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 
Thank you for such open heartedness. I look forward to getting to know you and your family and welcome you into the HarHaShem community.
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Dear Deborah, I, too, have had my life altered as yours. My father committed suicide on April 10, 1994. My life was a normal, happy life and then changed forever. I have my life before his death and now my life after. My father was my best friend…always.
There has not been one single day that I have not thought of him and unfortunately, it always brings me to his death. I would like to remember him as the great father and friend that he was, not as a suicide. It is difficult to separate all that he did before his death from that word. He was a loving father, a professional person, dentist, always wanting to learn and better himself. He was a pilot in the Navy and then an avid sailor who learned and taught navigation…always expanding his horizons.
But all I can think about is that I would never do that to my children.
I know what you’re going through and would love to talk to you via email or even phone to be a sounding board. People who have never been through this really cannot understand the loneliness and feeling of rejection that we suicide survivors feel.
If you want, please feel free to contact me…I know what you’re going through.
I am truly sorry for your loss,
Anne Levine
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Anne, it continues to amaze me how many of us are in this club that nobody asked to join, but somehow ended up being placed into by no fault or action of our own. I am sorry that we both lost our dads in this way. I was struck by your words because I too find that it is so hard to think of my father in life, without it ultimately leading to reflections on his death. Some morning it feels like he just “disappeared.” One day he was here, then he wasn’t. It remains a very surreal feeling as I try to fit into this new layer of self that is “survivor of suicide loss.” Please do email me at deborahsreflections@gmail.com I thank you so much for reaching out and I look forward to continuing this conversation.
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Deborah, you have such a gift of expression. I am sorry for the loss of your father but happy you were able to reconcile. We met your husband last Shabbat cand I let him know that John Restler was once my nephew….I was married to the brother of his mother, June. I also used to live in Roswell…..many moons ago! I look forward to continuing to read your blog, and to meeting you! Welcome.
Sue Miller
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I am crying reading your blog my dad committed suicide and I remember he day I found out – so hard. It has been 6 1/2 years and I still don’t know why. People help in the most unexpected ways and a lot of people simply didn’t call or reach out . Hope things get easier.
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Dear Deborah, I have written a book entitled “Spirit Lives!” which talks about the Afterlife. You may find comfort and solace in reading that book. I would be happy to send you a complimentary copy, if you send me a mailing address. Please look at the comments people have written on Amazon.com Dr. John Muciaccia
jmuciaccia@hotmail.com
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I found your blog through the letter to strangers that was printed in the Washington Post. I also lost my father to suicide in recent years. You are definitely on a difficult journey, but you are not alone. Thank you for your words and ruminations.
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I just read your open letter to the Whole Food shoppers that helped you through that horrific moment. Thank you for sharing this, it gives my heart hope and reminds me there is kindness everywhere.
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Hey there. Both my husband’s grandfathers committed suicide. Healing takes a lot of time.
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Day by day–my daughter likens it to the game chutes and ladders–sometimes you get up and you are moving forward, even coming across a ladder that lifts you an extra ten steps forward, and then you land on the chute and you go sliding back to the beginning again. I’m sorry for your family’s losses Rose. It’s the club none of us ever wants to join, but I’m grateful for the compassion we find in one another and our shared losses.
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Hi Deborah,
I saw your re-printed piece on the washington post as it was shared on my FB newsfeed. Thank you so much for your words and keeping up your blog – I am so glad I found it. I too lost a parent to suicide and mental illness. It was when I was 32 weeks pregnant with our first – what would have been my mom’s first grandchild…so I can definitely relate.
Again thank you…
Hugs & Love,
Cherlyn
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I’m so sorry for your loss Cherylyn. It seems to touch so many of us, yet it is still cloaked in such shame and stigma. I hope as this piece circulates, it humanizes the very real faces of suicide and survivors of suicide loss. It’s been a hard few days as I reflect back to a year ago at this time, knowing now that my father was slowly dying inside, but we didn’t recognize that he was in danger. I’ve learned so much since about the signs to look for and how to respond, and I am grateful for that, but if I knew then, what I know now… well, you know the rest. Still, my heart is full at the incredible response my letter has received. I’ve read every single response on every page I knew about that carried it. Most I read through tears, many made me smile, and once again strangers, reached in and lifted my spirits.
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Hi Deborah,
I found you through a blog post that was reposted in the Washington Post about the sudden passing of your father. I too lost a parent. My mother has been gone for 4 years, and while I still miss her, and it still hurts a little every day, it does get better. Sending love your way.
-J.K Merighi
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Dear Deborah,
I lost my best friend to suicide 5 years ago. She was like a sister to me, as I am an only child. We were childhood friends for over 40 years. We were closer than she and her real sisters. She would tell me that often.
I’ve stopped wondering why. She was determined to do this regardless of how much she knew she was loved. To this day, I still curse her for leaving me. She had us all fooled. Up until the very last day. She’s in a better place but left us all shattered. It’s a truly selfish act that leaves those behind with intolerable grief and guilt.
My heart aches for you. I understand. You have my sincerest condolences. I hope you find a little more peace each day.
Debbie Greenberg
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I was angry at my father for a long time Debbie, but I have forgiven him. I believe he aches at the pain that he left behind. But the depression and anxiety metastasized into his soul. I don’t think he wanted to die, just to end his suffering. I wish I knew then, what I know now, about the signs that were there, but left unrecognized. He never said the words, but I know now that there were other strong indicators. The anger was phase one of my grief work, so much a part of the trauma, but now I am left mostly with the grief and the horrible idea/images of how he left this world. I pray he is at peace. And I pray that one day I will be as well. And my prayer for you is the same…
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I read your letter today to the Wholefood Shoppers. How touching, how honest, and how wonderful for you to share. I lost my father over 20 years ago to suicide. Hearing the news at the age of 16, I feel that I had the same reaction as you and thankfully there were people there that were able to help me in my time of need. Thank you again for sharing. I look forward to now following your blog.
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I am moved beyond words at the response my letter has received. I’ve read every comment on every page, mostly through tears. My father always wanted me to be a writer. I wish it didn’t have to be with this type of loss and I wish he could be here with me. But I hope I am honoring him and making him proud. And I hope I can help end the stigma around mental health and suicide. Because he died as much from shame as he did depression and anxiety.
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Deborah,
If you have never, read everything from Therese Borchard. She has all the answers to your questions.
Ray S.
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Ray I just went to her website. Thank you for sharing that with me.
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Hi Deborah. I saw the open letter on yahoo’s page today. I am so very sorry for your loss. Your letter was so open, literally. When I read the letter, I felt as if I was there with you. Blanche Dubois had it right about the kindness of strangers.
