I'm not sure why I'm finding this Mother's Day so hard. Granted they are all difficult but this one has taken me back a step or two - or three. All during the day before Mother's Day, I had that almost burning sensation inside that something was wrong - desperately wrong. I never could shake it. The anticipation and that feeling just built throughout the day. By bedtime, I could not sleep. The clock minutes seemed to speed by towards midnight yet at the same time, the hands on clock moved in slow motion. I tried reading & reading but although I was tired, I could not get to sleep. Around 11:30pm, I started feeling like I could not breathe. It was like my lungs were not taking in enough air. I had to sit up, walk around, and keep moving to keep myself from going into a panic. I knew I was breathing - and my skin wasn't turning blue. I knew part of it was psychological but knowing that did not stop it. (It reminded me of the last months of my last pregnancy - at birth he was 11 lbs 3 oz and the last 3 months, I could only take shallow breathes due to his size and position. And when I would try to lie down, I would get that same panic-feeling of breathing but not being able to draw in enough oxygen). Midnight finally came- and the 6th Mother's Day without Wayne. I talked to Wayne, cried a bit - and then I felt the weight of the panic leave. It was literally lifted off my body and I could breathe again. Today I've had a lingering sensation of distress, irritability and restlessness. I cannot contribute it to anything specific- other than Mother's day being such a stark reminder of Wayne's death. I love the presents my two young children gave me - and the attention they showered upon me. But I was 'itching' to be alone. To confront these confusing feelings. To let the tears flow freely. It's true- tears are healing. It hurts to have lost our children, it hurts to allow those burning tears to come - but holding them back can be worse. So as I struggle through this Mother's Day, I hope and pray all the other mothers who have lost children are able to find moments they need to build strength throughout the day.

We struggle through the holidays, birthdays, memorial days and now face Mother's Day and Father's Day. Two days meant to honor our parenthood but instead are stark reminders of our loss. Two days that seem to rip away some of the layers of healing we have found so far. Even though Mother's day is more painful to me- I find Father's Day brings pain too.

It's been almost 6 years since Wayne died. And Mother's Day (and Father's Day) are still very difficult. Even with my two younger children bouncing around with their smiling faces and presenting me with the wonderful gifts made by them - I still feel a huge hole within my heart and my soul. I can't quite manage the wholehearted smile of joy. I've tried my best to struggle through Mother's Day as if nothing is wrong - but that mask seems extremely heavy - heavier than the usual everyday mask I hide behind. I easily become weary and tired -not only wearing that mask but having to hold it up and hold it steady in front of me so no one can peek beneath it.

I've learned that on these days I must have some time alone - despite my family's desire to be with me all day and do for me all day. I hold myself together until my time alone - and then I let the tears and sobs come freely. Knowing I will have that time to 'release' the anticipation and grief actually helps to get me through the whole day. Sometimes it is hard to 'let go' - which when I think about it logically, why would I want to voluntarily throw myself into THE PIT? Even knowing it is only for awhile. On those times, I watch a movie (like Pay It Forward or City of Angels) or listen to music that connects me to Wayne (November Rain, Stairway to Heaven, etc). I find it easier to start crying over something specific like a movie or a song- it's almost like I give myself a reason or permission to start crying and then I can just let the 'waterworks' flow as they need too.

On Mother's Day, I prefer not to go out to eat and do the typical activities. I see too many Mother's and teenage sons - too much of a reminder of what was taken out of my life. It's just too hard to watch and it's almost like a physical blow each time. I'd rather do take-out or have someone else cook for me. I'd rather stay home- where I feel safer - especially if it's at a time where my emotions are trembling below the surface - just threatening to come out. I don't buy Mother's Day cards for my Mom or Mother-in-law. I can't face all those cards from sons and daughters. It's like a slap in the face that I'm not getting one from Wayne.

Does Mother's Day get any easier with the passing years? No and Yes. It will always be a reminder of a my son who is no longer with me except in my heart and memories. Maybe it's easier because I'm learning how to get through it. Maybe it's easier because I have to make time to let the grief come in and take over versus those first years when the grief had hold of my heart and had control. Maybe it's easier because I no longer feel I have to apologize for my emotions on that day - I simply accept that they are unpredictable

Would not participating in Mother's Day or Father's Day make it any easier? That could be a trick question. I have 2 surviving children so don't they deserve to celebrate and participate in Mother's & Father's Day? Even if I did not have my two little ones, wouldn't doing away with Mother's Day or Father's Day almost be like saying 'I'm no longer a parent?' I'll always be a Mother- and that will never change.

EAGay

05/05/2009

HOPE

During the 2nd year after Wayne died- someone in my online support group asked about ‘hope’ and if we could share our ‘hopes’.  I clearly remember thinking ‘hope? What hope? I have no hope’’.  Those thoughts alarmed me.  I’d always had hopes and dreams.  Even thought I was alarmed – I was still functioning in a ‘dullness’ and ‘grayness’ every day.  Nothing was clear.  Nothing was easy.  It still took a great deal of effort to get things done and a great deal of mental effort to think things out. It took me days before I could come up with any ‘hope’ in my life (other than the typical parent hopes for my young daughter).  

