Hi. My name is Deborah. Welcome to my blog, where I share my personal reflections on life from our little corner of the world.
When I began this blog, that corner of the world was in Roswell, Georgia. Since then, our life journey has brought us out west to Erie, Colorado.
I am a believer in living my life out loud. Sharing our stories has always been a way for me to process my own feelings, find clarity amidst the haze and center myself when life throws us off course. Writing has deepened my joy, eased my sadness, allowed me to touch the lives of others & be touched in return.
The journey we are on is much the same as every other family. I’m married 27 years to my very best friend, and together we have 3 unique, bright, beautiful daughters. And lest she feel left out, there is 1 four legged furry member of our family, our sweet lab Libi Leah.
And yet, our story has its unique plot twists as well. Raising a child with autism, having a daughter with congenital heart defects, living through a long term family estrangement & finding our way back to reconciliation.
On April 20, 2015, I embarked on one of the hardest chapters of my life after losing my father to suicide. Much of my writing has been devoted to navigating the treacherous and uncharted terrain of traumatic grief. Being a survivor of suicide loss has forever altered me. But as I gather up the pieces and attempt to put them together in a new mosaic, it is my hope that I can make meaning of my father’s loss and the pain that my family has endured in the aftermath.
Life and loss are breathtaking in their scope. As I travel down the path that has been laid before me, I’m honored that you have chosen to share in that journey with me.
Reflecting Out Loud 
Your wonderful words help. All of them. Especially the prayer. Four weeks ago, we lost our beautiful 15-year-old daughter Ciara who also lost her battle with depression and took her own life. I’m beyond broken, devastated, shattered. But your reference to a mosaic gave me a glimmer of hope. I will never be the same but maybe I can someday be whole again with the broken pieces in a different arrangement. It seems impossible but I like to think that. I send, with my appreciation, my sympathies (your dad sounds like a wonderful man and I’m sure he’s so proud of you for so many reasons) and virtual heartfelt hugs though I so very much wish neither of us were on this unbearably painful journey together.
Here’s my daughter’s story if you’re interested. I welcome all prayers!! http://tinyurl.com/Ciara-Whitney
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Karen I just read your story and my eyes are filled with tears. My heart breaks for your loss. I am so very sorry. I will hold you and your family in my heart. I thank you for letting me know that my words bring a measure of hope and comfort to you. I feel deeply moved to know that. I wish you and your family love and support on this journey. I am sorry that we must travel it, but by sharing our stories, I hope we can help to prevent another family from this pain.
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Karen, I am so sorry. There are no words. Sharing our stories is good, though, I think. My younger brother did this four weeks ago. Love and strength to you.
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Oh annelynn I am so sorry. My heart breaks for you and Karen. Please know you are not alone and reach out anytime…
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Thank you. I just do not understand this yet.
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I know annelynn… I know. Be gentle with yourself on this journey.
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Thank you. Truly.
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I found this blog tonight when I was feeling so alone. My beloved husband, Doug, took his life on July 4, 2014. He was being treated by the VA for ADD and depression. They prescribed Bupropion for him. Staffing was a problem at our local clinic and they did not monitor the levels of the drug in his system. I saw personality changes, but my guilt is that I did not recognize how serious they were. We attended a 4th of July party at a neighbors property. We live in a rural area of Ohio. On the way home, all of 2 minutes away, he started an argument about something insignificant. So small I don’t remember what it was about. This was happening often. I stayed in the car for a few minutes so that I didn’t aggravate the argument. He locked the doors. He also suffered from OCD and he always locked the doors behind him. I did not have my keys. I went around to our bedroom slider and he let me in. I got ready for bed and joined him. He put his arms around me . I thought we were making up as usual after one of these episodes. He rolled over and picked up a .45 caliber hand gun and without saying anything put it to his head and pulled the trigger. There was no light in the room, but having lived and worked with guns I knew he was gone. I ran crying and screaming from the room and woke my granddaughter who was living with us at the time. I called 911 and was put through hell by the detective on the case. He told me he didn’t think it was a suicide because the blankets were in the wrong position. He separated my 17 year old granddaughter from me and put her in a police cruiser by herself. She was asleep when this happend and didn’t have a clue what went on. They would not let my friends in to see me. I felt like I should die too. The coroner ruled it was a suicide, but the trauma of the gunshot and the treatment of the detective has left me with nightmares. Doug was my life, my best friend. There is an emptiness that will never be filled again. The 2nd anniversary has just passed, but the pain is still in my heart. I work every day to keep the farm that was our dream. I will be 70 years old in October. It is getting harder to stay here but I can’t imagine leaving this beautiful, peaceful property. We scattered his ashes here around his favorite hunting stand. Life does go one but it was permanently altered on that night 2 years ago. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and insights. It does help on nights like this.