Thank you for sharing what I know must have been the hardest experience of your life.
I pray for you, your family, and the kind people that helped you.
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Thank you for those words of comfort Patricia.
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Your letter was incredible touching Deborah! I lost my sister in a similar way…and I wish I could have done so much more for her. Thanks for sharing your blog! I am following it now. I wish the best for you and your family!
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It is my eternal and unanswerable wish as well Corinna. But I hope by shedding light on mental illness and suicide prevention, that I can help foster conversations and raise awareness that might help to save the life of another. Wishing you peace. And I’m honored that you would share in my story.
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Deborah…
Quite by accident, I found your open letter to the strangers at Whole Foods who became an extended part of your family. Powerful and personal. First and most importantly, there are no words that can express my sadness for your loss. Suffice to say that I understand from multiple perspectives. When I read about your family as well, I simply had to reach out to you. If there is some way we can communicate directly and privately, please let me know. I don’t believe in accidents so there is a reason that I found this tonight.
Debra
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So happy I found this blog. You express yourself so beautifully. My dad committed suicide a little over a year ago. I just can’t let go. I don’t understand how this can happen. He was never a depressed man, at least not that we ever knew. Within 6 weeks after being “diagnosed” with depression he took his own life. He and my mom had the best marriage you can imagine. They were together from the time they were teenagers. He knew he was everything to her, and to me and my 2 sisters and our kids. It just doesn’t make sense. I still feel that sick feeling in my stomach as I felt when I found out. The pain is unbearable! Its with me every second. I not only feel my own pain but the pain I feel for my mom is probably worse than my own.
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Michelle I am so so sorry for your loss. I could relate to so much of what you shared. My parents were together 55 years. My father died in April, and in June they would’ve celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. It was my mother who found him that morning. I carry with me not only my pain, but her pain as well. Life as we all knew it changed in an instant, but hers changed in the absolute most palpable and daily way. I don’t know that I ever really understood or even cared to know what traumatic grief was, until I was the one walking through it. It is layer upon layer, trigger upon trigger, struggle upon struggle. I guess that’s why I grieve it out loud. Because I want not only to make meaning come of my father’s death, but to share the truths, the painful truths so many survivors are living with. Seeing my mother alone, without my father, breaks my heart. But I am so proud of how she is pushing herself forward to keep building a new life, without the other half of her heart. We cry together a lot. And we love each other through it. But to know that we can never fully understand what happened? Why in that moment he simply couldn’t fight on…. well, something tells me it will be a question we struggle with for the rest of our lives. Wishing you, me, our moms and our families, the strength to keep going one step forward, two steps back, then forward again….
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People kill themselves primarily because of deep dark depression. They cannot bear the suffering anymore. I know this because I tried to kill myself. I had become addicted to Xanax which was given to me to help my anxiety and depression. But the side effects were terrible and I could no longer bear to be alive. There is a lot more to this story, but I want you to know there is absolutely nothing you or anyone could have done to stop your Father’s suicide. His life had become a burden to him, and he took action. At the time, he was clearly not himself, but in a major way. I am so very sorry.
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First Dolly, I am so moved by your raw honesty. And I am so glad that you are still here, fighting on. My head has come to accept all that you said. It was an illness, depression and anxiety metastasized into his soul and his spirit. My heart still struggles. I try not to ponder too much the why, the what if, the missed signs. But they are part of my daily thoughts. I am learning to answer them quietly, a simple acknowledgement that I will never know. I miss him. Sometimes his ending haunts me. He deserved so much more than to die alone, in a dark room, believing we would be better off without him. He deserved his hand held, to be told he was loved, to be reminded to fight on, to stay. Learning to live with it all is so very hard. But I will grieve this loss out loud, because beyond the issue of mental illness and suicide, which are so vital to talk about, I want to help people understand the survivors experience. You are a survivor, I am a survivor. And it takes strength…. I wish you continued strength every day. May we both journey forward and make the world a more understanding place for those who are struggling. Thank you again for your brave truth.
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Thank you for your bravery in writing so openly of this, one of the hardest things to survive and, with grace, luck or whatever good karma you get in this life, make any kind of sense out of. My mother shot herself, then my older brother shot and immolated himself a few months later. Four days after that I had open heart surgery, giving me, literally, a new lease on life–physiologically anyway. Many other deaths by suicide, overdose, cancer at a young age (17), drunk drivers, & on & on, among my sons’ friends & others in the circles of immediate & extended family. Shadow grief comes up often. Acceptance much more slowly. Why this one, this time, this version of self-erasure? Suicide seems a far more common bond than we can easily admit. Now in the US, 22 veterans die every day by suicide, one every 65 minutes. The Buddhist prayer of forgiveness helps, but cannot fully heal the holes in my heart. Carry on. Chop wood, carry water. First there is a mountain, then there isn’t, then there is. Will we forever flail in this in-between? Keep sharing your compassionate writings. They do help. Shalom.
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You are so right Ali, it touches too many lives and sadly, it doesn’t seem to be something we as a nation want to talk about openly, honestly and with the willingness to break down barriers. I am determined on this long and winding road of grieving a traumatic loss, to bring meaning to my father’s death. It has forever altered me. I have gathered up the pieces but now I must fit them into a new mosaic of self. I tell my husband often that I miss feeling like the me I was before. I have many more days that are better, lighter, where I can breathe, laugh and be present in life. Then there are the days when triggers abound, or sadness prevails, or trauma comes to visit. Forward and back, forward and back. But surrounded by love and lifted by family, friends, and once again-the compassion of strangers, I journey on. I will wish us both the strength to keep walking this walk, while we talk the talk of mental health, illness and suicide. I could not save my father. But if I tell his story, without shame, perhaps I can be a part of helping to save another. Blessings to you….
