IN LOVING MEMORY OF
JOSEPH ANTHONY EDGAR
July 13, 1972 to October 15, 1993
Early this month it was my very great privilege to have lunch with the most extraordinary woman and my dear friend, Patricia Edgar. I had met Patty through a mutual friend on an online survivor of suicide support group. Both of us had lost a son to suicide. Her natural warmth and loving, compassionate heart drew me to her from her first post. So when she messaged me that she was going to be in the Oregon/Washington area visiting family and wanted to meet up with me, I was thrilled.
She was everything I though she would be ..... and more. She was so warm, so open. There was never an awkward moment. It seemed that I had known her far longer than I had. She was the loving friend that my lonely heart needed and yearned for. I didn't need to explain what I was feeling or what I had gone through because she already understood. She and I had traveled the same road. She much longer than I. We were kindred spirits.
First, let me tell you that I have never had a face-to-face conversation with another survivor before. All my prior connections had been online. I was deeply touched on many levels and affected in a way that I had not expected. It has taken me almost a month to process it.
As our visit at the restaurant progressed, Patty shared with me about her son. What a remarkable, wonderful young man. It was easy to tell that they had had a close, loving relationship. Just as Christian and I had. Both of us mothers who loved their children deeply and unconditionally.
Eventually we arrived at Joey's last day. In my mind's eye and in my heart as she shared her memories, I felt every emotion she felt: saw each act, each face; breathed every moment with her. Her words were simple and straight forward but they reached into my heart, my mind, my soul in a way that no other ever had. I was with her every step, every moment of that life-altering day.
Even though I wasn't thinking about my own son as she told me about her experiences of that day, as her story reached its conclusion I was immediately back in the moment when I learned that Christian had died from his own self-inflicted gunshot wound. That pain, that gut-wrenching, soul crushing pain, defies description. There are no words that can adequately express the intensity of that burning, searing pain.
After warm and heartfelt farewell hugs, I went home and quickly found myself in a depression deeper than any I had ever been in. A depression that was so debilitating that I was totally consumed. I didn't have the inner resources or the strength to look beyond the darkness. I felt suicidal and was in a really bad place for quite a long time.
At the same time as I dealing, and not very well, with these emotional and unstable mental issues, I was also dealing with a health problem. I didn't realize it at the time but I have a tortuous esophagus - meaning it snakes back and forth and isn't straight as it should be. I also have a very large Hiatal Hernia which caused stomach acid to back up and form scar tissue at the base of my esophagus.
For a while I could eat and swallow by taking very small bites and chewing extremely well and then washing it down with liquids; but even so the food would begin to back up in my chest causing terrible pain and an inability to eat. My condition became serious and I was off to the hospital for an upper endoscopy which resulted in a minor surgery to break up the scar tissue and a four-day liquid diet.
I'm telling you this because as the sedation was wearing off and I was waking up I had an epiphany of sorts. I almost laugh now when I think back on it because it was just like a made-for-TV movie. There was a bright light and bingo all these enlightening thoughts and visions entered my head and it was clear as day. At least at the time it seemed clear as day. Some might say it was the drugs. I prefer to think that I'm having difficulty finding the right words because ethereal experiences have a language all their own.
I don't know if all that I learned can be applied to every survivor but I know a lot of it can. At least in the beginning. For me I think that a lot of my problems came about because I isolate, hide my feelings, and I'm not real with those around me and I honestly don't see that changing. In my mind I rationalize it by thinking that I'm sparing my loved ones from my pain and sorrow. They have their own to deal with and I will not burden them further. Sound familiar?
I've thought about how best to describe what I want to say and came up with something kind of hokey but I hope you'll bare with me. I'm going to liken it to my rendition of a walnut encapsulating the mind.
Upon learning of the death of someone we love so dearly, nature provides a protection so we can somehow continue to function. It is called numbness. Eventually and over time we develop a shell around us to shield us from unkind statements and actions by others. When the death has been by suicide these statements can be especially hurtful. With each wound, the shell grows a little thicker and ultimately it can become very thick and very hard. We will not, cannot ever let that kind of pain in again.