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Oh Deborah, my heart ached as I read your post. I am so sorry for the loss that you have endured and the violent ending that came to your husband. I am grateful always that my words can somehow reach out and touch others, and I gain comfort from the survivors who reach out to me in turn, allowing me to feel less alone in my pain, loss and struggles. In five days it will be 16 months since my father’s death. Some days I feel myself growing used to his not being here anymore, but there has never been a day that I’ve felt I could get used to how we lost him. So I write, I tell our story, I advocate and I do what I can to ensure that it is not all for naught, that his death will have some meaning and his life a legacy greater than his death. I am so grateful to you for sharing your heart with me. I will pray for your continued healing in this forever altered, but still meaningful life. Deborah
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Dear Deborah: The editors at Reader’s Digest magazine were very moved with your writing and we would love to speak with you if you’d, please, send us a note.
Kind thanks in advance,
Thomas
Reader’s Digest Global Rights Manager
magrights@rd.com
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Hi Thomas. I am deeply honored and moved. I just emailed you. I look forward to connecting soon.
Deborah
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Hi Deborah, I saw your article in The Forward about being triggered by certain prayers and I feel so validated because as a survivor of trauma, I often find myself feeling the same way about certain prayers in our tradition.
I ended up on your blog site and read thru many of them. I am very touched by your writings and your experiences. But maybe in a way that’s different from so many of your readers. You see, I am not a survivor of suicide. I am a survivor of years and years of childhood sexual abuse by my father. As a result I suffer from deep depression, intense anxiety, and severe PTSD. I have been hospitalized around 15 times in the last 25 years, with suicide ideations and two years ago, a failed suicide attempt.
For many reasons, I feel very alone in my life. My family is not at all supportive of me (whenever I call my mom crying, she tells me to call my therapist because my pain is too hard on her) and truthfully my extended family doesn’t even know what I go through, because my mom and aunt don’t want them to know I am depressed; you know, the stigma of mental illness. I am single without any children, which adds to my feelings of isolation as everyone around me has their own “chosen” family that provides much support and is also a source of joy in their lives. I have lost many close friends throughout my adulthood because of my ongoing depression, and now have only a few friends, but I am not authentic with them because I don’t want to lose them too.
Despite all I have told you, I do know that if I committed suicide, my family and friends would probably be devastated.
But I’ve never examined that very closely, until being faced with your blog posts. This is the most intimate look into survivors of suicide that I have ever experienced. And it has given me much food for thought. I can’t imagine doing to my loved ones what your father unintentionally did to you. I never realized before that a phone call of a loved one’s suicide could cause PTSD in that person, and I know how painful PTSD is. I never was exposed so vividly to what a survivor of suicide goes through. I believe that your blogs have changed the way I view my own potential suicide and the degree to which it would traumatize and create such ongoing pain for the people I love and care about. Your blogs have affected me deeply and I can’t thank you enough. I really think that I will remember them the next time I feel suicidal. You may have saved my life, and by extension, the terrible pain that those around me would experience.
