Bitter much?

May24

Sometimes it’s hard when someone complains about their “hard life” to me. But other times when someone complains – confides – I’m grateful that I’m being treated like a friend and not a fragile basket case. I didn’t realize until recently why I react inconsistently…

If you have not acknowledged the death of my son just shut up about your “hard life.” How’s that for brutal honesty? I’m not talking about people who didn’t even know me when my son took his life. I’m saying there are people who were part of my life that simply never acknowledged it. Recently I got an email from someone – who had never said a word about Drey – about what a hard time they’re having because they’re going through a divorce. Divorce sucks big time. And it is very painful. But honestly if you didn’t have 5 minutes to call, text (or god forbid you actually show up at the funeral!) then don’t reach out to me about your hard life. That probably sounds rough. Maybe I’m bitter. I don’t know. How bout if I’d at least get a “I never reached out when Drey died because I didn’t know what to say but I thought of you often” before the whining about your “hard life” starts?

Grief sucks. I truly get that it’s awkward to reach out to someone who’s facing the unimaginable. I am confident I said insensitive things to grieving people before 8.8.12. And in all fairness there may have been times I didn’t reach out at all. We say, “what could I possibly say that would be helpful?” And “they have others that are closer to them “handling” this situation so I don’t need to be there.” But let’s not kid ourselves – these justifications we tell ourselves are simply self-protection and have nothing to do with the bereaved parent who’s curled up in a ball in the corner of the kitchen sobbing. More realistically my pre-8.8.12 thoughts were, “What if the person cries the whole time I’m there? What if I don’t know when to leave? I just can’t see my happy go lucky friend in that emotional state. I don’t want to see them because I’ll feel completely helpless.”

I’m grateful for the comfort-level I now have with being with grieving people. It’s one blessing that’s come out of this wreckage. I am also grateful beyond words for all the support I received especially in those first several months. Including from a few people that hardly knew me – Jan, Deanna, Trish, WS folks! That made a huge impression on me! I treasure the ways God redeems this tragedy on this side of heaven.

And for those folks that have yet to acknowledge Drey’s death and choose to reach out now to share their “hard life” circumstances with me? Kiss my ass. (Can you see the light of Christ shining from me? Ugh… I’m a work in progress! Praise God for His mercy!).

Responsibility, guilt and suicide

May19

I don’t think it’s humanly possible to live through the aftermath of your child’s suicide without feeling responsible. I don’t think these feelings of guilt and responsibility are limited to just me and Fred. They extend to the rest of our family and to friends, too. But we’re Mom & Dad. The feelings of responsibility we have run deep.

At one point I believed I contributed to Drey’s fearlessness – something he had in order to go through with this – because I took him on rollercoasters at too young of an age. And I’ve believed – and sometimes still do – that we shouldn’t have moved… and if his Dad and I hadn’t of divorced Drey would’ve been safe. And why didn’t I wake up when I got his text? Why didn’t I drive to his Dad’s that morning? And on and on. It’s torture. A torture that can’t be fixed with well-meaning words. A torture that sometimes is too intense to just distract yourself from. These thoughts aren’t as frequent as they used to be. But they’ve recently been triggered and here I am. Processing the impact of my decisions on his death at an even deeper level.

I write for me. For my processing. For my healing. And I write to share with anyone else suffering from a loss to suicide… we are all different and what helps one may not help the other but we are all connected because of our tragedies. We are all part of the stupid ass club that no one else understands. I’m grateful for the survivors that I’ve met – both online and through SOS groups.

What helps me put my guilt, my feeling that I contributed to my son’s decision to end his life? Absolutely nothing apart from God. Nothing. I have and still do attempt to “logic” my way through it. I replay conversations and remind myself of all the times Drey expressed his love for me. I try to reason that even though he didn’t live here anymore the fact that his mail still came here (and still flippin does. that sucks) that he still considered me “home.” I recall my feelings for him – easily expressed – were those of unconditional love and absolute delight. God how I loved him! These things bring me moments of relief – but it’s never sustainable for more than a few hours. The only relief I’ve been able to experience for longer periods of time has been from God…

1) Saying out loud the thoughts in my head to my closest friends. Getting them out in the open often deflates them of the power they had gained bouncing around inside my mind. When the thoughts are out there my friends remind me of God’s truth. Truths I know, and I try to rehearse. But I get exhausted from trying to talk to myself – and that’s okay. I don’t have to “go it” alone.

