Survivors

This post was going to be about money, goals and paying off debt but that topic will have to wait for another day. My mind has been preoccupied and unsettled all week, my heart heavy and sad, so I'll write about what's on my mind instead. 

Last week there were two murder-suicides in Utah, one in a community close to where I live. In both instances young children were killed by their parents before they took their own lives, an added dimension of horror to an already horrific situation. All of the victims are strangers to me, although one of them was a friend to many people I know. Still, my heart is heavy and sad for these strangers, for the beautiful lives lost, and the grief and despair I know so many of their friends and family are now experiencing and will live with forever. 

There was a time in my life when such news would have given me only momentary pause. I would have thought how sad it was for their families, but then would have quickly forgotten all about it and carried on with my life. Now such news causes an instant, visceral reaction in me, triggering memories and thoughts that take me back to the darkest days of my life. Not only my mind, but my body remembers what such devastating news and grief feels like, triggering what can best be described as a post-traumatic stress reaction. 

Now, every suicide I hear about is personal to me. I grieve for the person that was in such emotional pain that they felt the only way to escape it was to end their life. I feel deep regret that the epidemic of suicide is continuing, that people still don't seem to be hearing the message of hope that so many survivors are sharing. My heart aches for their families and friends, knowing how profoundly their lives will be affected. I cry for them, for me, and for my sweet sister Julie. My mind remembers things that most of the time are buried so deeply that they seem forgotten. I remember the phone call from my sister telling me she knew something was horribly wrong. I remember being told our worst nightmare was true, where I was, and how time seemed to stop as I felt the world as I knew it shifting and falling away. I remember calling my dad to break the news, the exact words I said, his scream and feeling his anguish from clear across the country. Every heartbreaking moment of the first days, weeks and months after Julie's death comes back to me. 

I want to reach out to the survivors, the newest members of our awful club and tell them I understand. There will be questions they'll never have the answers to, but hopefully they'll be able to make peace with those unknowns. I want to let them know that even though they don't think they can survive this, they can. Their broken hearts can heal. Joy will eventually return to their lives. 

All of these thoughts and memories remind me that grieving is a circular process. It never really ends, but is does change and soften. Anger turns to compassion and understanding. Denial and avoidance turns to acceptance. There will always be grief and sadness for the lives cut short, the dreams unrealized, and the beloved individuals who will no longer share their gifts with the world. I'm reminded of how far I've come and how much I've healed, that I'm a survivor in the truest sense of the word. I've come to truly appreciate and cherish moments like I had yesterday while I was running. Julie was there in my mind the entire time. Yes, my thoughts of her made me sad and filled with regret that she'll never run beside me again. But I refused to give in to the sadness. I kept on determined, putting one foot in front of the other, moving forward, happy to be alive. 

Lightning Can Strike Twice in the Same Place

This week I had every intention of writing about my recent motorcycle trip to Jackson Hole and Yellowstone.  That all changed when my sister called me late in the day on Tuesday.  As she soon as I heard her voice I knew something was wrong.  I'd only heard that particular tone in her voice once before.  And, just like when I'd heard it before, my body immediately knew something was wrong, almost before she uttered the words "Have you read Jason's email?" my insides were already turning to liquid, my heart started racing and I wanted to vomit.  I logged into my email as she told me the news.  "Jason's sister is dead.  She killed herself."  For the second time in my 42 years, the world seemed to stop spinning, and I felt like I was watching myself from a distance as my mind tried to wrap itself around something that it desperately wanted to keep from knowing.

Jason's email told me everything I didn't want to know.  He even included a news clip about the tragic way his sister had chosen to end her life.  There I sat at work, staring at my computer, dumfounded, without words.  How could this be happening?  Again?  To Jason?  It just isn't fair.  That's when my tears started, thinking of him and all that he'd already endured.  Not even two weeks before, my mom and I had been talking about Julie, as we often do.  I mentioned that one of the few things I hadn't yet forgiven Julie for was how her suicide affected Jason.  I'm just not okay with it.  He, among everyone in her life, was there for her no matter what.  He loved her, despite her maddening ways. From my perspective, she took advantage of his love, dismissing it, not understanding how rare such loyalty is. His love and loyalty never wavered, even in death.  It was Jason who spared Amy from having to find her sister dead.  Instead, he went, knowing full well what he'd find.  He stayed with her until the very end, waiting until the coroner took her away.  And now this.  Again.  

Still in shock, I called Jason. Actually, I called, got his voice mail, left a message, then he called back and left me a voice mail, which I listened to, and then called him back.  Even in the midst of such sadness and shock, Jason didn't miss the significance of me listening to his voice mail and returning his call.  "Well, I guess I know how to get you to listen to one of my voice mails now" was how he answered.  We laughed at the morbid irony. Julie's last phone call was to me, and she got my voice mail.  She left me a message.  As per my habit, and keeping with my instructions to send me a text if it's urgent and important, I deleted her message without ever listening to it.  To this day I don't know what she said. 

