your life, (and for me, that was my son’s suicide) there is a kind of freedom about the other problems in your life. I just don’t worry about things the way I used to. I’m not saying I don’t care, but when I find myself getting stressed about money, a relationship, family stuff, etc. it’s much easier to let it go now.  As the famous saying goes, what will be, will be.

It’s a sad kind of freedom, because everything else seems almost trivial in comparison to losing my son. But at the same time, there is empowerment. I think to myself, “I’m getting through the worst thing that has ever happened in my life…this is nothing compared to that. It will work out.” I don’t waste time with “what-ifs” or ruminate on things the way I used to.

Another unexpected outcome from my son’s suicide is that I have a new reverence for life. I see the beauty in simple things and treasure the love of my wonderful friends and family. Even a smile from a stranger or a tail-waging dog can make me feel great.

I’ve also learned to be grateful for all the things in my life that are good, and there are a lot of them. Having a sense of gratitude is so important and my son’s passing just made that so much more clear. I know some people feel that I could never be happy again but that is not true. I will always have a sense of loss, but not necessarily sadness all the time. Being grateful every day is a great weapon against sadness.

Writing this post reminded me of an article I read about Sheryl Sandberg, the second-in-command at Facebook, who wrote a book about the grief process after suddenly losing her husband.

This one is next on my reading list!

One of the things Sandberg says is that your life doesn’t have to be wall-to-wall sadness after a tragic loss. You can have happy days, find love and live a good life. Of course there are also bad days, crying and questions that will never be answered. Welcome to the grief process. It’s like that. You don’t “get over it,” it just evolves, hopefully into something less painful.

In conclusion, I guess what I’m trying to say is that part of the recovery process for me was to realize that, yes, this loss changed my life for the worse… but also, unexpectedly, for the better in some very important ways.

I encourage you to post comments about your grief process. Did some things change for the better after your loss? If you’d rather contact me privately email me: v620@optonline.net

I wanted to share an excellent resource; the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. They have a great website and activities, including an “Out of the Darkness Walk” at Jones Beach in October, and “Survivor Day” around Thanksgiving.

I’m not really a “group” anything kind of person. I have no interest in joining a support group, however I did participate (reluctantly) in the “Out of the Darkness Walk” last year and it was a good experience. I met some wonderful people and felt like I was honoring my son’s memory. It was also an eye-opening experience to see how many people were affected by suicide. It helped me to feel less alone and isolated, without having to interact with anyone directly (although I did).

Participants were encouraged to wear different colored bead necklaces (which were supplied) to represent your relationship to the person who committed suicide (red for a friend, green for a child, etc.). It was a good idea, because without saying a word, you knew if someone had lost a spouse, child, etc. and it provided an easy way to connect with people. I know it made me more comfortable about talking to others on the walk.

Another worthwhile event was “Survivor Day.” This event included seminars about the grief process and a group sharing session based on your relationship to the deceased. I have to say it was difficult for me to relate to the other mothers in the group, I was going through a very different grief process from them. There was one woman I connected with who seemed to be of the same mindset as me, but mostly it just confirmed that I wouldn’t be interested in participating in a support group. Still, Survivor Day was an experience that helped me to progress through the grief process.

I highly recommend the organization, and the site is full of helpful information and resources.

Check it out! www.afsp.org

 

This post is a bit longer than usual. It’s about deaths that are stigmatized versus deaths that are not. This represents my view on things and I invite comments whether you agree, disagree or want to share your own experience.

Consider the following situations:

A firefighter with a young family dies in the line of duty.
A child, 5-years-old dies of cancer.
A 96-year-old grandmother dies of natural causes.
A 56-year-old smoker with a family dies of lung cancer.
A teenager commits suicide.

Does society treat each death in the same way? Are the emotions associated with each death similar or very different? Do the people who’ve suffered the loss feel any more or less grief because of the manner in which their loved on died, or as a result of how people respond to the death?

Recently a NYC firefighter died in the line of duty, leaving behind a wife and young daughter. It was very tragic. Huge numbers of firefighters turned out for the wake and funeral and the death was covered in the newspaper for several days. There was a huge outpouring of support and sympathy from the community as well.