2) Revisiting my faith. I have revisited every single thing I thought I believed about God and his plan of redemption. Digging into the book of Hebrews in particular has brought me a ton of comfort. I’ve had several “holy shit – this IS real! I CAN count this as truth!” moments. It is NOT about me trying to clean myself up. It’s about His mercy.

3) Meditating on scriptures about suffering and sorrow. Psalm 126:6 is one of my favorites.

4) Reading biblically-based books about heaven. I made a big-ass deposit in heaven… so learning more about it has become a priority.

5) Being honest with God. He knows my thoughts before I’m even aware of them. There’s no point in trying to hide. And recently I heard someone say, “Try not to dwell on what there is no answer to.” So simple, yet so profound. And I’ve found it’s not enough to just “stop thinking about it.” I have to go the next step and replace the thoughts of guilt and responsibility with truth.

These are the things that have brought me more sustainable relief from the tormenting thoughts that creep in. I wish I’d never experience a negative self-condemning thought again but that’s just not realistic. I’m human, not God.

Guilt sucks. Guilt and the accusations associated with it are not from God.

Lessons from my first Mother’s Day as a bereaved Mom.

May7

Well here I am already…. My second Mother’s Day since Drey died. I’m grateful for how fast time seems to be flying by. Every day brings me closer to seeing him again.

Everyone handles grief their own unique way. Sometimes I hear people say Mother’s Day makes them sad because their Mom or child is gone. And they try not to think about it – they try to stay busy. Others can’t get out of bed. Others do something that reminds them of their loved one. And others don’t put any kind of forethought into how they’ll spend the day. That was me last year… Robbie and I didn’t decide what to do until that morning. We were having breakfast with a close friend – who has also lost a son – and he asked what our plan was for the day. “Uh – we don’t have one.” “Well you need one. And it needs to be something you haven’t done in the past for Mother’s Day. You need to create a new memory.” John is direct like that. He just tells you how it is. So we decided we would go to the zoo.

Lesson #1: have a plan. Even if that plan is to pull the covers over your head.

Lesson #2: have a second plan (thank you Connie). Options are important especially during intense periods of grief. Have a friend or family member on “stand by.” “You know, I thought I wanted to be alone today but now I just really need to get out of the house. Let’s grab lunch.”

Lesson #3: consider who you’ll be around when deciding on your plan. The zoo for year one was not our best choice. There were Mom’s and children everywhere.

Lesson #4 didn’t arrive until Father’s Day… Drey is/was my only child. Robbie is Drey’s stepdad and Robbie has a son, David. So when Father’s Day arrived and the typical, “where would Robbie like to go to dinner” questions bubbled up in my mind I got pissed. Like REAL pissed. Not at Robbie. The same reality was hitting him at the same time…. Am I supposed to make sure he gets a card, dinner or a gift like always? So he still gets to celebrate but because my son is dead I don’t? We try to just shove Mother’s Day out of our minds? Gross! Screw that! Not only am I still a Mom – but quite frankly I am surviving the unimaginable as a Mom! That makes me a badass Mom! We will not ignore Mother’s Day next year!

Lesson #5: whatever works one year may not work the next. Grief is complicated and special days may bring out a different flood of emotions from one year to the next. Just because for this year – year 2 without Drey – I want to be known as a Mom doesn’t mean I won’t want to bury my head in the sand next year. That response is NOT a set-back. It just is what it is.

Lesson #6: be grateful and acknowledge you are grateful as soon as you are able. It’s hard to be grateful when you’ve suffered a tragic loss. And if anyone mentioned that I still had a lot to be thankful for they’d get the “don’t make me hurt you” glare. Learning to be grateful was and still is a private lesson that no one but God could help me with. I don’t remember if I called my Mom and wished her a Happy Mother’s Day last year. I’m sure I did… But honestly the day is a blur. I love my Mom dearly. I am grateful for her every day – including Mother’s Day. Her selfless love and concern for me is indescribable. I am blessed.