My ‘only’ hope came when I walked outside one morning and noticed several of my crocuses’s peeking out of the ground.  I thought ‘Spring growth can bring hope’.   So I latched onto that hope and held tight for months.   I’ve always loved the daffodils and crocus flowers- they have always represented renewal and new growth to me.  They have always lifted my spirits. 

That spring, when it was time to plant my garden- I apparently was still holding tight to the hope of new growth.  I planted and planted.  Gardening has always been a stress reliever to me.   I love the smell of fresh tilled earth.  I love planting seeds and waiting for that first little green sprout to pop out of the ground.  This year, my garden overflowed – everywhere I could plant something – I did. I planted in the garden beds, in the ground, in pots, etc. I planted vegetables and flowers.  I did not realize how I was almost consumed with it until my dear Husband mentioned I was taking over the yard. My ‘hope’ was being fed by my own work with the earth and my own satisfaction of producing new growth.

I’ve continued with my gardening every year.  Even after moving across the state.  My gardening expands every year too.  But now I am conscious of it and try to garden wisely – rather than by quantity.  It is not the uncontrollable gardening that took over our yard that one year.   And now when I hear the word ‘hope’ – I think of those times when I could not think of or feel any hope.  I also think of Spring and new growth. 

After 5 years, it is nice to be able to say ‘I have something to look forward to’.  And to know that my gardening gives me hope – as I plant, nurture, harvest and enjoy.

We all know our parents will pass away at some time.  It’s the natural order of human life. But is doesn't make it any easier. Facing the fact that my Dad’s health is failing has thrust me back into the early days after Wayne died.  Knowing I will grieve and being in the middle of it are two different experiences.  And my experiences with grief after Wayne’s death provided me with a greater insight and understanding of myself than ever before. I’m hoping my ‘life education’ with grief will help me get through the grief when my dad does die.  So as I try to face the death of my Dad (and my Mom) – I find myself ‘touching’ some of the parts of early grief- and remembering.

Those early days and weeks and months are so hard.  If you have never experienced the death of a close loved one – it is a shock to your system in every manner- emotionally, physically, mentally, logically, etc.   I’m not sure you can prepare for grief – but maybe being able to recognize it can help one get through it. 

What do I remember from the early days after Wayne died?  Those times of blankness – where time passed yet stood still at the same time. I could be in a room of people and all movement seemed to be in slow motion, yet at the same time, everyone and everything was moving faster than me.  The forgetfulness – walking around like a zombie with thoughts flitting in and out of my brain yet nothing was registering long enough to impact my consciousness.  The stumbling and long silences when talking as well as the times when I couldn’t bring together enough words to make sentence.  And then there’s the physical clumsiness.  The inability to complete simple tasks such as opening a jar or tying a shoe.  My fingers felt thick and almost foreign to my body –as if they were not attached and worked independently. And not only was I clumsy- at times, I would be jittery.  Impatient and restless but not knowing why.   I’d walk around the house simply because I could not sit still (and I still have a really hard time just sitting).  The act of touching and feeling as I touched did not register – there was no softness, no hardness, no cold, no hot - it just was.   Sounds were muted.  I felt like I had inches of thick cotton inside my ears and all sounds were muffled.  Colors were muted too.  I did not see colors – I was aware of them but they seemed to be outside my range of vision.  Taste was nonexistent.  When I ate (and usually someone had to make me eat) the food did not have a taste or really a texture.  It was just something to put in my mouth and chew.   Sleep was a nightmare (no pun intended).  It did not come easily.  And once asleep- I was not able to stay asleep.  I called it ‘wakeful sleeping’ because I spent so much of my sleeping time waking over and over and over.   I think the worst was breathing.  How can one forget to breathe?  But I did. I would find myself actually not breathing- holding my breath and not aware of it.  I didn’t hold it long enough to turn blue but there was just moments of my body not breathing.  It wasn’t that I was breathing and not aware of it - I was truly not inhaling or exhaling.  Many days, I simply went around thinking ‘breathe, breathe, breathe’ and forcing myself to take deep breathes. And the tiredness.  I felt so tired and exhausted.  My arms and legs and even my head felt weighted down with the weight of being up.  I could not understand how I could be so tired when I wasn’t doing anything physical.  I didn’t realize my body was fighting physically – but in ways I had never experienced before.  I could probably go on and on with the list of what I felt and remember and still not tell it all.  Those early days were an assault on my body and mind.  And I had no way of fighting back – I simply stumbled through – many times feeling like I was several seconds behind everyone else because it took so long for thing to register in my mind.  I remember being asked questions and hearing but not hearing them.  And suddenly becoming aware of the silence stretching out- and that I was supposed to answer to something – but did not know what. 