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hi Debbie: I stumbled across your Whole Foods piece via my yahoo feed. No small coincidence, as it has happened to me before. Just last month, I read a blog post about a sister who lost her brother to suicide. She is a writer on Blogher and I connected to her in Barbados. I am now a survivor of a loss from a suicide. I too lost my big brother, Jan 7, 2015. Not a day goes by that my heart hurts, cracks and misses his beat, I miss his soft voice,smile and love. The “why” eventually stops screeching, yet, it breaks our heart, everytime we try and piece together a jagged puzzle with a missing part. I write constant about him, about suicide, about living on this earth without these beautiful, brilliant and deeply loved people we lost. The journey to healing is the hardest thing we will ever do here. Living without them. Accepting the unacceptable, the trauma takes forever to swallow and move forward. I am doing that one day at a time, with tons of support groups and counseling. Thank YOU for sharing about your Dad, as your love, your dedication is a true testimony of the father you were blessed to have. All of us, now survivors know, we will NEVER get “over” it, we just have to learn how to live and accept life without them here now. Grief is a painful process, steep, lonely in itself. I’ve read a dozen books, joined the organizations for prevention of suicide and educated myself. I grieve everyday, for he kept it all a secret to protect all he loved. I remember someone telling me, there is no measure of time in grief, it just will soften in time. There is peace in that. Perhaps over time, the good memories, the warmth and love will radiate above our pain of loss. Love & Light to you always, and thank you for sharing your story.
http://www.leeleemoments.com
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Lisa, I am so sorry that we share this painful bond. I remember when I did my first Out of the Darkness Walk for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention here in Colorado. It was in October and there was an area called The Memory Tree, where loved ones put up leaves with photos and remembrances of friends and family lost to suicide. The faces, young and old, all beautiful & smiling. This pain touches far too many, and we need to talk about it. I believe my father was ashamed that he couldn’t will himself out of his depression, that he couldn’t pull himself up by the bootstraps. And it pains me so much to think that a year ago at this time, he was slowly dying inside, and we didn’t know. We knew he was in a deep depression, worse yet, with profound anxiety that compounded his pain. He worried that it would never get better, that he would never be “himself” again. How he died, alone, in a dark room, believing that we would be better off without him, haunts me. My therapist too said that I will never make peace with it, in time I will simply learn to live with it. But you are right, the grief work is so very hard, layer upon layer, trigger upon trigger. I wish us both continued strength, resilience, hope and light on this journey. May we honor our losses daily, by telling our truths, their truths, and working to save the lives of others.
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Dear Deborah – I read of your loss of your dear Father on a page of Yahoo where it was reprinted. I cried for you. Seeing you hugging your Dad…. I lost my Dad in 2013. It was his time to pass on at age 86, and I am grateful and thank God he did not suffer very long and was surrounded by all of his children at home for all the days before he finally succumbed and returned Home. But I miss my Dad every day… every day. I have a photo of my Dad dancing w/ me at my Wedding (30 yrs ago) above my desk. I constantly stare at his hand holding mine and I imagine how nice that would feel again. When I saw the photo of you hugging your Dad, I just knew how much you missed that hug. That was why I cried when I saw it. Look often at that photo Deborah – your Dad is still here. He is … he embraces you daily. Sometimes you can feel their presence…..You will probably never fully understand “why”… but you should know that Death is never an eraser and still to this day, your Dad is loving you all. AND FOR SURE… your Dad is smiling on you as he sees you have indeed become the writer he always hoped you would be… and he is happy and grateful that your voice is being heard to end the stigma of mental illness and suicide. Keep writing Deborah…. you have so much to give. Lots of love, Virginia
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Your words brought me to tears. The reception to the letter has been so powerful, but it is so bittersweet. It is the letter I wish I had never had to write. And how I wanted to call my dad and tell him all about it. It took a long while before I could allow myself to feel his love. I was angry, trauma put up walls to protect me from the power of the grief alone. I look at that picture every day. It was taken at the Bat Mitzvah of our oldest & middle daughters. In May, my youngest will have her bat mitzvah, but I won’t get to dance with my father again. Thank you for your words. I will make meaning of his death, so I can honor his life and all that he was to me. Even when I write through tears….
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As I read your article as well as other people responses, I felt bit of relief to know I am not the only one. While the pain is still inside, but I have managed to find bit of peace to move on. One year anniversary of my dad’s passing is slowly approaching, not sure how I will feel as it will be also the birth of my son or daughter. In fact, my child could very well be born on or very close to my dad’s passing passing date. Life works in mysterious way.
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May the birth of your child rekindle some joy and light in your life. And may it remind you of all that you shared with your dad in life. The one year anniversary of my father’s suicide is not far away now either. I too find more days of peace, but the missing is so deep and palpable each and every day. The notion that his big, bright, beautiful smile is being shared over the myriad of social media/news sites that have picked up this letter, allows me to think of him in joy & light for a while. And those are the remembrances I love the most.
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Thanks for your reply. If you don’t mind sharing your email, as it would be nice to connect with you off-line. AP
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You can write to me at dlynngreene3@gmail.com
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Deborah,
I read your story about the strangers who entered your life on that seemingly normal day, a day interrupted by the darkest cloud. Following that cloud was the worst storm ever seen, the storm that broke your heart and changed your life forever. Please know that as moving as the actions of those strangers were, your words, likewise, have touched innumerable hearts.
Even though I don’t know you, I cried while reading your story, having suffered the loss of both my parents (though my loss was not nearly as painful as yours). But my pain was immeasurable, since my parents opened their home and hearts to me and adopted me as an infant. In my father, I lost my security, in my mother, my best friend.
So my heart breaks for you since I can feel, to some degree, the loss that you must have felt and will feel forever.
The picture of you and your father speaks volumes about the love you had for each other.
I’m so sorry for your loss.
Celie
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That picture is like a treasure to me. I miss that smile and his embrace. Thank you for your words and for taking time to share in my story. I am so humbled by the response Celie. It has been an extraordinary gift to receive the kind words of so many strangers, over my little letter.
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Thank you so much for your writing and your courage. I cried when reading your piece in the Washington Post and I am so, so happy that you had the support you needed in the immediate aftermath of learning of your father’s death by suicide.
My brother died from bipolar disorder by suicide 6 years ago, and what I find more triggering than anything now are comments by people who don’t understand suicide at all…frankly, like the poster above who wrote with such anger about her friend’s “selfishness”. Suicide is not selfish. It is a lethal symptom of a sometimes-deadly illness. We would not call anyone who died from cancer selfish, because their body turned on them and created a tumor. Just loving your family and wanting to live does not give you the magical power to eliminate tumor cells. Similarly, a person with brain illness who is in the throes of life-threatening symptoms does not necessarily have the ability to will themselves out of their distorted thinking patterns. Why would we condemn and indict the victim of an illness?
So many of us survivors focus on our own pain — and it is absolutely devastating, no question about it. Nothing has ever been more painful than my brother’s death by suicide, and watching the suffering of his sons and my mother and others who loved them. But then I remember that I am surviving this pain. And the pain that his illness manufactured was so exponentially worse that he could not survive it, not matter how much he wanted to live, no matter how much he loved us, especially his sons. He desperately wanted to live. He didn’t ask for his illness. He didn’t ask for his brain to turn on him and distort his thoughts and perceptions. He is a victim as much as someone who dies from a sudden heart attack or a brain tumor or anything else similarly out of his control. When I think of my own pain, and all of the collective suffering of all of us who are surviving his loss, it humbles me to know that it doesn’t even come close to the kind of pain he was experiencing. And I grieve for the suffering he must have been feeling, suffering I can’t begin to measure.
