These Are My People

Each time I walk into one of our Survivors Of Suicide meetings, I am instantly comforted by all the faces I see but at the same time I am sad that these people have to be here too. Survivors Of Suicide is a support group for people who have lost someone they love to suicide. It's a place where people get what you are going through, because the rest of the world can't understand what the aftermath of this act does to the people left behind.

Our group meets twice a month. Sometimes I wish it was more frequent as you can't schedule the ups and downs of emotions that you experience when you lose someone to suicide. We started going to meetings 11 months after my father in law took his life. Our grief process was delayed by my pregnancy bed rest, car accident, and surgery so by the time Thanksgiving hit last year my husband simply couldn't bottle any more emotion. He was full. Every knook and cranny of his body had been filled with things he stuffed deep down inside so that he could take care of me and our kids. But now it was time to take care of him. The difference in him was immediate after our first meeting. He wasn't alone. He could finally feel what he was feeling and know that it was "normal".

The group is a God send in the sense that each person in that room has had that day. That day, that phone call, that fist in the gut, that moment where all of the blood rushes out of your body, the disbelief that this has happened. And each person in that room has also had every day since. They've been mad. They've blamed themselves. They've cried themselves to the point where no tears will come out. They've wished harder than they've ever wished before that they could have stopped it, made a phone call, stopped by the house, or that their loved one will take it back. These are my people. They get it. They understand in a way that other people can't. I didn't understand how suicide left its survivors shattered to pieces and living in a state of question for the rest of their lives. Unfortunately now I understand.

There is so much that I have learned by going to group. The first is not to carry the shame that suicide brings to its survivors. My father in law took his life January 23, 2010. I couldn't say out loud that it was suicide for over a year. I would say "He died tragically and unexpectedly." Which is the truth, but not the whole truth. You see, my father is law was an incredible man. One of the greatest I had ever met and that is evident in the man that my husband became. Finding out that he had committed suicide was a shock to our system. This isn't who he was. He was so much more. So after he died I felt like if I told people that he killed himself that it would be the only thing they thought about when I spoke of him. I liken it to the period at the end of his sentance. I was ashamed of the way he chose to die. But his last day should not erase the 6 decades of the amazing life he lived. And going to our S.O.S. meeting you hear this same story over and over again. These people had amazing hearts, put others before themselves, loved the people around them intensly, and were amazing fathers, mothers, sisters, wives, friends, uncles, etc.

I have learned that the stereo type of suicide doesn't apply to the majority of the people who take their lives. Society seems to think they know what suicidal people "Look" like. Moody, depressed, etc. That they are young, hormonal and misguieded. In reality most people who commit suicide get to do so because no one saw it coming and therefore couldn't do anything to "stop" it.

I have learned that no matter what they looked like on the outside, these people carried a pain that we can't relate to. They carry hurt and a loss of self worth that we can't understand. Take your deepest depression and magnify it. That's what they had been living with. Whether we knew it or not.

I have heard so many stories of loss in our meetings. There are so many ways that the people in our group have lost their loved ones. Some are in the way you would associate with a suicide (gun, rope, pills, jumping) and others are much more graphic and done to ensure that this will be it. That there's no turning back. These graphic deaths leave such amazing scars on the people left behind. I know for us, my father in law was missing for 3 days before police found him laying in the woods with a gun shot to the head. The thing that haunts me the most is that this beautiful, amazing man whom we all loved and cherished laid in the dirt and rain for 3 days. I can't get that out of my head. So I really can't imagine what some of these families endure daily at the idea of how their loved ones died in such a graphic manner.

Our meetings are filled with tears. Some tears are healing and some are angry. Most are empathetic as we listen to our fellow survivors. Empathy is why we come here. Empathy is what we can't get from anyone else. These are our people. They get it. They feel it. They know.

So I'm going to ask you to do something for us. For all the survivors. If you or someone you know is depressed or have considered suicide- please don't take it lightly. Get help. Be the difference. Visit the National Suicide Prevention web site or call them at 1-800-273-TALK
to speak with someone who understands. Every life is valuable.

The One About My Grandpa

I've been thinking about my grandpa a lot lately. My grandpa passed away last year. In the midst of all the craziness that was going on in our lives. It was one more thing to bottle and stuff down deep inside. But now we are dealing with all the things that happened last year and thus my grandpa has been on my mind.

