I know this post will be controversial especially to those parents whose children have died by violent crimes. I do not mean to be insensitive and bring up hurtful thoughts and memories. However, I was moved to write this post. You may or may not believe in spiritual guidance but I do; so when the Spirit speaks, I must listen.
Watching the news lately I suddenly became aware of the fact that there is a section of our population whose grief and guilt is being almost completely ignored. I am not talking about the perpetrators of violent, heinous crimes. For them I have no sympathy and this post is not about them or the crime they committed.
I am speaking and thinking about .....I'm sitting here in my chair wondering if I dare approach this subject ....... I so don't want to hurt anyone or make anyone angry because I "don't understand", "you've never been in my shoes", "you don't know what its like" And it's true. I don't. I can imagine but I do not understand or know what its been like or what the personal hell you've had to endure to like.
So on tip toes, I approach my subject: the parents and family members of those that have committed these unthinkable crimes.
How many times have we witnessed on the television news, in the newspapers, in online news reports how the family members of these people are victimized themselves. Innocent people that happen to be related to the criminal. At times they have to be taken into protective custody so they are not harmed or their lives taken. Their property is often vandalized and their homes surrounded by news media hungry for a look or a comment. These family members have their lives disrupted and totally and completely turned upside down.
Maybe they, like Ted Bundy's family and friends, had a loving relationship with the perpetrator; had no idea of the thoughts in the criminal's head; no idea of the horrible crimes he/she had committed.; had never seen the dark, ugly side of this person they love.
They, like us, are in terrible pain. Often their family member is still living but their emotions are not unlike our own. They go through the same shock and anxiety we did as they struggle to understand. They find themselves in the same deep, dark pit drowning in sorrow, depression, despair, and seeking an answer to the question "why?".
But now add to that a GUILT that will never go away, embarrassment, and a society that doesn't offer kind words and warm embraces; but instead they find an angry public that turns on anyone associated with the criminal or their lives. Most often even before the facts are in and the criminal is found guilty, they have been tried in the press.
Already they are guilty in our minds and for some punishment must be doled out. Even if its against those innocent of any crime.
Think for a moment about the isolation they face. They are hurting and being hurt. Can you imagine being locked away in your house, with curtains drawn, afraid to leave, to go outside, and your house surrounded by angry people and insensitive news media knocking on your door. The television bombarding them with every detail of the crime. Their hearts breaking with each word. So much guilt.
Television news people anxious to report any dirt they've managed to dig up. Even against those not associated with the actual crime itself. Everyone is fair game, especially family members, and we're more than willing to listen and believe. We are all eager to place blame in our attempts to "learn the truth".
And what about the children involved in this type of situation? I wonder sometimes how they ever survive this type of trauma - this arrow in the heart caused by one of their own family. Especially if it's a parent. To whom do they turn for understanding and support?
The children are harassed and bullied and found guilty by association. All things that we say are unacceptable and yet in this circumstance are somehow deemed okay. Even those that normally would speak up against such things, turn away. What a sad, sad statement about human nature.
And what of the parent whose child died at the hand of a police officer as a result of the crime they had committed? I cannot imagine that they ever find peace in their lives again.
So today I ask you not to think about the criminal but about compassion and understanding for the innocent. For those who were not a part of the crime or destruction of lives. I know this is not going to change - not for society as a whole; but change can begin in our own minds and in own hearts. One person at a time.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
MOTHER'S DAY NUMBER FOUR
At the urging of a dear friend I stopped writing this survivor's blog and closed my newly purchased journal so I could concentrate on my living family members. Very good advise I thought. Time to let go. Time to regroup and move forward. After all it had been three years without my son. Perhaps I was ready to begin again and change my focus.
My sister-in-law once told me that I was stuck in grief. Christian had only been gone five months when she wrote me that in a letter. Stuck in grief? Are you kidding? I was not only stuck in grief, I was drowning in grief! But time crawls by and slowly, very slowly, I began to think about other things, do other things. Not every minute, every breathe was consumed with thoughts of how I would endure the day with such overwhelming and devastating thoughts and emotions.
This is what I've discovered. Yes, things do change and time does heal to a degree; but for me this is how my life and my grief evolved.
Year number one I was numb. That numbness took over the very second when I was told that my son was gone forever. The pain was so great that my mind and body had to protect itself by numbing everything. Of course, I didn't know that at the time and if someone had told me the worse was yet to come, I would not have believed it. No pain could be worse than that first minute, the first hour, the first week, the first month, and each month after that until the first year drew to a conclusion. No, no nothing could be worst than that inconsolable heart wrenching pain.
Then year number two arrived. The numbness began to wear off and the reality of what had happened began to settle in. Suddenly I could no longer pretend that things were going to be alright. I had to accept that this was my life and I could do nothing to make it better.
My heart was being trampled on and torn and ripped. I felt as though I was bleeding under my skin where no one could see it. Now I was indeed drowning under the weight of my emotions. I had to learn how to survive; but survival meant pulling that mask of deception on a lot tighter. After all people expected me to be getting better, getting stronger. How could I admit that I was not only not better, I was dying inside, raging inside. No, better to pretend things are alright, I'm alright.