Please don’t misunderstand me here, I understand this person was a hero and died trying to help others. I get why the response was so huge and I think it’s wonderful.

In comparison, the 56-year-old smoker would not get the same fanfare, and there is even some stigma that he “brought it on himself” because he chose to smoke. But there is still a grieving family here. Is their grief any less valid than the firefighter’s family?

What about the death of the 96-year-old grandmother? There certainly is deep sadness, the person is loved and will be missed, but we tend to accept this death more readily. There is no stigma or shock-we expect people this old to die. We say things like, “They lived a long life” or “It was their time to go.” There is no stigma, no blame, no sense of outrage or unfairness.

A child dying of cancer is truly tragic. However, there is not the same stigma as the smoker, because the child is an innocent victim. The death of any child is tragic and unexpected. Therefore, the grief factor is huge. There is often an initial outpouring of support and sympathy, but sometimes people turn away shortly after. I think this is because it is too painful and awkward for people to continue to deal with the grieving family. After the initial words of sympathy and support, many people come up empty and would rather just avoid the situation and the family. You can imagine how this would affect the grieving family, making them feel an additional sense of loss (their friends) while they work through the stages of grief.

How does a teenager who committed suicide compare to these other deaths? For one thing, there is a huge stigma. As with the child who dies from cancer, there is that initial support, then often, avoidance and denial. Is the sympathy diminished because this person chose to end his life rather than being a victim of a disease or accident? In the case of suicide, my personal experience has been that some people won’t acknowledge the death at all, and treat the grieving family as pariahs. Why? Is it fear? Discomfort with the idea of suicide? Does it remind them of their own mortality? Do they think it’s contagious?

It’s very painful for the person who has suffered the loss. It just adds to the feelings of isolation, despair, and sometimes anger. For example, a former coworker, whose daughter was a close friend of my son’s at one time, didn’t even acknowledge the death and nor did her daughter. No card or phone call…nothing. This made me angry and I felt like my son’s death didn’t matter because it was a suicide.  All they had to do is say “Sorry for your loss.” A coworker with whom I shared the story of my son was initially very sympathetic. She now pretends not to see me, even when I say hello. It’s weird and depressing.

I know suicide is a scary and shocking thing. Believe me, nobody knows that better than me. If it sounds like I have expectations for peoples’ response to my son’s death, I do. They are very simple: acknowledge the loss and my grief. That’s it. “Sorry for your loss,” “I’m sorry you are going through this.” Pretty simple, right? I am blessed to have family and friends who understand this and continue to check in with me a year and a half after my loss. My son’s death is not a taboo subject.

Just to be clear, the point of this post is that no matter how the loss occurred, there is grief and pain that needs to be acknowledged and when there is a stigma attached to the loss, it can interfere with that.

Here is an excerpt from the original journal that was very touching. It is from a young man who collects video games. I was looking sell my son’s massive collection to someone who would appreciate them, and T. certainly was that guy! We both kind of felt that Nico facilitated our meeting so his most treasured possessions would find a good home.

Dear Vicki and Nico,

Meeting you and being brought to this place was no accident. I too, suffer from depression and not many people understand what I go through or see me as having a physical ailment. I never knew Nico, but we had more in common than most other people who claim to be the best of friends do. We are closeted, and we hold things inside, but we also know how to escape the harshness of reality. Some people call us nerds. Some people call us geeks. Some people –heck- most people don’t understand us. The truth is, us “nerds” understand each other. I met Vicki simply looking to build upon a passion of mine. A passion I shared with Nico. A passion that really allowed us to be ourselves. Without knowing him, I can only picture Nico as being a creative and inspiring soul who I would have loved to have met in life. Despite the tragedy, this place was another “Fortress of Solitude” for him. A place where he could be himself without worry. I feel something here, something magical. And it will always be here. Nico- I may not have known you, but I am your friend. And Vicki-I am glad to have met you. It was truly an action done by your son. Much love and prayer

-T.