Sometimes I wish that, rather than condemning those who succumb to their suicidal symptoms, we would give those who fought depression, bipolar disorder, and other illnesses credit for how long and how hard they fought for their lives and their health. Give them more credit for how hard it must have been to have been fighting a sometimes-deadly illness with so little community support, so little understanding, so little appreciation for the struggle. No one wears ribbons for people fighting depression. When a person is getting chemo, family and friends will often organize meals, will host parties, will buy gifts to celebrate milestones of treatment, will accompany patients to appointments, will shave their heads in solidarity. As we should! But what do we do for people fighting for their lives against suicidal depression…especially, most tragically, people whose symptoms prevent them from even letting others know that their lives are at risk?
Maybe rather than being so angry at their passing, we could focus on giving them credit for how long they were able to survive. Maybe they stayed as long as they could. Maybe they are heroes, not cowards. Maybe they unselfishly ignored their own suffering for years and years and we never knew it. Maybe their diseased brains convinced them that they were HELPING us by leaving us, that we were better off without them, and their deaths were their attempt at the most unselfish act possible.
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Thank you so much for your writing and your courage. I cried when reading your piece in the Washington Post and I am so, so happy that you had the support you needed in the immediate aftermath of learning of your father’s death by suicide.
My brother died from bipolar disorder by suicide 6 years ago, and what I find more triggering than anything now are comments by people who don’t understand suicide at all…frankly, like the poster above who wrote with such anger about her friend’s “selfishness”. Suicide is not selfish. It is a lethal symptom of a sometimes-deadly illness. We would not call anyone who died from cancer selfish, because their body turned on them and created a tumor. Just loving your family and wanting to live does not give you the magical power to eliminate tumor cells. Similarly, a person with brain illness who is in the throes of life-threatening symptoms does not necessarily have the ability to will themselves out of their distorted thinking patterns. Why would we condemn and indict the victim of an illness?
So many of us survivors focus on our own pain — and it is absolutely devastating, no question about it. Nothing has ever been more painful than my brother’s death by suicide, and watching the suffering of his sons and my mother and others who loved them. But then I remember that I am surviving this pain. And the pain that his illness manufactured was so exponentially worse that he could not survive it, not matter how much he wanted to live, no matter how much he loved us, especially his sons. He desperately wanted to live. He didn’t ask for his illness. He didn’t ask for his brain to turn on him and distort his thoughts and perceptions. He is a victim as much as someone who dies from a sudden heart attack or a brain tumor or anything else similarly out of his control. When I think of my own pain, and all of the collective suffering of all of us who are surviving his loss, it humbles me to know that it doesn’t even come close to the kind of pain he was experiencing. And I grieve for the suffering he must have been feeling, suffering I can’t begin to measure.
Sometimes I wish that, rather than condemning those who succumb to their suicidal symptoms, we would give those who fought depression, bipolar disorder, and other illnesses credit for how long and how hard they fought for their lives and their health. Give them more credit for how hard it must have been to have been fighting a sometimes-deadly illness with so little community support, so little understanding, so little appreciation for the struggle. No one wears ribbons for people fighting depression. When a person is getting chemo, family and friends will often organize meals, will host parties, will buy gifts to celebrate milestones of treatment, will accompany patients to appointments, will shave their heads in solidarity. As we should! But what do we do for people fighting for their lives against suicidal depression…especially, most tragically, people whose symptoms prevent them from even letting others know that their lives are at risk?
Maybe rather than being so angry at their passing, we could focus on giving them credit for how long they were able to survive. Maybe they stayed as long as they could. Maybe they are heroes, not cowards. Maybe they unselfishly ignored their own suffering for years and years and we never knew it. Maybe their diseased brains convinced them that they were HELPING us by leaving us, that we were better off without them, and their deaths were their attempt at the most unselfish act possible. Maybe they did the best they possibly could against an illness that medical science is still in the dark ages about treating successfully.
Thank you for your heart and your kindness and your generosity in sharing your story of survival. I appreciate you and root for your peace and healing.
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Maura, I was thinking about something my mother said to me. She said that when she gets angry at my father for leaving her, she stands at his grave and realizes, that he is the one who is no longer here, he is the one buried in the ground, he is the one who got the worst part of this deal. And it eases her anger. I went through the anger, and I allowed myself to call him selfish, but only me. I could say it because I needed to, but I said it because I loved him and I was suffering. I would not allow others to say that about him. But in time, with work, I have forgiven him. He must have been in extraordinary pain to do what he did. And that is why I tell his story, our story. Because I want to help change the dialogue we have about suicide and mental illness. I do believe that my father’s illness metastasized into his soul and his spirit. It blinded him to the goodness in his life, all that he had left to live for. We didn’t know it, but a year ago at this time, my father was slowly dying inside. We didn’t know the signs. He never said the words. I think we all feel and experience suicide loss differently and I think, at least for me, the grief goes in stages and phases. Anger was so closely tied in with the trauma of it all, and that didn’t even allow me to truly touch upon the profound grief underneath for months. Now I am left with the missing, the permanence, the reality that he is never coming back. I try and honor that process in others, I learned that in my support groups. But I think you are so very right, that on the whole, we need to channel something more into the conversation. We need to see mental illness as a disease, and we as a society need to do so much more to help those who live and grapple with it daily. I am so sorry we share this sad and tragic bond. But I am so grateful that my little letter to those beautiful strangers has given us a place to share our stories with one another, survivor to survivor. Thank you for rooting me forward. I will be rooting for the same for you.
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I’m a 48 yr old wife and a mom of a 12 and 13 yr old. Deborah, I read your article on FaithIt and my heart melted for you and bless those strangers who were there in your hour of need. I am not a survivor of suicide loss, but I am a person who has been contemplating suicide several times over the past year and a half. I was diagnosed with a personality disorder and it has been very difficult to accept. I thought I was just a terribly shy girl who was also dealing with the pain of my parent’s divorce when I was 3 yrs old. Feeling a separation from my dad even though I saw him every other weekend affected me more than I knew. I had been hiding this pain, plus other pain, for years and thought I was doing okay. Coincidentally seeking help for my child’s anxiety led me to getting counseling for myself.
