THERE IS A REASON THAT WE TELL AND RETELL OUR STORY

Why I continuously allow people to hurt me is anyone's guess. I say "allow" because that is exactly what I do. I allow them to hurt me. Even when friends told me to break off all contact with a person that I use to think of as a very dear friend, because of his increasingly negative impact of my life, I didn't. I have always been one to give everyone the benefit of the doubt until there is no longer any doubt whatsoever as to their intent.

Today I deleted him from my facebook friend list and from all my email accounts. No more will I have to hear his repeated admonishments that I "just get over it"; to put Christian's death in the past where it belongs; to quit using Christian's death as an excuse to feel sorry for myself; to quit being involved with other parents/adults that have loss children or loved ones because they will "only drag you down"; and most especially to quit writing in my journal or on my blog because it keeps me trapped in the past and in my grief. His thought is that I have chosen to remain in grief and not move forward and on with my life. He said we could no longer be friends if I continued to wallow in my son's death.

What an absolutely asinine thing to say! I have concluded that it is he that is not worthy of my friendship. So today I deleted him from life. How beautiful that delete key can be. I didn't think it would be easy to do because he was my high school sweetheart and I still felt a closeness to him; but you know it was surprisingly easy. Just pushed a button and he was gone. Poof! Like magic - gone. What a relief! I can honestly say I will not miss him and his viper's tongue.

The first thing, and it goes without saying, is that none of us "choose" to remain in grief. It is not a choice. It might be nice if we could just turn it on and off at a whim but it doesn't work like that. Grief becomes a part of the fiber of our being. We don't want it to be. We hate feeling like we do. It just is and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, we can do to change it.

Secondly, there is a reason that we tell our story over and over. To tell it makes real the most horrendous event in the life of a survivor. We understand, to a degree, what mental illness is; and we can see that our loved one is hurting but we always hope things will get better. We never envision that someone we love and cherish will take their own life. It is inconceivable. Even when I thought that it was a possibility, I could not accept that it would ever actually happen. I thought my love would be big enough and strong enough to stop it. But when it does happen, the real nightmare begins for the survivors. We do whatever we can to survive this tragic blow to our psyche - our soul, our spirit, our mind, our heart. By telling and retelling our story, it helps to ease us out of the denial stage and into acceptance. And that is a hard transition.

Eighteen months later and I am only part way into acceptance. For me part of acceptance means letting go and I cannot do that. Not now, and most likely, never. I cannot and do not want to release my son. I had to do that to his physical body. I cannot do that to his spiritual being - and that part of him that is still so alive to me. We are bound together forever. That may not be everyone's definition of acceptance but it is mine.

Not wanting to burden others, we begin to pretend to be "normal". We bury the depth of our feelings, our hurt, our pain, our depression, our anxiety, our unhappiness from even our closest family members. We laugh, we smile, we do "normal" every day things. But underneath that is not who we are. We are lost souls just drifting through, around, over, and under life. We begin to isolate. And in our loneliness we begin to seek out others that are feeling what we are feeling because we know that they will understand, support us, and give us the unconditional love that we so desperately need. We need them to help validate our feelings and tell us we are okay.

The internet makes it easy to find other tender souls that are trying to deal with the reality of losing a loved one. People that become our friends in a way that no one else can. Friends that don't mind if you repeat your story. They will cry with you and understand if you feel like ranting. These are friends that you wish you didn't have but are so grateful that you have found.

We tell our stories in many different ways. At times we verbalize it. Sometimes we express our feelings in poetry. Some of us write in journals or share our experiences in a blog or with loss groups that we belong to. And there are times no words are necessary at all. Our story is written on our face. It is reflected in the tension in our hands. It is there for the whole world to see if they take the time to look close enough.

Grief is not something that you "just get over". Not in a day, not in a month, not in a single year, and not in a hundred years. During that time we learn how to live with the pain and it may lessen over time but it never, ever goes away. Rarely do I verbalize my feelings to others. In fact I never do. The only way I have of expressing the depth of my feelings and thoughts is through the written word - in my loss groups, in my journal and then in my blog. And even if no one reads it, I'll keep on writing because it helps me to cope with and understand what is happening to me throughout this grieving process. It helps me maintain a degree of sanity.

I miss the person I once was but it helps me appreciate the new me that struggles every day for more tolerance and understanding of those that do not understand what it means to be a survivor of a devastating loss. I have even been exposed to a degree of prejudice from others that have loss a child or a loved one to other forms of tragedy - and that really hurts. I have learned to have patience with those that tell me suicide is an act of a coward and is a moral sin.

I am afraid, however, that I will never understand the motivation behind such statements to a parent, grandparent, sibling, family member or friend that is already suffering. They are not changing the event, stopping it, or preventing it by their words. There is no love or understanding there. It is already too late for such useless talk. I don't expect anyone that has not walked in the shoes of a survivor of suicide or murder or a deadly disease or an accident or an overdose to understand or comprehend the impact of a death of a loved one on those left behind unless they too have faced such a loss. It just isn't possible. But I do expect respect and perhaps a little compassion.

I will tell my story over and over again and share my feelings and my reactions to those feelings. Grieving is the most personal emotion we will ever experience. We each grieve in a way that is right for us. No one else is part of the equation. Individually we struggle to accept, to overcome, to heal, and to honor the memory of our loved one. We don't need anyone's approval or disapproval. Our story is ours. It belongs to us. It is part of us. It is burned forever in our memory. We live it and relive it. We decide if we want to share it and with whom we share it.

I will not allow a negative, hurtful person to become part of my life's story. If you have such a person in your life, I hope you will make use of your own "delete key". Keep doing what you know is right for you and never allow anyone to make you feel guilty for that.