IN THE EYE OF THE STORM

IN THE EYE OF THE STORM
May 21, 2011

Inside my mind behind my eyes
A storm is raging.
Dark purple skies
Grief as tall as mountains
and as low as the valleys
Wind blows, lightening flashes
Eyes cry a river of tears
Teardrops radiate out
in never ending circles of pain.
You are gone and there is nothing I can do.
I live in the eye of the storm.


Outwardly calm
But inside is chaotic chaos
And the threat that I will outwardly explode
and show the world the depth
Of my rage and sorrow.
Screaming. Ceaseless, never ending screaming
Falling on the floor unable to
move pain. Exhausted with
no more tears to cry pain.
A helpless, pathetic lump of humanity.

But despite of it all I still cling to hope.
Hope that you are safe and are at peace.
Hope that I can come to terms with my grief.
Hope that there will eventually be
more days of sunshine than
dark, stormy ones.
Hope that the depression and despair
will come less often.
Hope that I can once again
have a solid connection
with our Heavenly Father.
Hope that with God's help
I can reach out
and help others with
what I have learned on this journey.
Hope that I can have an
understanding and forgiving heart
so I can put aside any feelings
of anger I have towards
those that I perceive hurt my son.
I pray for the strength to let all that anger go
When I have done that,
then, and only then can I move forward
on this journey of healing.
Thank you Heavenly Father
for that understanding.

I celebrate the knowledge that we,
my son and I, will be together again
when my time on earth is over.
What a joyous day that will be
When the storm ends
and we are eternally at peace.

THE FACE OF GRIEF: When There Are No More Tears to Cry

What do we do when there are no more tears to cry
What do we do when we feel empty and dead inside
What do we do when joy and happiness have withered and dried
What do we do when nothing helps after all has been tried?

My heart is bleeding. So many tears I have cried
So why am I now being denied
The right to shed tears. Why do they hide
So deep inside?
Who reached inside and squeezed my heart dry?

Invisible hand why do you throw my emotions aside
Why am I tortured and made to ride the tide of implied lies
That say I feel nothing. Hurt bubbles and boils inside
The emptiness and sorrow will never ever subside.

What do we do when there are no more tears to cry
What do we do when we feel empty and dead inside
What do we do when joy and happiness have withered and dried
What do we do when nothing helps after all has been tried?

***************************************************************

"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They're the messengers of overwhelming grief ... and unspeakable love." ~ Washington Irving

Artificial Manipulation

Shadow people. That is what I call them. Shadow people. Those people who live behind the scenes in your shadow. They don't know what is happening in your life - don't really care, don't understand where your heart is, or what hardship you're living with. Then they show up and tell you how to live your life, what to feel, what not to feel, and if you do exactly as they you tell you, everything will be alright and you'll be back on track. They do their best to manipulate you into believing they know what is best for you. They bend your thinking this way and that way. Twist your thoughts. They try to make you feel incompetent and weak so they can feel stronger and superior. They want to be your savior and your hero.

In this artificial act of "kindness" they are actually attempting to crush your spirit and mold you into something they think you should be. And consciously or not, they confuse you into not being true to yourself. After all they wouldn't be saying what they are unless they really care about you. They usually begin their onset with "I really love you (or care about you) and don't want to hurt your feelings but...."

Grieving people are especially vulnerable to such uncaring people. Because they approach under the guise of kindness, their actions are especially hurtful. They, who have never lost a loved one to suicide, presume to know how we feel, how long our grieving period should last, and when we should put it all behind us and "live in the present".

It is these people that try to silence us. When we speak, they are uncomfortable because suicide is an uncomfortable subject. For so long it was a taboo subject. A forbidden topic of conversation. If spoken of at all, it was spoken of in whispers. Families of suicide victims were shunned. There was a social stigma attached to it. Society said it was disgraceful and a sin. We have now found our community voice. Our collective voice is loud and firm and it says "you are wrong". There is a new understanding of suicide because we are no longer silent.

I recently had an unpleasant experience that did, for a while, crush my spirit and made me question myself and the worth of this blog. Thankfully a lot of sincerely caring family and friends - some new, some old, some survivors of suicide like myself - encourage me to continue on. They lifted me up after I had been torn down.