I hope my words do not hurt you, but in an attempt to give you an understanding from the one suffering from depression, anxiety and a personality disorder, give you some insight on what your father, and Maura your brother may have been experiencing. I am painfully aware of how people would see me as weak and selfish and that grieves my soul as someone who is desperately trying to find a way to make this pain stop. I cry to my therapist about that very fact frequently. In fact when I truly feel there is no other way to handle the pain, it’s my children and husband, best friends and through my job a few families that I help have kept me here even though they are unaware of that fact. I don’t want to hurt anyone, in fact my spiritual gift is mercy. It is very hard for me to see strangers on the street suffering. Deborah, like you I also give food to those on the corner, leave notes to people I see crying, and lend a shoulder when I can.
Unfortunately part of my personality disorder causes me to misinterpret other people’s words and actions for the negative. Most people can see I have a self-esteem issue, but I hide the depths of my pain from most people. Only a few core people know how bad the pain is and even those few people that I do trust, I still feel like they can’t understand my pain. I also feel like they get frustrated with me for still hurting this long and that I should be better by now. I constantly listen to music to help, and I self-harm in private ways so no one will see, because for now that’s the only thing that releases the pain when it’s the most excruciating. My medication only numbs the pain on a daily basis but it can’t control the quick response of high pain levels that hit me from certain triggers. I have reached out to my pastor who has supported and prayed for me and a few extended friends. It is very hard to be so vulnerable to people and easy to feel forgotten when they don’t check on you, because again it feels like people get frustrated with the length of time I’ve carried this pain. The amount of strength I need to battle this can’t be sustained by someone else, so I’m trying to find it within myself with the help of my counselor and God. I have done extensive research on Christian suicides because all I want is to find relief in the arms of Jesus and be with God in Heaven just like Michael Warren did. I know this is not God’s plan for me, so I’m trying to trust in Him and stay here, but it’s very hard. I’m still here fighting and God has provided me an incredible counselor sticking through this battle with me know matter how angry I get at him or how difficult I make our sessions. A year ago I gave him my suicide letters for my pastor, husband and children to keep in a safe but hidden place from them. I also asked him to speak at my funeral, to be a voice for me to my family and friends. To let them know that I didn’t mean to abandon them, but the pain numbed my ability to feel anything other than this excruciating pain and it needed to be stopped. I know if I don’t survive, I will be viewed as weak, a quitter, a selfish person and some of my loved ones will never forgive me. I don’t want to place even a small portion of my pain on them, so I am trying to win this battle. I want to thank you Maura for understanding with the kind words you said about your brother, and Deborah forgiving your Dad who loved you and didn’t mean to cause you pain and for sharing your story to help others with their loss. I’m so sorry for the loss and the pain you have had to endure. I hope this gives you some insight to help you understand a small portion of “why?”.
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Jo, I admit that I have struggled to find the words to respond. First, I can only imagine the bravery it took to share your struggles with mental illness in this forum of strangers. That is brave. That kind of bravery shows me that you have a strength inside of you. I do know my father was suffering. I know the specific answers of “why” are never to come. But I also know the unbelievable amount of pain his death left in it’s wake. I don’t want another family, your family to ever, ever have to contend with that. Please continue getting help. Please find a support group perhaps through your local chapter of NAMI. Please, when you are in crisis call the suicide prevention hotline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255). I know you matter to those who love you. If I could say just one word to my father right now it would be this, “STAY!” And so I offer you that word and my most sincere wishes that you find the help, and the strength to keep going one step, one breath, one day at a time. Please reach out to the crisis line. You are not alone.
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Hi Debbie,
I was browsing the internet and came across your article. I cried for you, as I like you lost my 80 year old father to suicide in August 2015. His birthday just past and sometimes it feels like it happened yesterday. I remember just collapsing to the floor when my husband came home from work early to tell me the news. I try not to remember it , but unfortunately it stays with me, I was in such a fog and some days I still am in a fog. I have a loving and patient husband and three beautiful boys,for them I try to stay positive.
I just feel that unless you go through it yourself you can not even begin understand the pain, especially when it is the rock of the family who commits suicide. I will pray for you Debbie and please know you are not alone in your pain and hurt.
God Bless,
Joann
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Joann I am so profoundly sorry for your loss and your pain. You are right, it is a grief so unique that only those who have lived it can truly understand. I too am blessed with a husband who is not only my rock, but in his capacity as rabbi, also buried my father, his father-in-law, with grace & dignity. And I have three precious daughters who lift me up daily and whose love is a shining light. Every day I try to walk this journey with all that I have. I have utilized support groups for survivors of suicide loss, I am in weekly therapy and I am surrounded by the most loving community. I have gathered up the fragments of my former self, and each day I strive to create a new mosaic with the pieces. I know I will never again be the same, but I try and honor who and where I am today, at this moment. This year of firsts has been fraught with pain, and I miss my father so much it is like a weight upon my heart. Writing is an outlet for me, and a way to try and make meaning out of this tragic and senseless loss. The fact that my letter has led to this outpouring of support, and that it has connected me to even more fellow survivors, is beyond anything I could ever have expected. I thank you for reaching out and sharing in my story, and telling me yours. Day by day, minute by minute, breath by breath we will learn to live with what we have lost. How precious to know that even as strangers, we can remind one another we are not alone in that. Wishing you peace and strength.
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Dear Deborah, May G-d comfort you & your family among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem. Commit yourself to Mitzvas to elevate you all and your father’s Neshama: suggest lighting Shabbos candles, daily charity, studying Torah see chabad.org, kashrus. Choose one Mitzva & go from there for you and for him. Shalom, Menachem
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Thank you Menachem. We try daily to live a life of mitzvot and to pay forward the kindness that we have been given. Thank you for your kindness.
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Hi Deborah! My name is Catherine Thorbecke and I am a digital reporter for ABC News National here in New York City. I saw the open letter you published on your blog to the the strangers who comforted you when you found out about your father’s suicide – I was deeply moved by it. I am so sorry for your loss, and I was inspired by the humanity that emerged from the strangers at Whole Foods. We wanted to do a story for ABC News on the letter – if that is alright with you. If you have a chance to chat please give me a call at 212-456-2448 or you can shoot me an email at catherine.s.thorbecke@abc.com. Many Thanks! Catherine
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Hi Deborah,
I’m McKinley with the Good News Network writing to say we saw your open letter about Whole Foods in The Washington Post and we really loved the piece – we’d like to republish the article to our site with links back to your blog.
Our news platform publishes only positive and uplifting content to 11 million people a year – we think it would be a good fit for us.
Thanks
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Hi McKinley. I am honored and touched that you want to share it further. I have just sent you an email.
