A long time between posts. There have been many times when I wanted to sit and write but didn't. I worked so hard this summer at "getting better". I don't think one "gets better" from the loss of a loved one to suicide. That is the only perspective I can speak from. We may learn coping skills, we make medicate, meditate, drink, pray, run away; I've done all but the drink and that is only because I do medicate. We read and we write and we weep. We reach out to friends when we are frightened or feeling alone or just looking for some validation for the despair we feel. This summer I've done all these things and because I have such wonderful friends and family I understand on the blackest days, the days when I don't think I can go, that I have to, and more than that, that I want to. I just don't want to want to. Does that make any sense?
I've realized that I am a very strong woman. But to my way of thinking, strength shouldn't be compared to emotion. Yes, I weep every day. That doesn't mean I'm weak. It means, well, it means I am very sad and I miss my son and I am so sorry he had to suffer so before he chose to leave.
One the other hand, I saw my son as a strong man who fought long and hard to stay healthy but was eventually betrayed by the chemicals in his brain causing his mood dysregulation, by the medical system who cannot help so many, by Health Canada for ignoring his diagnosis and refusing him the help he needed to successfully return to work. I do not see his act as one of weakness, but as one of despair and strength to end is pain before his illness took him to places and decisions he did not want to go to or make. Healthy people do not do this. Desperate, frightened, pained people do, people whose ability to cope with the pain in their life has been surpassed. We are not the ones to judge what causes pain to another. God know this. God doesn't judge those who commit suicide. He understands. He is a compassionate God who sees the suffering I believe honestly that He gave my boy the emotional strength to take his own life. Michael was terrified of dying but more terrified of living. He prayed to God that he had known as a child, believed in but only really went to in times of trouble.
My worst times are when I rememer our last two years and recall how frightened and lonely his was after his marriage ended, how he grieved for times he couldn't spend with his child. I think those memories are harder than his death. Because the night he committed suicide I knew his pain had ended.
I have poems he wrote about what was going on in his soul as he was deciding to stay or leave. They are heart breaking because I feel so strongly there should be choices other than living or dying. There should be help. And there is so very little.
I have a friend who has a son going through what my son went through. He no longer wants to live. His mother is dying of cancer. He has other issues but talks suicide. He can't get help..please God don't let us lose him too because we don't really know what to do to help these people.
I would like to hear from anyone who is in a similar situation. Here in our little town we are starting a suicide survivor group. I think there are 7 or 8 families who have lost children to suicide. Way too many...any is too many.
I'm a bit sleepy now..it was an emotional day..but I needed to check back in...this is my place of safety and support. I'm going to go and write to my son now.
1 comment:
I agree Mama, that strength is measured in so many things, and perhaps even in tears. In many people it takes a lot of strength to let themselves cry, to let themselves grieve. I know that Mike was strong. He looked for help in so many places and did not give up regardless of what those who are uneducated and lacking in compassion may say. Love you so much xx
Post a Comment