He wrote: "Your posts about suicide I have found very unnerving. After your last one, I blocked them. That night I did send you something about living in the present and stop living in the past. Do you really think that Christian wants you dwelling on his death or would he prefer you to celebrate his life? I have no desire to hurt you or I would have written something to you about it then but since you sent me this I will speak my piece. "I believe" that dwelling on his death diminishes him and depresses you. Your writing about it constantly depresses me. Linda I do love and care about you. Please take this to heart."

My response, in part: "Thank you for the advise and your concern; however, there are many, many survivors of suicide that would disagree with you. I get so many emails stating how my blog has helped them. They need to know that someone else is feeling the exact same way they are. It gives them permission to open up and share their experiences and their feelings. This journey includes new travelers and ones that have been on the journey for some time. The new travelers need to know they are not alone and those that are not so new need to know that it is okay to still be in a state of grief - that there is no time limit on the grieving process.

My blog is not everyone - absolutely not for everyone - Some, like you, will find it uncomfortable and depressing. But for tender hearts that have suffered the loss of a loved one, there is a very great need for a place to go and know that they are not alone. That someone else is hurting in the same way they are. Something positive must come from Christian's death and this is my way of hopefully helping others.

In no way is Christian's death being diminished. I think of him every day, many times a day. We were so close and loved each other so much. He was a kind, loving, caring human being and he helped others in any way he could. He would want me to write this blog if it could possibly help ease someone through their pain.

It helps to keep his memory alive. He already knows that I am hurting but he also sees that I am getting stronger and moving forward and this journal and this blog are helping me do that. I am not living in the past. I am living in my present. And that present is one where grief and sorrow are my constant companions. They always will be. Christian is my son. He will never be part of my past. He will always be in my present and in my future.

So while I care about your opinions, I am choosing not to take your advise."

****************************************************************************************

We are not mannequins that can be manipulated at the whim of others. Sometimes hurtful advise is given with the kindest of intentions and we must realize that it comes from a place of inexperience and lack of knowledge. At those times our responses must be tempered with understanding and kindness. We may be grieving but we are still strong and courageous and beautiful. Never allow yourselves to be discouraged or crushed by "kind" intentions.

A NEW JOURNAL, THE SAME JOURNEY

Today I started a new journal. My mother ask me what I would write in it. I truly had no answer. When I began my first journal, "a Journey", I didn't know exactly what it would include but I did know that it would be both an art journal and a way for me to express my journey through the grieving process. I was right in realizing in that first journal that this process will take a very long time and will, indeed, never be over.

So what will be in this new journal? I hope the messages will be more uplifting and positive but I can't promise that. I will go where my heart, mind, and emotions take me and that is all I can promise. I know where I have been but I don't know where I am going. The future is blurred.

BEFORE: I looked at the world with an unsophisticated eye.

DURING: My eyes could only see shades of gray.

THE FUTURE IS BLURRED

SUICIDE - WHEN LOVE ISN'T ENOUGH

There are times when we, out of circumstance, must make a long and difficult journey alone. It is not that we choose to do so but because there is no choice. We take with us a suitcase full of sorrow, grief, guilt, depression, tears, and endless pain. A suitcase that we try to put down and leave behind; but one that keeps reappearing in our path over and over again. But more importantly we also bring with us memories. In my case, 32 years of memories. Some good; some very, very good; and some not good at all.

This story began long before January 18, 2010, the day Christian, my greatly and dearly loved child, my youngest son - took his own life. It began long before that single gunshot rang out over the meadow that morning. I could write long glorious accounts of his accomplishments; of his beautiful, sweet spirit; of his love of life, family, and friends; of my dreams for him, of his dreams for himself. I could tell you about his agonizing descent into depression; about the events that brought him to his knees; about all the times he unsuccessfully attempted suicide. I could tell you about how all these attempts damaged his brain so that eventually he was unable to discern reality from fantasy. But what would be the point? The outcome would be the same. My son died by suicide.

My journey with my son into the darkness began almost two years before his death. As difficult as it was, and it was unbelievably difficult, I have come to realize that it was a blessing that we traveled that road together. Although I can tell you now that it sure did not feel like a blessing as we were living it. Nonetheless I am thankful that he did not make the journey alone. And even though it wasn't enough, he knew how much I loved him. And I know how much he loved me. But sometimes things are larger than love and so it was with him.

This child that had once been so happy, so full of light and life, so full of promise had now become so angry, so full of despair and bitterness. There were times I felt as though I had to run away from him just to maintain some degree of sanity. He overwhelmed me with his anger over things that had happened only in the depths of his troubled mind. I found myself daily struggling to figure out what was indeed reality and what was only reality to him.