So in year number two I began the worst and most damaging game of my life. Pretend and internalize. Sometimes I even convinced myself that things were okay. But this is a game your mind and body will rebel against and you will pay the price.
Year number three. Oh my goodness, year number three. The year when your mind and emotions turn against you. That great strength you thought you had, the resolve - gone, disappeared. It is the year of DEPRESSION. In capital letters. If I had thought I was depressed before (and I did) that was only a baby's game. This was the real thing. Big and ugly and horrible in every way.
For days, weeks, months I struggled not to take my own life. Every day. When they say suicide is not about taking your life, its about ending pain, I am here to tell you that is more true than anyone can imagine unless they, too, have had that struggle.
Every morning I woke in a high, high, high state of anxiety. There was no reason. It was just there. I couldn't bear being in my own body. I needed to escape myself. If only for just a few minutes of peace.
I'm not a drug user or a drinker so I never even thought about that. My peace was going to be more long lasting, more permanent. I made a plan and rehearsed it mentally. It would have been so easy.
So when I say I struggled every day to stay alive, I mean it in the most honest and sincere way. It is as though the darkness wraps you in a thick, suffocating blanket that you can't escape from. It's dark, and hot, and there's no air. No comfort, no peace. Just depression and anxiety; and more anxiety and more depression.
I don't even know when the darkness loosened its hold on me. It was gradual. So gradual that I didn't even recognize that it was happening. Slowly, slowly I began to wake up each morning with a little less anxiety than the day before until it was no longer a daily thing. Today I can tell you that I don't dread going to sleep at night because I don't worry about what the morning will bring.
What I would like people to know from my experience is that if you are going through this type of crippling depression, see a doctor; but most of all if you can hold on for a little longer, things will get better. You can't will it away. You can't wish it away. You can't force it away. Its something that must happen in its own way and in its own time but it will happen eventually. Just continue to hold on. Tight.
Talk to whomever your Higher Power is; join either a local or an online grief support group. It is better if you can find a group that is going through the came type of loss that you are. Pour your heart out to them. They will understand and be there to support you. Don't try to do it on your own. Medication, if prescribed, can also be helpful. Don't be afraid to ask for help. You might be surprised how much fellow survivors care and want to help and support you.
So going full circle and returning to the beginning, did my family relationships improve after I stopped writing my blog? They didn't change or improve or get worst. Things remained the same.
You see, this is the thing about families and grief. Each person, every individual must make their own personal journey up and down those valleys and peaks of grief and depression. It is a solitary journey and unfortunately it is the nature of the beast that each of us must work through the pain in their own way.
Does that weaken the family? No, it doesn't weaken the family but the family dynamic does change. That depth of pain and sense of loss has to change them just as it changes us as parents. We love each other as much, if not more than before, but we become a little more isolated. We are like little soldiers each marching to their own drum. When we come together, the music of each drummer combines and we make beautiful music together. We just come together less often than before. Is that bad? I don't know yet. Life continues to evolve.
This next Sunday, May 12, 2013, is Mother's Day once again. My fourth since Christian died by suicide. I must be getting better because I don't dread it. I have a different attitude. I'm thinking not about what I've lost but about what I have.
I am so blessed that my 89 year old mother is still with us and in good health. She forgets more than she use to but her hugs are still as strong and as warm as always.
I am so, so blessed to be the mother of five incredible children and three equally incredible stepchildren. And my four grandchildren, Brandon, Benton, Persephone, and Christian - there are no words that could begin to tell you how much I love them and how much joy they bring into my life.
I love my brothers and sister and their families; and my husband Patrick's parents and brothers and sister and their families add another dimension, another layer of love and happiness to my life.
And last, but certainly not least, is my husband, Patrick. What an amazing man he is. He is everything I dreamed of in a husband - kind, caring, supportive, honest (almost to a fault), and he can make me laugh like no one else. Our marriage is a beautiful union of shared respect and appreciation of each other.
My cup runneth over.
To all you mothers out there, I wish each of you a peaceful Mother's Day. I know its a hard day. I've been there too. I understand that sense of loss when others are celebrating.
I have a little sign upstairs hanging on the wall that never fails to make me feel a little better. It reads "Dance in the Moonlight". When things get you down, put that happy thought in your mind and mentally dance in the moonlight with the wind in your twirling hair. Spin and spin and spin and dance the wild fairy dance.
My sister-in-law once told me that I was stuck in grief. Christian had only been gone five months when she wrote me that in a letter. Stuck in grief? Are you kidding? I was not only stuck in grief, I was drowning in grief! But time crawls by and slowly, very slowly, I began to think about other things, do other things. Not every minute, every breathe was consumed with thoughts of how I would endure the day with such overwhelming and devastating thoughts and emotions.
This is what I've discovered. Yes, things do change and time does heal to a degree; but for me this is how my life and my grief evolved.
Year number one I was numb. That numbness took over the very second when I was told that my son was gone forever. The pain was so great that my mind and body had to protect itself by numbing everything. Of course, I didn't know that at the time and if someone had told me the worse was yet to come, I would not have believed it. No pain could be worse than that first minute, the first hour, the first week, the first month, and each month after that until the first year drew to a conclusion. No, no nothing could be worst than that inconsolable heart wrenching pain.