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Dear Deborah,
Like many others who have commented today, I’m sure, I read your blog post that was just published in the Washington Post, and I’ve skimmed some of your other posts in the “Coping with Suicide” section. I too am a child of a father who committed suicide, although I was a teenager at the time (over thirty years ago). Though I’ve had much longer to cope, seeing you go through this familiar process while it’s still rather fresh for you brings things very nearly back to the surface. Not that I weep for myself all over again, but I weep for you knowing to some extent what you’re experiencing.
I don’t have any profound wisdom to share–I simply want to be another stranger from Whole Foods, reaching out to mourn with one who mourns. I am happy for you that you have your faith and loved ones to help you cope, and that you were able to be reconciled to your father before he died.
Please accept my healing thoughts and prayers on your behalf. I would be open to one-on-one communication on this if you felt the need, but I realize that you probably don’t. I’m happy simply to be added to the queue of caring strangers and wish you and your family all the best as you cope and look for healing.
Sincerely,
Paul Pisano
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Thank you Deborah for sharing your journey. You’re a very gifted writer. Today, I came across your column, re-published in the Washington Post. As someone who has struggled with depression, and attempted suicide, your posts have really touched me. My family has never told me how they felt about my suicide attempt. Your writing is helping me understand, in part, how they might have felt. Thank you. 🙂
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Wow Sarah. First, i am so very glad that you are still hear and fighting on. Second, your words about my story allowing you to see how it would feel for those you would leave behind, are so very powerful and meaningful. That brings meaning to my loss. Thank you for your brave honesty.
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You’re welcome! Thank you again for sharing your story and helping us all to heal. 🙂 I hope you are continuing to heal as well.
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Also, while I haven’t yet written about my experience, one day I will. If it would help you to know more about what led me to attempt suicide, I’m happy to share that with you. Well, not happy of course, but very willing. Have you connected with your local or a nearby chapter of the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI)? If you need it, you might also find support there.
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Hi Deborah,
I know where you are, my friend. My mother took her life at age 56 almost 23 years ago. All I can say is that I know, and I am sending you a big hug.
Thank you for putting into words your feelings. Thank you for being so open and honest. It will always hurt, but it does become easier.
I am an Orthodox Christian, and for many years I struggled with the idea that my mom would never be forgiven. But by God’s grace, I was able to forgive her and to understand that she suffered from a disease start took her life, not a character flaw. I held a special memorial prayer at her grave 2 years ago. A huge burden was lifted.
Keep taking care of yourself and keep talking and writing. May your father’s memory be eternal.
With love and hope,
Christina
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Thank you Christina. I take such comfort and solace in the words of fellow survivors, who have traveled this road longer than I. I have forgiven my father, my head understands it was an illness. My heart still suffers so and the work to heal that I know will take a lot longer. Thank you for letting me know that in time, the burden will lift, even if the hole remains.
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Another way to live your life out loud is to write an obituary to share with those you care. Not because you want to die, but rather to live. You need only answer 2 questions: How have I lived my life…and…how do I want to be remembered. The second question points to the future. If you want some more info, let me know
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We approach that as an ethical will Martin. Very much the same perspective and well worth thinking about for all of us.
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Dear Deborah – surely you will run out of time and energy to read and reply to all of the posts. I have been following the plot! I was so happy for you when I saw that the response has been so overwhelming and so full of insight and support. I have passed on many of the comments / posts to people I know who need these words and will hear the words written. In my earlier post to you of yesterday, I said that your Dad is smiling on you and he is ever so proud that you have indeed become the writer he always wanted you to be. He is happy that ABC now wants to do a story on your sad experience. He knows that by sharing the story you can help change the perception of mental illness and suicide, remove the stigma, and hey,change the world! Your Dad’s passing was and is terribly sad and many hearts cry for your pain, your brother’s pain and that of your husband and daughters (beautiful girls they are)….but in all that sadness, amidst all the tears, the sunflower is still searching for the sun – I think she found it. Your sunshine is to keep his story alive and more importantly, to change the story that might otherwise be written for so many countless others. You have a big job ahead of you, Deborah. 🙂 With love and hugs, Virginia
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You have rendered me speechless Virginia. What profound words to begin my day…. thank you for that.
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Deborah – now your Father’s story will cross the ocean — to the United Kingdom! Oh, yes, he is smiling…..smiling, smiling. He sees that he raised a wonderful woman as his daughter who, despite the adversity and dark clouds, always manages to find the sunshine (and your Noa is cut from the same cloth ….). Surely your father is with you as you write. He smiles, deep in the knowledge that your writing “will change the story that might otherwise be written for so many countless others.” Deborah, it will, it will.
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My daughters are particularly happy to know this story has reached the UK. That makes me smile. In truth, it is a universal story. Those phone calls and losses happen over and over again, to family after family. My fervent wish is that I can help to change that. I have felt my father’s presence in these past few days. I know he is so sorry for the pain that he caused. And I know that he is proud that I am turning my pain into purpose. And that Noa of mine allows me to know that one can live and thrive, even with a hole that weaves it’s way right through the center of your heart.
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Hi Deborah,
I’m so sorry for your loss. I saw your letter online and thought it was absolutely beautiful. I would love to republish it on Mirror Online (www.mirror.co.uk) with your permission, to share it with more people and hopefully help others in the same situation or those affected by suicide.
Would love to hear back from you about this and it would be perfect if we could also use a photo. I’m reachable on nicola.oakley@mirror.co.uk.
Best,
Nicola
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H Nicola. I just sent you an email. I am so moved that you want to share this piece even further. I don’t know what I wrote that could have possibly reached into the hearts of so many, but I am humbled and incredibly, deeply touched at the compassionate response it has received.
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Hi Deborah,
I have to say thank you for everything that you have written about your father. I lost my dad to suicide 8 days after your dad on April 28, 2015. He battled over 12 years with anxiety and depression and after countless Doctors and medications and no answers he had finally had enough. My mom was home at the time, and I will never forget the phone call from my brother. I was 6 1/2 months pregnant with my first baby, my parents first grandchild. If it wasn’t for my daughter being born I don’t think I would be handling grief the way I have.
Everything you have shared is exactly how I have felt, but I haven’t been able to put it into words. I read your posts and cried, yet somehow have felt relief too because there is someone else who understands what it is like to be a survivor of suicide. Your openess is inspiring and I look forward to reading more. Thank you for being a voice on a topic that is kept so hidden.