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Laurie, your honesty, hard as I am sure it was to tap into to a total stranger, is in my opinion so very brave and needed in this world. Your experience of trauma and the ongoing battle with mental illness and suicidal ideation is part of a wider human experience, one often trapped behind the doors of shame, stigma and pervasive silence, and it is that silence that steals too many precious souls from us. So, for what it is worth, I am grateful that you entrusted me with it and I am so grateful that you continue to fight on, even on the days it feels hardest. If my story can in any way ever help to save a life, then my father’s death will not be without meaning. I pray you will continue to fight, and that your story will one day be one that can be shared openly and allow you to be your most authentic self with all of the people in your life without fear of losing them. Until then, I hope you’ll continue to let me know how you are doing, and share your story, as well as share in mine. We who know the deepest of pain may be strangers in every other way, but somehow there is a bond that connects us. Keep fighting. Know that you matter. And thank you so much for the gift of your words today. They mean more to me than you can know. Wishing you strength, peace and wholenes
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Hi there,
I was scrolling through and saw your letter to Deborah.
Your story compelled me to reach out to join her message that we are here for you, and that your life matters very much to each of us.
I lost my beloved brother 6 years ago to suicide, and keep him close to me in heart and spirit. I have sensed that he could not think at the time of how much his loss would truly devastate his family…our lives have changed, never for the better without him to live together with us, moving forward.
We want that moving forward for you, too.
Stay safe, dear friend. Always here for you.
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Thank you so much for your column in The Forward. My kind gentle son has been in and out of psychotic delusions for 6 years and he is just 24. I am on my synagogue board and honestly I feel less frantic and damaged without any religious practice and prayer. Everything about religion triggers me.
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Amy I wish you and your son continued strength. I hope that our community can grow to truly understand the struggles of trauma and triggers, so that perhaps one day when we need faith the most, we can call upon it with an open heart and without feeling so constantly guarded, fearing the words that have the potential to fill our wounds with salt.
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Hi Deborah,
I just read a piece written by you in a publication I receive from Catholic Charities for survivors of suicide. In reading about your father’s struggle with depression it hit home for me. Upon reading further, the date of your father’s death was the same exact date as my brother’s. It was a shock to see that date in print. I felt the need to reach out to you. I totally agree with the final 2 paragraphs you wrote. That your father’s suicide was not a selfish act but the act of someone in agony. That his mind was clouded and he never wanted to hurt anyone.
I still can’t believe my brother is gone. Some days are harder than others to understand how this happened. How we weren’t able to see how deep in depression he was. We didn’t get a chance to really help him. I wish we could turn back time and make everything ok.
Thank you for being so brave to share your story. I agree it is important to talk about depression and suicide in hopes to end the stigma and help others. I hope to join an “out of the darkness” walk one day soon and pray to see real progress in mental health care in our country.
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Laura, I am so sorry for your loss and for the pain that we share in losing people we loved so deeply to the depths of darkness, especially on the very same day. I wish you continued healing and I am so moved and grateful that you took the time to reach out.
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Hi Deborah,
I too saw your article in a Catholic Charities newsletter I receive monthly and your father’s death was nearly 1 month before my mothers death. I have struggled to find survivors of suicide who have lost a parent. I want to say thank you so much for putting your emotions and your story out there, it sounds like it has helped many and it certainly has helped me to feel a little bit less alone in this journey we are now on. Your description of your grief is very similar and almost gives me chills as I read it because it’s exactly how I feel.
I miss my mom daily, especially after becoming a mother myself for the first time just 11 months after she passed away and knowing she missed out on knowing her first grandchild.
Thank you for sharing your story.
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I’m so sorry for our shared loss Samantha. I’m here standing with you. If you want to talk, please reach out to me. And know you’re not alone…
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Hi Deborah, I read your beautiful Whole Foods piece and wanted to see if you’d be open to recording an audio performance of it that we’d love to feature on our storytelling radio program Our American Stories (250k weekly listeners in 12 media markets)? accortes@comcast.net
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Deborah—I read you post about your experience at the Whole Foods a few months back and was touched—I decided to check back and see how you were doing, and also warn you about some additional hazards you may face . Unfortunately, I know all too well what you are going through. I commend you for making such a public dialog about being a suicide survivor—you’ve done so many people a service. If you start getting depressed, try to remember it.