And within that carefully constructed shell is another shell. In there we will find all the really raw stuff. The memories that we can't turn off. The ones that wake us in the middle of the night in a cold chill. The sights and sounds we wish weren't there but yet we can't let go of because they are the last memories we have of our loved one. And buried there are the thoughts that we share with no one. Sometimes it's guilt and sometimes blame; but whatever it is, it is ours alone.
While we are busy watching and protecting ourselves against hurtful people and painful experiences and building that protective shell, we are also busy locking ourselves in. Until that day when we wake up in a serious depression and don't know why. I was locked in so tight I couldn't find my way out. But then again, I wasn't looking for a way out because I wasn't aware of what I had subconsciously been doing.
Being in there all by myself, and although I wasn't mentally aware of it, almost all my thoughts, emotions, memories, and grief centered around me. My mind was consumed with me, me, me and I didn't even know it. I have said it before and I'll say it again ... grief is selfish. The danger with this situation is that when all your mental energy goes to thinking about yourself and your pain, it is easy to become suicidal.
All round me there were beautiful spirits but I didn't really see them. Gentle souls that were on the same journey that I was on but my eyes were blind because I was only looking inward. Intellectually I was aware that others had suffered a blow as great, or greater, than my own but somehow on an emotional level I wasn't really feeling it.
Not until the day I had lunch with Patty. For the first time, her words, her experience, her pain cracked my hard, thick protective shell and everything she was saying, everything she was feeling, everything she had experienced rushed in and I felt it. I felt it all the way down to the hidden inner shell of my inner mind. And it hurt ... profoundly so.
Until that moment I had not allowed others' pain to truly affect me simply because I couldn't handle it. It was too much for my tender heart. There have been many times that I have stayed away from my online support groups because I couldn't handle all the pain I found there. I feel bad about that. I should have been there to support and comfort others as others have comforted and supported me - and continue to do so. Just as Patty has done throughout these past few years.
What I am going to do with this new found insight? I'm not altogether sure. I do know that now that I'm aware of it I can begin to look outside myself, let others in, and be more giving of myself.
There are a handful of people in my support groups that possess an incredible ability to understand and give comfort. I don't know if they were ever in the same place that I now find myself but if they were, they have evolved into beautiful, loving, unselfish individuals. I hope that some day I can be on the same plane they are on. That transformation will not happen over night but I'll keep pushing forward.
Thank you Patty for being one of those beautiful spirits. Thank you for sharing your journey and yourself with me. And thank you for being the truly wonderful person you are and for being my special friend.
As our visit at the restaurant progressed, Patty shared with me about her son. What a remarkable, wonderful young man. It was easy to tell that they had had a close, loving relationship. Just as Christian and I had. Both of us mothers who loved their children deeply and unconditionally.
Eventually we arrived at Joey's last day. In my mind's eye and in my heart as she shared her memories, I felt every emotion she felt: saw each act, each face; breathed every moment with her. Her words were simple and straight forward but they reached into my heart, my mind, my soul in a way that no other ever had. I was with her every step, every moment of that life-altering day.
Even though I wasn't thinking about my own son as she told me about her experiences of that day, as her story reached its conclusion I was immediately back in the moment when I learned that Christian had died from his own self-inflicted gunshot wound. That pain, that gut-wrenching, soul crushing pain, defies description. There are no words that can adequately express the intensity of that burning, searing pain.
After warm and heartfelt farewell hugs, I went home and quickly found myself in a depression deeper than any I had ever been in. A depression that was so debilitating that I was totally consumed. I didn't have the inner resources or the strength to look beyond the darkness. I felt suicidal and was in a really bad place for quite a long time.
At the same time as I dealing, and not very well, with these emotional and unstable mental issues, I was also dealing with a health problem. I didn't realize it at the time but I have a tortuous esophagus - meaning it snakes back and forth and isn't straight as it should be. I also have a very large Hiatal Hernia which caused stomach acid to back up and form scar tissue at the base of my esophagus.
For a while I could eat and swallow by taking very small bites and chewing extremely well and then washing it down with liquids; but even so the food would begin to back up in my chest causing terrible pain and an inability to eat. My condition became serious and I was off to the hospital for an upper endoscopy which resulted in a minor surgery to break up the scar tissue and a four-day liquid diet.