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Oh Stephanie, my heart just breaks at this common and painful loss that we share. And that at a time full of such promise, hope and life, you faced such profound loss. I have grieved this loss out loud for better or for worse. I have shared sadness, anger, abandonment, my struggles in faith all because it is real. We as a society need not simply to talk more openly about mental illness and suicide, but about what it is to grieve suicide loss. Traumatic and complicated loss has so many layers and the terrain is so hard to navigate. But if we can be held in unconditional love, patience and ongoing presence, we can make the journey. I will keep writing, I will keep speaking and I am honored that you want to keep reading.
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Hi Deborah I read your story yesterday (Thursday 3/10/16) on Yahoo News. I thought it was so tragic and it made me cry and then I found out this morning that my own boyfriend took his life on Thursday. I was not at Whole Foods but at home. I could not imagine being in a public place the way you were but I am so glad people showed the kindness and compassion you needed. I was alone when I found out and miles from my boyfriend, his family, his friends. I don’t think there is any ideal place to find out such tragic.
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Oh Christina I have no words. I am so deeply and profoundly sorry for your loss. I pray that you will be held in love and comfort by those who matter most. Please reach out to The American Foundation of Suicide Prevention if you need to talk to a fellow survivor. They can put you in touch with someone. Know that you are in my prayers.
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Hello old neighbor! I came across your story about your dad through Scary Mommy. I looked at the picture and said, “That’s Deborah!” You are an elegant writer and I felt your grief and disbelief in your article. I’m praying for you and all those who daily ask, “Why?” Hugs for the girls!
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I truly appreciated what you’ve written. As a person with a child that is finding the idea of existing a daily struggle, I’ve decided to maintain for another day. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring it the day after that, but..
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I hope you will maintain day after day Lori. Please know that… And I hope there are trusted souls who can help you on this journey. Prayers for strength…minute by minute, breath by breath… and when you need help please call the suicide prevention hotline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255). You matter.
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Deborah, before I forget, let me compliment you on your amazing use of your God-given gift of writing!
I just read your letter to the Whole Foods customers, which had me bawling and which led me here to your blog. On June 6th, 1989, after 11 long years of waiting, I told my husband, “I’m in labor”. Not five minutes later our phone rang. Dizzy with happiness, I picked up the phone to my oldest sister telling me through her sobs that our father had killed himself. I really can’t remember much about the next hours except the people – loved ones and strangers – who carried me through 40+ hours of labor and the birth of my precious Naomi. I thank God for the extended period of labor because that meant that June 6th – which also would have been my parents’ 41st wedding anniversary had my mother still been alive – would NOT be my daughter’s birthday.
My father was a hateful, violently abusive, rage-filled alcoholic; but, ever the good Catholic, he decided I was carrying the spawn of the devil when my husband and I were finally able to become parents through IVF, and told me so. I will always feel his act was his final F/U to me and my sisters.
I am glad for you that you had a loving relationship with your father, and are honoring him with your writing. Thank you for sharing your journey. God bless you.
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Wow Nancy. Thank you for your incredible raw honesty. I must admit, that my family and I went through our own fair share of struggle, including a very long estrangement. But with time, therapy and love, I was able to reach out and every so slowly, we found our way to wholeness and peace. In fact, what we endured seemed to make us even stronger. We loved more honestly, with greater acceptance of our faults and a deep rooted desire never to allow such pain to come into our family again. And yet….
I can’t imagine the convergence of loss and life playing out any more realistically, than what you faced. I am glad as well that your daughter’s birth was not on the day of your father’s death. You all so deeply deserve to celebrate all that she is wholly & fully.
Before my dad died, he told me that while he would never wish what we had gone through as a family on anyone, he felt, as did I, closer than we ever had. He shared with me so much of his struggle and I tried to let him know that he was loved just as he was, that it was okay not to be okay, just to continue treading water and let us hold him up until calmer waters came. We thought his start of meds and therapy would be the beginning of a journey toward emotional and mental healing. We knew it would take time and work. But I think his fear that he would never return to himself, won out in the end.
We began a new chapter, and I feel so very robbed that it was cut so short. The picture that goes with the letter was from our oldest and middle daughters’ bat mitzvah. Our youngest will have hers in May. And though I look to that day with as much joy as I can, the absence of my father is hard to fathom.
May your every day forward with your family be blessed with loving connection and strength in the ties that bind. I’m so grateful I found that again with my family before my father died. Bless you…
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I am so sorry to read about your story. My heart goes out to you and your family. If its possible to connect to you via email, can you share your email address. Thanks
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Deborah, I read your story and my heart hurt for you…as it took me back to Dec. 20 2014
When my youngest Son took his life. Deborah, as you know Larry was my life…the whole family claimed Larry as theirs..Larry was married loved The Lord and had 7 Children 4 biological and 3 adopted..Larry Loved The Lord..then on that Saturday morning… I got the call no one ever wants.. And my life has been forever changed.. Deborah I want to find the new me… The new mother to two precious older children..I feel at times (A lot of times) I am getting worse.. I miss my Son so badly.. Suicide is a horrible death to experience..oh how it shatters everyone involved. I am looking forward to following you.
Thank You for Sharing your pain. God Bless You my Friend!!
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Carol it does shatter the lives of all of those left behind. And it is a pain that is so very hard to put into pains, it is primal and raw. I once heard suicide compared to having a grenade set off in the middle of a family, and it is the loved ones, left in the aftermath to pick up all of the shattered pieces. Some days all I want is to feel the way I felt before, before I answered that call, before my life was forever changed, before my father left. But I am doing my best to journey through the grief.Some days I walk, some days I crawl, some days I take ten steps back, and some days I get a bit further ahead. But I know there is no finish line and there is no end to the journey, just markers that I will have to use to gauge my own healing. I hang on to the promise of survivors who have been on this road longer than I who tell me it will get better, it won’t always feel like this. And I tell my story. I tell it because I want to get it out, because it helps me and because I want to help people understand what it is like to survive losing someone to suicide. Some days I can’t look at the loss head on, some days I am braver. Some days I am mad, others I weep and still on other blessed days, I laugh more and can feel a bit of peace, levity and joy. I have no great words of wisdom to offer anyone in this world on this topic, just my truths, for better or for worse. I am moved that people like you find value in them. I find much in what I am given in return.
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Debra, I am not a writer or even much of a talker, but I cannot help but notice that most of the comments here are from females. I am a male who’s father committed suicide when I was 15. That was 40 years ago and I have never been able to talk much about that night that changed me forever. Reading your blog, I cannot even get 2 sentences without crying my eyes out. Our experiences are so much the same, but you have found a way to express them and I haven’t. I could take your writings and change a few words and timing and that would pull everything out of my soul and into the light of day.