I don’t want to dramatize my experience, but sketch some details so it would all make sense. More than three decades ago, when I was in my teens, my parents became alcoholics, and my home became pretty toxic. I spent all the time I could with an aunt and uncle, an unofficialliy adopted them as my new parents. I stayed every vacation with them at their farm. I was sleeping one morning and awoke to the sound of a shotgun. I was the closest person when my Aunt committed suicide, fifteen feet away. The rest of the morning was not as much fun as it sounds.
To be honest, I didn’t start to get a handle on how it affected me until decades later. (substance abuse, not allowing close relationships, etc). My home situation was such a mess that I just had to tough it out. I am married now, and doing well on the surface. But we are part of a club when you are reminded every day of what happened and everything now and then a trigger or an anniversary will send me down.
I had a major breakthrough for something I was doing for work—I was reviewing the manual for Cognitive Processing Therapy (CPT) for veterans. It was originally for assault victims, but turned out to be effective for PTSD. When I was reading the bereavement module, I got chills. This described everything. CPT is also useful in that it makes you analyze your thought patterns and challenge a lot of the assumptions that lead you into traps. I really saw how the arc of my life was affected by that. I was really happy. I thought I had it nailed.
I did more research, and I read an interesting article on survivor guilt. For the longest time I tortured myself with the fact I was sleeping when I could have saved her life. I had taken it out on myself (and others that cared about me) in a variety of ways I won’t bore you with. The CPT helped me realize how that assumption of guilt sent me in all the wrong directions. I used to be unable to understand why an assault victim would blame themselves—It was bad enough, but why pile on blame? The answer is that assuming guilt means you have control—and that maybe you aren’t living in a world where random terrible things can happen to people.
We assume guilt because there are scarier thoughts we don’t want to face. Survivor guilt is high on suicides, since we want to go on loving the person who left, and don’t want to betray their memory. It is very common among suicide survivors, and one thing we often don’t speak of because of the shame we feel in challenging a loved one’s memory.
I finally asked myself, what are you scared of? Haven’t you seen the worst?
As it turned out, I hadn’t. I had been using the guilt to avoid a much scarier question. Why did she stage a violent death where the two closest witnesses were kids? Suddenly, I was having the same nightmares I did as a teenager, and the two years after her death, with had always been a blur, came back to me in vivid detail. I had always been too scared to even question her decisions in those final moments. But I didn’t see the damage that unasked question did to me until then.
I have come to a decision that I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. She didn’t mean to dump that burden on me, but just wanted to escape the pain she was feeling as quickly as possible. I’m sure she cared for me, and didn’t stop and think about the impact. So, at the watershed moment of my life, I was not in her thoughts. But that is the best way to look at it.
Yes, I relive that morning every day, and expect to for the rest of my life, but it has become more of a distant echo. And, although losing her the way I did was easily the worst experience of my life, I will always appreciate the kindness and love she showed me when I needed it the most, and I will never stop loving her. I’m glad our paths crossed, no matter how hard it has been since. She was a very creative person, always encouraging us to create, and I’ve adopted her has my muse—I feel her every time I pick up a musical instrument, or start writing. What pulled me out of the dark period after her death was the need to make something meaning out of it.
Long story—I hope some of this may help you or anyone who’s come here. You are not alone
• The loss comes in waves—you’ll never be totally free of it, but if you loved the person, you really don’t won’t want to be. But tell yourself that your loved one would not want you feeling worse.
• There will be triggers—you can anticipate some, and, over time, the others won’t hit you so hard,
• They saw suicide as a way to escape pain, but they didn’t know the pain they’d leave behind. Forgive them.
• It’s okay to question them—it doesn’t mean for a second that you stopped loving them. One of the things I learned from CPT was that a common trap is to idealize the deceased. Let them be human in your memories and love them all the more for it!