He fought with me about getting him help until the very end when help was too slow in coming - too many agencies passing responsibility back and forth, too much paperwork to process. He had had himself institutionalized once and thought it was all a big, wonderful game. He had tricked them all. He left with the counselors telling him he should be a counselor himself and the patients crying at his departure. Oh yes, he was bright and clever but he was also very sick when he went in and he was still very sick when he left.

I believe with all my heart that he knew he was in trouble mentally because he spent so much time denying it. Times when out of the blue he would say things like "I'm not crazy. There's nothing wrong with me. I'm not bipolar. The doctors told me I'm not bipolar" and I would reply "Honey, I never thought you were crazy." These are the same doctors that told him and me that he was well enough to go home. Actually what they said was that he was either perfectly sound mentally or he was extremely, extremely good at deceiving people. Always the trickster.

If love could have saved my son, he most definitely would be alive today. But depression and anxiety are larger than love. So overwhelming and so all encompassing that love is buried beneath its weight. If it wasn't so, this child that loved me so much, cared about me so deeply, worried about me endlessly, and who had promised to always, always be there for me would never have left me the way he did. Would never have taken his life. Would never have caused me and the rest of the family and his friends so much pain. These things I know for a certainty.

So I will not question why love was not enough to save him because I know there are things larger than love. Things that demand an end to pain and an end to an existence that no longer has value or meaning or direction - at least in his mind. These things called depression and anxiety are what killed my son - more so than the bullet that entered his precious head and took his life on that cold January morning in 2010.

COSMIC JOURNEY

This first journal entry in my second journal "Cosmic Journey" is a metaphor for the morning of January 18, 2010, when I was awaken early, early in the morning with a telephone call from Christian telling me of his intention to take his life. The sound of gunshots and later in the day a phone call telling me Christian had shot himself in the head and had died.

I lay deep in slumber. Lost in the darkness of dreamless sleep. Had I been capable of conscious thought, I would have been thankful for this thoughtless sleep. This escape into the realm of soft, buffered nothingness.

Laying in my bed wrapped in blankets warm and secure, a sudden and violent bright light pierced my silent mind. The blinding light and deafening sound bounced around inside my head and slammed into the back of my eyes. Searing pain. A magnetic force pulls the breathe from my lungs.

I struggle to remain earth bound. Then a gentle voice in my head whispers "Why? Just close your eyes and let go. Let go." Suddenly I am numb. I feel nothing. I allow myself to be carried on the wings of energy into the cosmos. Shhhh, no words, empty your mind. Let only timeless energy fill you. Weightlessly drifting through and around stars and past the moon. That same soft voice whispers "The answers lie out there. Quiet your mind and soul and take a comic journey and you will find your place in the universe."

FIRST ANNIVERSARY

FIRST ANNIVERSARY

January 18, 2011

One year since Christian left us.  One year since we've had to face the worst tragedy a family can experience.  One year today.  I don't want it be one year.  That's too much time.  I don't want that much distance from the time you were here and I could touch you, hear your voice, your laughter.  Hug you, kiss your cheek.  One year.  Okay I can accept one year.  But one year and one day I cannot.  I rebel against one year and one day.  My heart screams against one year and one day. Tears, so many tears.  My heart is shattering again - like it did on that first day.

Today is cold, very cold, and it's rainy.  It seems almost appropriate.  We will go to Christian's roadside memorial.  The family has come together like we did for that first roadside memorial service.  My mother is here from Nevada; my sister from Virginia.  They are here to support us just like they did a year ago.  We will support each other.

The cars are filled with family members bundled up against the cold.  The caravan begins the thirty minute drive to the memorial site.  Mountains covered in snow are visible in the distance capped with low hanging black clouds.  A storm is coming.

When we arrive, we see that someone has placed a beautiful little angel with out stretched arms on one of the flat stones.  It warms that cold place in my heart and makes me feel human again.  Whoever left it will probably never know how much it means to me to know that some caring person visited my son's memorial site.  My heart is bursting with love for this unknown person. 

Even in times of sadness, children can still find time to play.  Bless her little heart and thank you God for this little jewel.

Just before our service was over it began to rain a freezing cold rain.  No one seem to notice this rain that would have normally sent us running to the warmth of our cars.  Only concern for my Mother's well being made us leave.  At home a warm stew was waiting.

Chapter One comes to an end.