Then year number two arrived. The numbness began to wear off and the reality of what had happened began to settle in. Suddenly I could no longer pretend that things were going to be alright. I had to accept that this was my life and I could do nothing to make it better.
My heart was being trampled on and torn and ripped. I felt as though I was bleeding under my skin where no one could see it. Now I was indeed drowning under the weight of my emotions. I had to learn how to survive; but survival meant pulling that mask of deception on a lot tighter. After all people expected me to be getting better, getting stronger. How could I admit that I was not only not better, I was dying inside, raging inside. No, better to pretend things are alright, I'm alright.
So in year number two I began the worst and most damaging game of my life. Pretend and internalize. Sometimes I even convinced myself that things were okay. But this is a game your mind and body will rebel against and you will pay the price.
Year number three. Oh my goodness, year number three. The year when your mind and emotions turn against you. That great strength you thought you had, the resolve - gone, disappeared. It is the year of DEPRESSION. In capital letters. If I had thought I was depressed before (and I did) that was only a baby's game. This was the real thing. Big and ugly and horrible in every way.
For days, weeks, months I struggled not to take my own life. Every day. When they say suicide is not about taking your life, its about ending pain, I am here to tell you that is more true than anyone can imagine unless they, too, have had that struggle.
Every morning I woke in a high, high, high state of anxiety. There was no reason. It was just there. I couldn't bear being in my own body. I needed to escape myself. If only for just a few minutes of peace.
I'm not a drug user or a drinker so I never even thought about that. My peace was going to be more long lasting, more permanent. I made a plan and rehearsed it mentally. It would have been so easy.
So when I say I struggled every day to stay alive, I mean it in the most honest and sincere way. It is as though the darkness wraps you in a thick, suffocating blanket that you can't escape from. It's dark, and hot, and there's no air. No comfort, no peace. Just depression and anxiety; and more anxiety and more depression.
I don't even know when the darkness loosened its hold on me. It was gradual. So gradual that I didn't even recognize that it was happening. Slowly, slowly I began to wake up each morning with a little less anxiety than the day before until it was no longer a daily thing. Today I can tell you that I don't dread going to sleep at night because I don't worry about what the morning will bring.
What I would like people to know from my experience is that if you are going through this type of crippling depression, see a doctor; but most of all if you can hold on for a little longer, things will get better. You can't will it away. You can't wish it away. You can't force it away. Its something that must happen in its own way and in its own time but it will happen eventually. Just continue to hold on. Tight.
Talk to whomever your Higher Power is; join either a local or an online grief support group. It is better if you can find a group that is going through the came type of loss that you are. Pour your heart out to them. They will understand and be there to support you. Don't try to do it on your own. Medication, if prescribed, can also be helpful. Don't be afraid to ask for help. You might be surprised how much fellow survivors care and want to help and support you.
So going full circle and returning to the beginning, did my family relationships improve after I stopped writing my blog? They didn't change or improve or get worst. Things remained the same.
You see, this is the thing about families and grief. Each person, every individual must make their own personal journey up and down those valleys and peaks of grief and depression. It is a solitary journey and unfortunately it is the nature of the beast that each of us must work through the pain in their own way.
Does that weaken the family? No, it doesn't weaken the family but the family dynamic does change. That depth of pain and sense of loss has to change them just as it changes us as parents. We love each other as much, if not more than before, but we become a little more isolated. We are like little soldiers each marching to their own drum. When we come together, the music of each drummer combines and we make beautiful music together. We just come together less often than before. Is that bad? I don't know yet. Life continues to evolve.
This next Sunday, May 12, 2013, is Mother's Day once again. My fourth since Christian died by suicide. I must be getting better because I don't dread it. I have a different attitude. I'm thinking not about what I've lost but about what I have.
I am so blessed that my 89 year old mother is still with us and in good health. She forgets more than she use to but her hugs are still as strong and as warm as always.
I am so, so blessed to be the mother of five incredible children and three equally incredible stepchildren. And my four grandchildren, Brandon, Benton, Persephone, and Christian - there are no words that could begin to tell you how much I love them and how much joy they bring into my life.
I love my brothers and sister and their families; and my husband Patrick's parents and brothers and sister and their families add another dimension, another layer of love and happiness to my life.
And last, but certainly not least, is my husband, Patrick. What an amazing man he is. He is everything I dreamed of in a husband - kind, caring, supportive, honest (almost to a fault), and he can make me laugh like no one else. Our marriage is a beautiful union of shared respect and appreciation of each other.
My cup runneth over.
To all you mothers out there, I wish each of you a peaceful Mother's Day. I know its a hard day. I've been there too. I understand that sense of loss when others are celebrating.
I have a little sign upstairs hanging on the wall that never fails to make me feel a little better. It reads "Dance in the Moonlight". When things get you down, put that happy thought in your mind and mentally dance in the moonlight with the wind in your twirling hair. Spin and spin and spin and dance the wild fairy dance.
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