At least laughing about what it takes to get me to listen to a voice message broke the ice. But then I had to actually talk about what why I was calling. I'd like to say that I had all the right words and knew exactly how to respond to such a tragedy.  After all, I know exactly how it feels to lose your sister to suicide.  Instead, I swore.  Really, what else is there to do?  We both agreed my profane word was really the only thing to say in response to suicide.  

I've spent the last 48 hours thinking, wondering, remembering and reliving.  It's the emotional, physiological memory of such trauma that's the worst.  It's like when you have a burn and the thin top layer of skin has just started to heal, covering the burn.  You nurse the wound, being very tender with yourself, protecting your injured part, knowing how fragile it is.  Then, out of nowhere, the wound gets bumped and the thin, new skin gets torn off.  The pain is there all over again, not as bad as the original burn, but close.  

Today I watched Robin Roberts say goodbye on Good Morning America.  She'll be gone for an indeterminate amount of time recovering from a bone marrow transplant.  As she talked about her experience with cancer, and subsequently finding out that her cancer treatment had given her a rare disease requiring a bone marrow transplant she said, "Life provides losses and heartbreak for all of us.  But the greatest tragedy is to have the experience and miss the meaning." 'I am determined not to miss that meaning."  I stopped what I was doing when I heard her, amazed at her simple, yet profound wisdom and amazing optimism and courage. I'm not even close yet to knowing what sort of meaning any of us will gain from this latest tragedy. It's still too raw, too soon, but her words shifted my focus and gave me hope, which right now is enough.  

Out of the Darkness



Julie & Amy joining me when I picked up my race packet - May 14, 2010

There used to be three of us and we ran.  Now there are two of us, and we walk.  I never would have taken up running if it wasn’t for my sisters.  Amy and Julie ran many races together over the past several years.  In 2009, tired of cheering from the sidelines, I took up running so I could join them.  When the three of us ran our first half marathon together in August of that year, I imagined it was the first of many races we’d do together over the coming years.  Our joke was that we’d all be running races together as old women just for the free beer at the finish line!



Hugging Amy after she finished
the Ogden 1/2 Marathon - May, 2011



As it turns out, that was the only race the three of us ever ran together. The following Spring, Amy and Julie cheered me on from the sidelines when I ran the Ogden Half Marathon.  The year after that, Amy and I ran the Ogden Half together.  Julie was gone by then, her cheers from the sidelines only imagined as we carried her spirit with us down the winding canyon course and across the finish line. 

Next month, one week apart from each other, in two different states, Amy and I will be walking in Out of the Darkness Community Walks to benefit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.  We’ll walk to remember and honor our beloved Jules.  Most importantly, we’ll walk, along with the other suicide survivors who will join us, to call attention to suicide and its awful aftermath, in hopes that by bringing attention to suicide we can save lives.  We’ll also be walking in solidarity with other survivors, showing our strength in numbers, proving, simply by putting one foot in front of the other, that despite the almost incomprehensible pain that comes after someone you love kills themselves, life does go on.  It is possible to survive such a devastating loss, especially when other survivors are there to lend their strength, support, understanding and love.

Until recently, I didn’t understand how important and healing the support of other survivors could be.  In May, I started going to a weekly support group for suicide survivors.  As I wrote in this post, I wasn’t optimistic about how much I would gain from going.  My how things change!  When the group ended, I was sad to say goodbye to people that just six weeks earlier had been strangers.  Like soldiers who’ve done battle together, we bonded, forging connections through our shared experiences of loss, grief, depression, confusion, anger, sadness, and questioning.  Together we talked, cried, and laughed, learning about each other, our families, and those we lost to suicide. 

One day I struggled to explain to my mom how and why I thought the group had been so helpful and comforting to me.  I think this poem by Eloise Cole explains it best. 

Borrowed Hope

Lend me your hope for a while;
I seem to have mislaid mine.
Lost and hopeless feelings accompany me daily.
Pain and confusion are my companions.
I know not where to turn.
Looking ahead to the future times
Does not bring forth images of renewed hope.
I see mirthless times, pain-filled days, and more tragedy.
Lend me your hope for a while;
I seem to have mislaid mine.
Hold my hand and hug me,
Listen to all my ramblings.
I need to unleash the pain and let it tumble out.
Recovery seems so far and distant,
The road to healing, a long and lonely one.
Stand by me. Offer me your presence,
Your ears and your love.
Acknowledge my pain; it is so real and ever present.
I am overwhelmed with sad and conflicting thoughts.
Lend me your hope for a while.
A time will come when I will heal,
And I will lend my renewed hope to others.

 

The healing power of hope should never be underestimated. I’ll wake on September 8, knowing Amy will be walking in Colorado that day, taking an important step on her journey towards healing.  On September 15, I’ll be walking in Salt Lake City, lending my hope to others.  Every step I take that day will be a step out of the darkness, towards healing and hope, for me and for so many others. 

*If you’re interested in participating in an Out of the Darkness Community Walk to benefit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, go to www.outofthedarkness.org to find a walk in your area.