My Father shot himself in front of my Mother at about 2 am one night. I was just heading down to bed when I heard the gun go off. I ran up to find my Mother screaming and holding her head. At the time my instincs kicked in and had her call 911. I went and woke my brothers and sisters up and took them to the neighbors house. went home and had my mom go with him in the ambulance. I was left is a quite house with just my thoughts and feelings. Being a young man I could not let anyone come home and see the blood and brains splattered all over the walls and floor. I cleaned every inch of that room that night and washed all of the towels so no one would ever see the tragedy that unfolded.
That is about all I remember from that night forward. I have no recollection of my life for the months that followed. I still have long black periods in my memory and have never really came to grips or expressed what happened to me that night, and do not know if I ever can.
I am married with 2 great sons who are married with great wives. I have 2 grand children who are both Autistic on some levels. Again what you write about your daughter I could change the situation to fit me and the words are what I wish I could use.
I thank you for opening my sole to your words and as I try to talk through some things with God, I can have a deeper understanding of where I need to be spiritually.
Kind Regards,
Brian
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Brian, you have rendered me speechless with your brave words of sharing. So now it is me crying to know that in any way, my words have allowed you to open up and allow all that you feel and have felt to come to light So, I’m going to keep it short, because my eyes are blurry as I type through tears, thank you for opening up your soul. I hope it brings you some peace.
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Deborah, I just read your story in the Washington Post. I, too, have made the stunning and insidious journey from bulletproof to impotent as a result of depression.
My family history is riddled with mental illness, but I couldn’t imagine it ever happening to me.
As I present myself to the world, my mental health issues are not on my resume, but they’re not a secret either. My own issues are well-moderated at this time–and in this clarity I can see how much compassion has been added to my heart through my legacy of mental health illness.
I am in the Boulder area. I wish you all the best.
Peggy g
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Peggy, I am moved by your honesty. It isn’t easy to wear our true selves in a way that makes us vulnerable. But it is, in part, the way we humanize this discussion. Perhaps our paths will cross in Boulder.
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Hi Deborah – I just read your story about the kindness of strangers in the Washington Post. I am a psychologist and frequently come across stories about mental illness and suicide, but your story shook me to my core. I, too, am a suicide survivor and remember so clearly the kindness of people who were near me the day I found out my best friend, Tod had died by suicide. It’s been almost 8 years but that day will be etched in my mind for an eternity. Reading your story brought so much of that back, but in a good way. Happy tears. Your story shows the power of compassion, grace, love, and the kindness of strangers. It shows humanity at it’s very finest. In my journey the past few years, I have relied on the kindness and compassion of strangers, friends, and family to get through my darkest days of grief. It hasn’t been easy as you know too well. But, it has helped tremendously. I never planned on it, but now I am a suicide researcher and look at ways of reducing suicide with military personnel and Veterans. It wasn’t my plan, but the plan of something much bigger than me. I know that losing your Dad most be unbearable at times, but know that a much bigger plan is in store for you and your family. Through the pain, comes the light. Sending love, prayer, and the very best to you and yours. Tracy Clemans
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“Through the pain comes the light…” Tracy, your words reflect my fervent prayer. Thank you for that gift.
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I’m having flash backs. I’ve lost relatives to suicide. But I lost my mom to cancer in a month. And with her went my whole life as I knew it. I haven’t been the same since. I wasn’t into writing before but now I can’t seem to shut up. Writing, creating, working on genealogy & volunteering for Find A Grave all keeps me going. Hope you keep finding things to keep you going too.
Speaking of Find A Grave I was gonna make sure your dad had a memorial & realized someone already added him. I hope you take over management of his memorial & complete it. You do have to join Find A Grave but it’s free. And if you need any help contact me.
Good luck & peace be w/ you.
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I’m not quite sure how I stumbled upon your blog, but I’m glad I did. My 18 year old sister committed suicide almost a year ago on May 19, 2015 just two days before her high school graduation. It came 100% out of the blue, and we as her family are still reeling almost a year later. I do not have the gift of penning my thoughts well like you do, so I really appreciate your honesty and transparency. I really hate being a member of this “club” that we didn’t ask for and don’t want to be in, but it is always encouraging to hear thoughts from those who are on a similar road.
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I’m so sorry for your loss Christina. I’d give anything to not be in this club. But I’m grateful for the knowing support of those who are in it with me, especially those who have been on this journey longer than me, who tell me that it won’t always be like this, that it will get better. I wish that for both of us.
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I’m so very very sorry for your loss. I had the extreme honor and pleasure of working in the funeral industry in Buffalo for 8 years. I saw countless situations where people decided to take their own life. We never really know what’s going on in someone else’s mind/life. Sometimes the people that take their life in our minds have everything (example Robin Williams) however, there is obviously something lacking in their view. I just pray you find comfort in the good times and have great memories.
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Thank you.
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Deborah I am so very sorry for your loss. I lost my little brother to suicide April 5 2015 not long before you lost your father. He decided to leave this world just 4 days before his 20th birthday. This past year has been filled with sadness and questions. The days get easier but as we are approaching one year without him I have been feeling totally emotional. I know that time heals but the questions will always remain.
I am so happy I found your blog… Keeping you in my prayers.
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Nikole I am so sorry for your loss. I’ve been feeling the same way about April coming and that one year mark. It feels like a paradox, as if I’ve lived 100 years without my father & as if he left us just yesterday. My emotions are all over the place as well. Wishing us both strength and healing on this journey. I’m so grateful that my words have brought so many survivors into my world. It is incredibly powerful. Prayers right back to you…
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You mad a difference in my life. I have lost loved ones to suicide…and battle the demon myself. Courage is a funny thing. It can come from the most unlikely of places…a strangers blog that moves you to stand up and find your own courage. I found some of my courage through your words…through your voice. I put my voice out to the world via wordpress…whispersinthenoise. Thank you for showing people the true face of courage. Your voice is louder than an whisper. Your voice is inspiring
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I can’t thank you enough for sharing those words with me and for sharing your own truth bravely. Together we can make a difference. I’m incredibly moved to know that my words touched you. Your words have touched me in return. I can’t wait to read your story.
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Thank you for sharing your story. I lost my younger brother less than 6 months ago… he was only 28. I sometimes feel that my grief is all over the place. One day I’m out of the Denial phase, the next day” I’m right back.
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I’m so sorry for your loss Jenifer. I’ve found grief to be more like a pinball machine, never linear. And I think the trauma of suicide loss adds so many layers to navigate. But I know the only way through it, is through it. I wish you strength and comfort.
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