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.