It’s actually liberating to ditch things and basically spring clean my brain.
What others think. I have never been one to worry a lot about this. But once I lost a child by suicide to depression and addiction, I totally let go of caring what others thought of me personally. You either take me as I am or you don’t. And conversely I’m not going to be passing judgement on others either. It’s probably why I feel so bold about the mental health cause. I’m on a tear now and I will stop the day I die.
Grief is painful and heavy. But it can also inspire you to go in a direction you would have never gone and inspire a new sense of passion. To honor Charles’ memory, I will no longer be silent about suicide. Silence kills.
I have submitted this video in my application for a TedXRVA talk. If you want to help, please nominate. Description is below.
Thank you Melanie Murray for suggesting this title: Suicide, the silent serial killer
If you have a bereaved parent in your life, remember that she/he is most likely choking down sobs in the quiet of their house. The silence of where their child’s voice should be, is deafening. They likely sob in the shower. In the car. Behind their computer screen….anywhere.
Show them in tangible ways that you care.
Show them you have not forgotten their child, no matter how many years have passed.
I am more hypersensitive to the bitterness of others than I ever have been. If ever anyone is entitled to bitterness, I feel it would be those of us who have lost a child. Frankly, I don’t want to live my life feeling that way. It would be a disservice to my son that died as well as the one that lived.
Charles died 8 months and 3 days ago from the above dateand these are the things that helped me find some peace.
#1 – Joined a support group*
While in group, there were times I felt like I was pouring alcohol in a wound when hearing everyone’s stories. I broke down with each one. However, exposing yourself to others in this way releases so much of your own pain. You bond with others in the same situation. Allowing the hurt leads to healing. It’s truly a relief and it allows you to let go.
Alter Ego: Are you really going to push that “publish” button and depress everyone?
Me: Well that’s not why I am writing all this.
Alter Ego: Then why?
Me: I am not sure why.
Alter Ego: Then why bring everybody else down? Who wants to read this crap? No one wants to be dragged into your grief about your dead child. Who wants to hear about that? This is your journey not theirs.
Me: They don’t have to read it. It’s not a required reading assignment
That’s when you have a grief attack. In short, it’s a day that sucks. It sneaks up behind you and bam, ambushes you out of nowhere. It takes you down to your knees, it hurts like the devil, it doesn’t ask forgiveness nor does it apologize. You can’t function worth squat and you are confused and weepy.
Just when you think you can’t take another minute, hour or day, it subsides just a bit and then a little more and then some more until finally you see a sliver of light and you rush to open it wider because you … Read more... “Grief Ambush”
When grieving, you feel very alone, very isolated. But do know if you are grieving, you are not alone. It’s simply that the nature of grieving has a component of pain so deep, you shut down temporarily to give yourself space to absorb the emotional tsunami that often takes you down to your knees or inspires you to scream at the car dashboard. The part where you feel your worst is where it’s the most isolating. You can’t share that part with anyone else. It’s simply too personal and a painful part of the process.
Some days are tougher than others. You keep pulling yourself up over and over and by the end of the day, you’re just exhausted. And done. Just done. Usually, running lifts my spirits but this morning I kept having to force myself to keep it up. This was one of those days. Feels like this song. Funny, how his words are so relevant to my grief journey.