A Priest and a foul-mouthed soccer Mom walk into a Bob Evans…

Apr22

Father Leo had a lot of good information. I learned more about how Law Enforcement is structured, other agencies I may want to connect with and about different scenarios he’s been in. Most importantly I learned to expect we’ll need to “prove ourselves” so to speak as valuable at a crime scene. Father Leo talked about the ministry of presence and how important it is. But that’s hard to understand unless you’ve lived through a tragic death of a loved one. There are no words to make it better. None. But knowing someone is there with you – some times perhaps just sitting silently – is impactful beyond words. Especially when the person sitting with you is also a survivor of suicide loss. Just small comments Father Leo said… like how sometimes when he goes to a scene he is initially an unwelcomed intruder that surely just told the family a bad joke rather than the truth. But by the end of his time there he is no longer an unwelcomed stranger. Most of the time he never knows if his presence was valuable in some small way. But that doesn’t keep him from moving forward in serving others in this way. What an important ministry. Through meeting people like Father Leo I’m becoming more equipped – and learning how to equip others – to be part of a LOSS team.

I feel God’s hand in this. I can’t explain it but I do sense it… It’s not moving along in my preferred time table (we would’ve launched the LOSS team and hindsighted what’s working & what’s not by now – and you can bet the “what’s not working” part of the list would’ve been way longer!) I’m confident it has been God’s timing. I hope as people read this and other blogs about the LOSS team that they’re praying about it… that God would continue to open doors to these important Postvention efforts. I know this is my personal journey and my personal passion. Not everyone carries the same depth of concern for complete strangers that have lost someone to suicide that I do. We are all shaped by our own personal circumstances and experiences. I hope I can be a diligent prayer warrior for my family and friends as they pursue God and as they pursue the good works He’s given them to do.

And for anyone reading this that knows me fairly well… Yes, I successfully enjoyed a meal and conversation with Father Leo without any colorful language 🙂

What I’ll say – if speaking is even possible – when I see God

Apr19

Thank You God that it’s over!
Thank You for dying for me.
Thank You for conquering death for me.
I tried to stay in the fight after Drey died.
I tried to do that in dependence on You.
My motives were almost always selfish but I didn’t let that stop me from sharing You – sometimes.
I wanted to be a blessing to those who mourn.
I feebly tried not to be angry with You.
I made pitiful attempts to refrain from believing You owed me something since You took Drey.
I tried not to be bitter when everyone moved on with their life.
I wanted to enjoy and selflessly love who was left in my life.
I tried to strip off the filmy residue of grief that coated everything.
On occasion I won the minute by minute battle and chose Spirit over flesh – because of You.
I had no success apart from You.
I did nothing good apart from You.
Thank You God. Thank You!
I can’t believe You love me.
Amazing grace.

In the Spirit

Apr16

I hold out my hands open to You. I close my eyes and I hear myself grasping for breaths. Not panicked… Just deep, grace-soaked breaths.

Oh I have so many plans. So many human, mortal plans. And You direct my steps. Help me Lord to die to my self-serving desires. Help me to move forward in confidence. Confidence that You are not a God of confusion. You care deeply for people who mourn. My man-made desires to love people who have suffered loss can be used by You. I desperately want to be a vessel You can use! Teach me. Don’t let a single tear be wasted.

Thank You for these upcoming meetings and conversations about suicide Postvention. Don’t let a single tear be wasted.

I am feeling so blessed. Thank You for eternity. Thank You for loving my boy far more than I ever can. Thank You for delivering the message of my love to him even now. I miss you Drey. I love you.

Dear Drey

Apr9

Neither my words nor my tears adequately express how much I miss you. You weren’t just my son you were my friend. We laughed together. We shopped together. We listened to the same music. I know I embarrassed you sometimes – okay a lot. I became your friend as you got older but my role as Mom was always top of mind for both of us. I was home. I was safe.

You can see my pride in every picture of the two of us. I loved to watch you. Not just playing soccer, walking across the stage to claim your diploma or whatever. But just to stare at you. Sometimes when you were sleeping. Or when you were typing away at your laptop. It’s a Mom thing.

Do you remember how much fun we had getting your senior pictures taken? Well, I did anyway! I had fun watching you. Do you remember me dancing like a fool behind Kama so she could steal just a few pics of the real, genuine big smile? It worked. God how I miss that smile, that laugh.

This picture means a lot to me. I remember exactly where we were. I remember acting like a fool. And I remember the feeling of accomplishment when I succeeded in getting the real, carefree smile from you.

You are still my pride and joy.