I'm telling you this because as the sedation was wearing off and I was waking up I had an epiphany of sorts. I almost laugh now when I think back on it because it was just like a made-for-TV movie. There was a bright light and bingo all these enlightening thoughts and visions entered my head and it was clear as day. At least at the time it seemed clear as day. Some might say it was the drugs. I prefer to think that I'm having difficulty finding the right words because ethereal experiences have a language all their own.
I don't know if all that I learned can be applied to every survivor but I know a lot of it can. At least in the beginning. For me I think that a lot of my problems came about because I isolate, hide my feelings, and I'm not real with those around me and I honestly don't see that changing. In my mind I rationalize it by thinking that I'm sparing my loved ones from my pain and sorrow. They have their own to deal with and I will not burden them further. Sound familiar?
I've thought about how best to describe what I want to say and came up with something kind of hokey but I hope you'll bare with me. I'm going to liken it to my rendition of a walnut encapsulating the mind.
Upon learning of the death of someone we love so dearly, nature provides a protection so we can somehow continue to function. It is called numbness. Eventually and over time we develop a shell around us to shield us from unkind statements and actions by others. When the death has been by suicide these statements can be especially hurtful. With each wound, the shell grows a little thicker and ultimately it can become very thick and very hard. We will not, cannot ever let that kind of pain in again.
And within that carefully constructed shell is another shell. In there we will find all the really raw stuff. The memories that we can't turn off. The ones that wake us in the middle of the night in a cold chill. The sights and sounds we wish weren't there but yet we can't let go of because they are the last memories we have of our loved one. And buried there are the thoughts that we share with no one. Sometimes it's guilt and sometimes blame; but whatever it is, it is ours alone.
While we are busy watching and protecting ourselves against hurtful people and painful experiences and building that protective shell, we are also busy locking ourselves in. Until that day when we wake up in a serious depression and don't know why. I was locked in so tight I couldn't find my way out. But then again, I wasn't looking for a way out because I wasn't aware of what I had subconsciously been doing.
Being in there all by myself, and although I wasn't mentally aware of it, almost all my thoughts, emotions, memories, and grief centered around me. My mind was consumed with me, me, me and I didn't even know it. I have said it before and I'll say it again ... grief is selfish. The danger with this situation is that when all your mental energy goes to thinking about yourself and your pain, it is easy to become suicidal.
All round me there were beautiful spirits but I didn't really see them. Gentle souls that were on the same journey that I was on but my eyes were blind because I was only looking inward. Intellectually I was aware that others had suffered a blow as great, or greater, than my own but somehow on an emotional level I wasn't really feeling it.
Not until the day I had lunch with Patty. For the first time, her words, her experience, her pain cracked my hard, thick protective shell and everything she was saying, everything she was feeling, everything she had experienced rushed in and I felt it. I felt it all the way down to the hidden inner shell of my inner mind. And it hurt ... profoundly so.
Until that moment I had not allowed others' pain to truly affect me simply because I couldn't handle it. It was too much for my tender heart. There have been many times that I have stayed away from my online support groups because I couldn't handle all the pain I found there. I feel bad about that. I should have been there to support and comfort others as others have comforted and supported me - and continue to do so. Just as Patty has done throughout these past few years.
What I am going to do with this new found insight? I'm not altogether sure. I do know that now that I'm aware of it I can begin to look outside myself, let others in, and be more giving of myself.
There are a handful of people in my support groups that possess an incredible ability to understand and give comfort. I don't know if they were ever in the same place that I now find myself but if they were, they have evolved into beautiful, loving, unselfish individuals. I hope that some day I can be on the same plane they are on. That transformation will not happen over night but I'll keep pushing forward.
Thank you Patty for being one of those beautiful spirits. Thank you for sharing your journey and yourself with me. And thank you for being the truly wonderful person you are and for being my special friend.
***********************************************
I wasn't consciously looking for spiritual guidance but the following scripture just happened to find its way into my life today and I'd like to share it with you:
"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you: and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior." (Isaiah 43: 2 - 3)
Peace be with you my friends.