Best wishes on you journey, and my profound thanks for having the courage to speak up for all of us. I couldn’t have written this letter 30 years ago, and brave people like you help light the way for those of us harboring unnecessary shame and sorrow in the darkness. I know your father would be proud of you!
John Page
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Deborah, I’ve read your article on Readr’s Digest. I am deeply moved by your stories. This is my first time that I have replied to any article on any magazine or any other Web site, which shows how much I am moved. I am really sorrry for your loss, but I also want you to know that your article has reached a lot of people’s hearts. Your article is the best one in Reader’s Digest as far as I know.
Nori Hayashi, Tokyo Japan
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I don’t know what to say but thank you for your kind words, for sharing in my story, your words of condolence and support. All truly touch my heart.
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Hello Deborah ,
I read your post from the Suicide loss and Survivor Grief circle FB page. You said many things that made me nod my head, Yes! I shared your writing on to my FB page A Journey of Grief and Acceptance after Suicide. I too, write to clear my head, to receive support and to mark the journey. When I read you are from Superior, it made want to reach out and say Hello. To say, Thank you for your words. I survive everyday in Denver, after the loss of my husband on 12/2/2014. Hugs!
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Thank you for reaching out Heidi. I just went to that FB page. I had not heard of it before. I’m so grateful to know my words continue to be shared. I’ve not written in a while, though I’m hoping to return to it again this summer. Being in Denver do you do the Out of the Darkness Walk? I’ll be doing it again this year. Thank you for reaching out. Always so grateful to be reminded that I’m not alone on this journey. I get so much strength from my fellow survivors. Continued healing to you…
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Dear Deborah,
Your late Dad’s Yahrzeits coincide this year.
Wish you and all close to you good long lives.
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I also just lost my father to suicide. And I also live in Superior, CO
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I am so sorry that I missed this and I am deeply sorry for your loss. May his memory be for a blessing. I am wishing you continued strength on this healing journey.
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[…] Deborah Greene was just on her way out of the store with her groceries when her phone rang. She paused to answer it and that’s when her brother told her that their father had killed himself. […]
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Deborah,
I was quite moved by your sermon earlier this month at Har Hashem. It’s been over 20 yrs since my wife died from suicide. I still think about that day from time to time and the perceptions people have. The big thing that frustrates me is the number people who have the mental illness that causes it and the shear helplessness I fell that we are unable able to identify/help these people people who are really struggling. It is just crazy to me how many living people are affected by a death by suicide and how love and friendship can not always overcome or even prevent these types of deaths.
I recently learned that a chiropractor I who died by suicide this past May. He had a young daughter, just as my wife had a young daughter, (and also a teenage son). It breaks my heart just as someone dies of cancer or covid or a car accident; just a little more. It is even more frustrating that I feel that we should be able to prevent suicide deaths; but, it is the result of a mental illness.
That doesn’t stop me from trying; to be available, to listen to others who are hurting regardless of who they are or whether I know them or not. I have always been open about how my wife died even with strangers when asked. I feel it is my responsibility to tell “our” story, ( it is not just my wife’s story), in hopes of helping people work through the loss of a loved one. Many times I find myself talking to people whose brother lost a wife or whose friend lost a son; giving some insight into what I needed after the death of my wife, what my daughter needed, what is ok to say and what they might want to avoid saying; to help them, help the person directly affected. It helps me feel like I am helping.
Yet, everytime I hear a new story of a suicide death, especially someone I was acquainted with, it leaves me with an emptiness and loss and makes want to scream, “why didn’t they reach out for help”.
It is so important to remind ourselves that suicide is the result of a mental illness; just as death from alcoholism or drug abuse. It is a result of mental illness. Brains don’t always work the way they are suppose to just like every other organ in the body.
My hope is that some day, they will find a cure for the disease that causes suicide. My love and heart cries out to each and everyone one of us.
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Thank you for your words, your honesty, and for sharing a bit of your story with me Jeff. I will hold those reflections in my own heart and together, I hope that by continuing to speak out, we can make a difference in the fight to end suicide and to support our fellow survivors.
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