Love him so

20 months

Apr3

When you left you took so much of me with you.
My life continues on. Without you. Without your physical presence.
It’s not fair you know. Not to me or your Dad. And not to Robbie or Kris. Robbie was always second to you. I always delighted in you, Drey. And Robbie was patient and loving while I continually put you first.
And now… Now even in death you monopolize my thoughts, my emotions.
I’m quite tired of this.
The person I loved more than anyone killed himself. What does that say about my love? I take what you’ve done very personally, Drey. Even though I know – with my head – that I shouldn’t. My heart doesn’t always cooperate with my head.
So… It’s April 3rd 2014. 20 months ago we went to lunch. That was the last time I saw you. We went to Barleys. I still remember what you ordered, what we talked about, the videos you shared.
Occasionally I’m angry with you. Sometimes I just question everything. And always there’s the ache of missing you. But today I’m just quite tired of thinking of you. You took so much of me with you, baby. Can you please just give a little piece of me back?

Local Outreach to Survivors of Suicide – L.O.S.S. first responder team

Mar19

We continue to make progress with the implementation of a LOSS first responder team here in Franklin County. The LOSS team goes to the scene of a suicide where there are survivors. A survivor can be a family member, friend, co-worker, neighbor, etc. Anyone that’s been impacted. The goal is for those of us that have lost someone to suicide to connect – even if only for a moment – and leave information and resources for support. Then to follow up as appropriate. My blog from January 27, 2014 shares more info about this.

Today we met with the 8 investigators at the coroner’s office. It went well. They had some challenging questions about how the LOSS team would function which was good. They were engaged and honest – can’t beat that! And they were themselves… meaning they work all day every day with the deceased so they talk about horribly graphic things regularly – even casually. It’s what they live and breathe so who can blame them? One person shared a gruesome situation in detail. They were clearly making a point to me. I was up for the challenge. This investigator then closed their gruesome example by asking… “I medicate and drink in order to handle what I do – how will a survivor of a suicide loss handle it?” I reminded them the LOSS team will not see the body. “Yes, but you are there to help the people who found the body. How will you handle it?” I felt defensive. I sure hope I didn’t come across as defensive. I answered this investigator honestly by sharing personally what I was capable of – and what I may not be capable of. We left the meeting with the team’s support and with three of the investigators offering to be part of the planning/creation of the team & how it’ll function. We had only asked for one volunteer 🙂 Good stuff.

When I got home Robbie and I talked about how it went and how I was doing. I told him I got a nice big dose of reality today. If I’m going to lead these efforts it means working with folks from the coroner’s office and with law enforcement. People that live and breathe this and therefore talk about it regularly. Am I up for this? Am I pushing myself to do this when I really don’t want to (“I have to” vs. “I get to”)?

I have a fear… a fear that I will function through it. I’ll stuff it then explode but the explosion won’t come until after the LOSS team launches. Robbie reminded me that’s not been the case so far. I am talking to people about how I’m feeling, I’m doing fun things too, I imperfectly depend on God’s strength, and I’m not spending a ton of hours working on this project all at once – I’m pacing myself.

I don’t have to do this. I want to do it. I know that’s hard for most people to understand. I wouldn’t be able to understand either had I not walked the last 1 year, 7 months, 1 week, 3 days and 9 hours in these heavy, clumsy grief shoes.

I got “caught” staring at a dude in a wheelchair…

Mar19

I was at Panera recently. Hell I’m always at Panera recently. My mind was drifting as I casually scanned the restaurant. My eyes landed on a dude in a wheelchair. Young guy – maybe in his 30’s. I pondered the challenges he may regularly face and I quickly considered him very blessed. Like uber blessed!

I’m learning some of us are “blessed” enough to live with something very wrong, very tragic in the worlds eyes – and in our eyes. And if God has had His way with us we are also blessed enough to know eternity with Him will be unimaginably amazing. So the grid we view this life through is different from others…

Sometimes the view from where I am leaves me irritable and judgmental towards others and their so called “pain” (apparently I am now the queen of pain and can judge whether your response to your circumstances is justified or not!?). But other times the view from where I am gives me more compassion towards others. Yes, sometimes this view even frees me up to be more others-centered. The view from where I now am has set me free. I can be bold and move towards others – in love (or in harshness – yikes!) in a way I couldn’t before… Without fear of rejection heavily skewing my decision to speak or not.

So does the dude in the wheelchair feel “blessed?” “Blessed” to have been given this challenge because of the person it’s shaped him into? Do I feel “blessed” by what I’ve been through and am still going through? Ugh. No, of course not. That’s so flippin gross. But I can feel “blessed” by how God is transforming me, right? That’s not gross is it? As I’m pondering these thoughts the chick sitting with the dude in the wheelchair gives me a dirty look. I’ve been staring at him this whole time…

A Friend on the Walk

Living after losing someone to suicide