Often enough, someone reaches out to me, wondering if I'd make contact with another parent. And usually it's when that parent has lost a child to suicide. Makes me sad to know it happens fairly often. It doesn't really matter much how a child dies. The fact is, that no matter which way, no matter how old or young ...the shame lingers, overwhelming us from time to time ...or always. Shame. It's a tough thing to run from ...when you're a parent whose child has died. Even tougher if that child dies by something considered 'shameful' or 'taboo' ...suicide, drugs, drinking
So when I extend a hand to a newly grieving parent, and don't hear back ...I understand. Shame keeps us isolated and separate ...alone. Because we believe that's what we deserve, solitary confinement for our vile nature as parents. Surely, there is something we could have done, should have known. Absolutely, we could have/should have been a better parent. And we feel it. From ourselves, and outside ourselves. Inner turmoil and despair wage a mighty storm within. Those who love us stand by, watching and praying, hoping and assuring ...but there is nothing they can do. It might be like staring into a mile deep chasm, so far away from a friend trapped, alive ...unreachable.
Tomorrow finds us 3 and 1/2 years in. I shudder remembering those first days, weeks, months, year. My body has memorized the raw pain, and taps in again when I learn of some other mother walking that path. How I wish I could protect her from the searing burn of grief that screams relentless for her child. How I wish I could find her and scream with her, the gutteral, primal, savage howl of shear pain and loss.
This is so depressing to write, but, as much as I can, I want people to know how horrible this is when they encounter a parent, new or not so new to this loss. We all have different temperaments and dispositions, a history too that's helped hone our own compass for navigating through life. Those 'ways' can help us and/or hurt us. Some people don't talk about it, or only to very, very few. And while that's not my way (I'm a talker), I wish I'd been more selective in who I shared things with. Some people are wary of other's, having a good sense of character. On the other hand, if you tell me you care about my family ....I believe you, full on, invite you in to the inner chambers of my heart. I learned a hard, hard lesson with that. But we all learn, whether talkers or not, to build that shell, a veneer to protect us when thoughtlessness and even cruelty lunge at our fragile hearts. It's hard, hard work to live with this kind of grief. We learn to, but we don't like it, and it is always, always there.
I remember a day at work, a particularly stressful day, and my boss said "Oh my gosh, I could kill myself." I remember her saying that or something similar while she reviewed an issue that needed addressing. I flinched. She headed off to her morning meeting. After she immediately asked me to come to her office, she needed to speak to me. Naturally I figured I'd be spoken to about orders not transcribed on the computer dashboard (a typical fault of mine! frustrating to many ...so sorry!). No one wants to get called into the bosses office. I went in, she asked me to close the door behind me. My stomach lurched, I wracked my brain for what I could have done wrong. But when I looked at her, her eyes pooled and she begged my forgiveness for what she'd said. I wasn't mad, because I'd had enough conversations with her to know the genuineness of her heart. But I was moved by her sorrow, and appreciated her ability and willingness to grasp that her words, not meant to harm, may have. I bring that up, because you would not believe how often that comes up in conversation. Just the other day, in conversations I was having, there were four separate references: "may as well put a noose around my neck," "just give me a gun so I can shoot myself in the head," "this is so frustrating I could kill myself," and "where's the cliff so I can jump off." Some of them came from people who know, and I'm not faulting them, or saying they're bad ...but they're triggers that jolt like electrocution ...and we learn to hide that jolt ...but it still stings. And I've had time to learn, but I'm highly sensitive to those who are so new ...in such agony it blinds them. And truly, the general population believes the pain should be gone after a month or two. Its a very lonely place to be ...and oftentimes frightening as well.
So, if you're wondering what you can do ...well pray, pray hard for them, for us. Pray in thanksgiving you haven't lost a child. And if you know of someone speaking harshly of someone who has, they are likely lying. It's amazing hearing the stories from people about those once considered friends who've gone off to fabricate wild stories about how badly they've been treated. I thought I was alone in that for a long time when it happened to me, but I've learned its very common. Defend us ...be patient, pray hard. We fight every day to live. I fight every day, and often every moment to choose joy in my life. Many times we fail ...but we claw at the ground and grab at the air until we can stand again.
We fight the shame; if we didn't it could kill us. But like learning anything that takes time to fight shame ...takes time to stop clutching it. It takes time to allow other parts of ourselves to rise once again. It takes time ...so much endless time.
April 9 ...where have you gone my Phoebe girl? Where might you be? Missing you ....always. Maybe I'll catch a glimpse of you ...a little wink perhaps in my ordinary day.
And always ...thanking God for the time we walked this earth together ...and for the time we will again.