My grandpa wasn't one of those sweet grandpas who swooped you up on his lap and read you books when you came to visit. He was a big old tough as nails tower of a man. He was stern and old fashioned. He was a "you better say yes sir and yes ma'am" type of guy. He expected us to behave properly and give respect. I remember a specific instance when I didn't call my Aunt Jennifer "AUNT" Jennifer. Aunt Jen was 6 years older than me so she didn't seem like an aunt. She was like one of the cousins. So the slip was natural. But my grandpa towered over me and game me what for. From there on it was AUNT Jennifer. I think as he got older his demeanor changed and he softened up. My younger cousins got a different grandpa that we older cousins got. But we moved away when I was 11 so I didn't get much of an opportunity to know that sweet grandpa.

In 2009 my grandpa was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. Directly after his first chemo treatment (He was determined to fight since my Aunt Jennifer fought her cancer so hard before succumbing to it in 2008) he ended up in the ICU. My grandma was told to gather family and that he wouldn't make it. We all hopped on overnight flights from all over the country to come say our good byes. It was hard to see my big strong tower of a grandpa in such a frail state where he couldn't even speak. But we all did our best to say goodbye properly. Then my grandma allowed them to take him off the machines and meds. And that's when grandpa proved just how strong he is and how this whole death thing was going to be on HIS terms. He somehow got better. They had to move him out of ICU (as there was no treatment for him) & into a regular room. Where he continued to improve. Talk. Stand up. Crack his smart ass jokes. It was confusing. Then they released him home to hospice. Where he hung on. For almost a year! Have you ever heard the term "Heaven won't have me and hell's afraid I'll take over"? Yes. My grandpa was tough as nails and he was going to do it HIS way.

So like I said, I've been thinking about him. I have two memories of my grandfather that I will always hold dear. The first was when I went to visit Ohio for my cousin's wedding. I ended up getting really bad food poisoning & my grandma was gone for the night. It was just me and grandpa. I was soooooo ill. And I have never seen my grandpa so concerned. He took such amazing care of me that night. He was soft and caring and worried. It is one of my fondest memories of him. The second was when he was on his "death bed". Once he was released to hospice at his house we all sat and waited. His pastor came over one afternoon and we gathered around his bed and held hands and I got to pray with my grandparents and my mother and a few other family members. It was one of the most special moments of my life.

Yeah, my grandpa was a tough as nails kind of guy. But he was an amazingly strong man who did it his way up until the end. The end HE chose. Not the doctors. I miss him. And I'm grateful for these two special memories I have of him. I know he's up in heaven in the softest recliner ever watching boxing and holding hands with my Aunt Jennifer.

IS seeing believing?

January 23rd we lost my husband's father tragically & unexpectedly. This is challenging in so many aspects but when you have children the task of explaining the sudden death of someone they love, it's even more challenging. As our children are 11 years apart in age, we had to deliver the news in two separate ways.

For our 13 year old, we were honest about what happened and let him know that his grandpa (or Papa Simon as we called him) loved him very much and will continue to love him. We explained the details of how he died and what it meant to the family. It was a heartbreaking task. Having him collapse into my arms with the almost expected question over and over again "Why? Why? Why?" was almost too much for my heart to take. Luckily we had a different situation with our 3 year old. His level of comprehension being different, we simply explained that Papa Simon lives with the angels and Jesus now. An explanation that flew effortlessly over my little boy's head.

I think that on some level we all believe that when a loved one leaves us that they are still with us. Watching over us. Being our angels. But do we need to see it to believe it?

Then there is the process of healing my husband. It's been a mixed bag of emotions as we deal with his father's death and the impending birth of our third child. He has good days and bad days. As much is to be expected. On one of his harder days he had secretly asked his father to give him a sign if he is still here watching over us. Anything to know he was still close.

A few weeks ago while reading bed time stories, our 3 year old said to my husband that there is a ghost in his room but it's not a monster. 3 year olds have very active imaginations so we shrugged it off. Then a few days later as they were playing play dough at the kitchen table our son announces, "Dad, I live here".
My husband replies, "Yes you do".
"Yeah. This is my house and I live here"
"Yes you do. You live here, and mommy lives here, and brother and me".
Then it came.
"Yep. I live here. You live here. And Papa Simon lives here now".
This simple statement, delivered as if it were nothing, hit my husband like a ton of bricks. He called me at work right away and we wept together. We truly believe that children can see angels because they don't know that they can't. My husband had asked his dad to let him know if he was with us and his father responded. I know he is here. Watching over us and caring for us and our unborn baby. Though my husband and I haven't seen him, we believe. And that is enough to start to fill the hole that his death left in our hearts. Belief is a powerful thing. Whether you see it or feel it.