"Say what you have to say, and not what you ought."
~ Henry David Thoreau



Monday, May 21, 2012

Hour of Lead

Two weeks ago I went to my first suicide survivors support group.  I left the meeting intending never to return, completely traumatized and convinced there was nothing for me to gain by attending.  The couple of days before were very stressful and I was feeling more than a little resentful about having to drive nearly an hour each way on a weeknight, right after work to "deal" with my sister's suicide. On my ride down I ranted to my sister Amy.  "Here I am once again cleaning up her mess! How convenient that she just died and left the rest of us to try to figure out how to pick up the pieces and go on.  How easy to just escape by suicide.  Now I get to spend a full evening a week for the next seven weeks going to this stupid group because of what she did.  As if I don't have 100 other things I'd rather be doing!"  I was angry, resentful and bitter.


Things didn't get better once I arrived (twenty minutes late after getting lost on the sprawling University of Utah campus and trying to find parking).  Because it was the first night, people were introducing themselves and telling why they were there.  Four of the seven in attendance had experienced their loss within the last six months, with several having lost their loved ones less than three months ago.  Their grief was still raw. Their shell-shocked looks were all too familiar. After listening to a few of them talk I wanted to run from the room.  Being confronted with their shock and fresh, palpable grief opened barely closed wounds in my own mind and soul.  It was overwhelming.  "How on earth can this be good for me?" I wondered to myself.  Even though I recognized exactly where they were and very much related to their feelings, mercifully I've progressed beyond the immediate shock and have come to terms as best I can with many of the issues that lead to Julie's suicide.  The facilitator's comments were repetitive.  She quoted a book I've already read, talked about statistics and facts I now know by heart.  


During the drive home I mentally replayed the meeting, recalling what I shared with the group.  I thought about the emotions I'd shared, the things I'm still struggling to accept, to come to terms with, and I cried and cried.  


The next day I was again thinking about the meeting and wondering if there was anything to really be gained by going back.  Then it occurred to me how glad I was that I was almost two years out from the worst day of my life.  Seeing others experiencing such fresh trauma reminded me that I have made some progress.  It's given me a very different perspective.  As horrible as my experience is and was, there are others who have faced the same, or much worse. I also realized that by being there I could perhaps offer some hope for those dealing with such recent losses.  I can show them someone that has survived two years, someone whose life has gone on, who still laughs, hopes, dreams and enjoys life.  It wasn't just about me!  It's about all of us--surviving and supporting each other.  


Last week I returned with a much better attitude.  This week I'm actually looking forward to going. Instead of focusing on my anger and resentment on the cause behind my being there, I'm trying very hard to focus on how far I've come.  A few nights ago I came across this stanza from the poem After great pain, a formal feeling comes by Emily Dickinson. 


This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –

Reading it made me realize how far I've come.  I've lived through the hour of lead. I'm past it and at long last I'm starting to let go.  





8 comments:

  1. Emily is my favorite poet. Somehow she was able to condense a feeling into a few words and communicate it perfectly. That is what you did with this post, Keicha. You communicated to me how much you have healed from the terrible trauma. I hope you realize that your blog also helps people who have not had to be where you are, but have had loss overtake them and wonder if they would ever climb back out. Thank you.

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    1. Isn't Emily great? Of course, when I was first exposed to her poem sometime in Junior High (after reading Anne Morrow Lindbergh's Hour of Gold, Hour of Lead) the poem meant nothing to me. How could it? When I read it again last week I was floored by how perfectly Emily was able to convey the feeling of awakening from grief.

      Thanks as always for your kind, supportive comments.

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  2. I'm glad to hear your perspective on the group and the process. I facilitate bereavement support groups, and it has seemed to me that it helps when there is a range of "time since" in the group for the reason you cite .... those farther down the path can see their own healing by comparison AND those closer to the event can see hope. I'm not sure that makes it "easier" for anyone, but I believe it is harder if we don't have something(s) to help us develop perspective. I'm glad you're going back. The memory will never end, but I hope with time and support, it will become bearable, and that it will be lightened so you can remember more of the good times.

    Peace for your journey.

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    1. I've now been to three sessions and they really are helping. Thanks for sharing your perspective as a facilitator. I can see now that it does help to have people who are at various stages in the grief process.

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  3. Have you seen the show on TV called "Touch?" A major theme is that events and people are connected, and the connections are not always apparent. I like the idea that we are connected to people we have yet to know. The events in your life have led you to the support group, who knows what purpose you will serve. On the TV show they wrap it all up in 50 minutes and it's a happy ending. I'm sure that your happy ending is there, but it might take a little longer than 50 minutes in real life!

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    1. I haven't seen "Touch" but I've heard about it. The idea of connections and not realizing the meaningfulness people will have in our lives upon first meeting them is something I believe in more and more the older I get. I think part of it is being open to what people can bring to our lives rather than automatically assuming certain people have nothing to offer us. Taking the time to really connect with people is when we find meaning in our relationships, however casual they may seem at first glance.

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  4. Three cheers, Keicha. No, four or five or ten or more. Doing things that hurt are hard -- and you may well find it helps you less with your grief than it does -- as you so eloquently mentioned -- seeing where you had been and recognizing where you are, which is huge. Just huge. And, you also mentioned something I was going to if you didn't -- the importance of your being able to give the gift of surviving to those who aren't sure it will ever happen to them. I'm not sure there will ever be a way to grapple with Julie's death, to stop the hurt, perhaps the anger, and certainly the loss and longing. But anything you can do to help you come to terms -- and you are doing that in each and every day, including your next meeting (or maybe especially) will be one more step. You can give a great gift to the others in your group simply by your presence. I'm glad you're going back and I hope each visit is a little easier to bear.

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    1. Thanks for your cheers Jeanie. You're right, doing things that hurt is hard, and I appreciate being cheered on to do something so difficult. Going back is getting easier, and I'm so glad I decided to take part in this group. We're lucky to have a talented, experience facilitator. Being with others who understand what I've experienced is incredibly comforting and helpful.

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