Grief is an assault upon one’s mind and body and soul.   It’s not just mourning the loss of a loved one.  It’s a complicated, complex and hard-hitting attack upon oneself.  It’s a roller coaster of experiences that changes one forever.  And In my case, the roller coaster ride continues.  Sometimes the dips and curves are not as violent as others.  And sometimes there are long straight and gentle stretches ahead.  Yet I have learned that I can never tell what comes next.  And I have to hold onto myself to stay on the tracks for I never know when the next dip will occur.  And usually a dip means a bumpy stretch ahead. But at least I can recognize it and can ride through the bad parts a little easier than in those early days of grief.  As I face the approaching death of my Dad or Mom, I know the harder rollercoaster will start over – so I continue to hope and pray it travels some of the same track that I have already traveled.

I have a family member who swears that my household is to blame for my son’s suicide.  She has told others that ‘we’ are responsible – no shadow of a doubt. And of course, her version of gossip and half-truths follow that claim.  I tried to explain how we had tried to help Wayne.  How we missed so many signs of depression just due to our lack of knowledge & understanding.  How we had been in family therapy plus marriage therapy for several years trying to work through all the issues. How no one knew what went on in our house unless they lived with us.  How, early on, I tried to talk to my family only to discover support wasn’t there – so we turned to the professionals and went into counseling.   And I also tried to explain about suicide and what I have learned since Wayne’s death.  But she refuses to hear any of it and demands that she knows the truth and whole truth – and the blame is at our doorstep.  And she demands that it is her right to tell everyone her version.

Blame.  A very painful word.  A very painful and debilitating feeling.  When I learned about Wayne’s suicide – I literally crumbled to the floor and instantly blamed myself.  If only, I had been inside and answered the phone when he called that morning.  If only, I had not agreed to let him go live with his Dad almost 2 years prior. If only, I had seen the signs and realized what they meant.  If only – if only - if only.  And those multitudes of ‘if only’s’ increased and increased with time and were accompanied by massive waves of guilt and self-blame. The kind of guilt and blame that not only tears your heart out – but it rips it to shreds with no mercy.  The kind of guilt and blame that doesn’t allow your mind to function properly.  I was in a vacuum of guilt and blame for quite awhile – stuck inside – swirling nonstop – choking on it – unable to breathe – unable to think beyond the grief, the guilt and the self-blame of my son taking his own life. 

It took me a long time to learn how to get through that self blame and the guilt.  Oh, I’m still not completely over it- probably never will be but I’ve learned to deal with it.  I had to teach myself about suicide and surviving to accept my feelings as a normal part of losing someone to suicide. I had to realize that I can easily think all those ‘if only’s’ but even being able to go back and change something doesn’t guarantee Wayne would be alive today.  I had to understand how Wayne was thinking as a 16 year old – not as an adult mind able to reason and understand more.  I had to remind myself that Wayne was very sensitive to everyone’s feelings around him and he always felt responsible with trying to make & keep everyone happy.  And how as he got older and into the ‘maleness’ of the teen years- he hid that sensitive part of his nature. I had to learn that Wayne did not commit suicide – he died by suicide.  He chose to end his inner turmoil/agony by escaping.  I will never believe he fully understood.   I will never believe he chose to die and leave behind this tremendous burden of grief and guilt.  I’ve talked to so many suicide attempters who have tried to explain how they were thinking at the time they tried to end it all. They have helped me understand how Wayne may have been so focused on wanting the end of an inner turmoil, which he could not see beyond that end. 

I had to learn to accept my own blame- my own guilt.  I had to learn to speak it- to say it out loud.  I had to give the guilt and blame time to take over – and pour out.  And to do that - I actually scheduled a time when my family was out of the house and wrote a letter to Wayne- I wrote without thinking what I wanted to say.  I wrote by letting the words and feelings simply pour out my fingertips.  I didn’t read as I wrote.  I didn’t edit or try to correct as I wrote. I didn’t think in terms of paragraphs or keeping topics together.  I simply let the words come. Oh it wasn’t easy.  It was hard to get started. It was hard to continue writing to Wayne.  But I did not give up.  When I reached the point of being able to abandon the urge to correct and control the flow of my words - I was actually crying so hard that I could not see the words.  I never went back and read that letter.  I knew I could not – because it would have thrust me back into the days of being controlled by the grief and guilt.  Writing that letter helped me to accept those feelings of guilt and blame and to understand those feelings will probably always will with me.  If I had not, I would have become totally overwhelmed with the guilt and blame. Which in turn, would allow it to gain more power and control of my life…stopping any ability to heal and continue in life. 

So my message is – don’t blame me for Wayne’s suicide.  I blame myself already.  And my blame is probably much harsher than yours can ever be. I do not need you trying to add to my burden of guilt.  I carry a burden that no other will carry – although some may have similar burdens of guilt and blame.  Survivors carry the burden that no one understands until they walk in our shoes. We all have different stories of our lives, our loved ones and suicide - but we share a bond of understanding that doesn’t deal with prejudice or society’s stereotypical images.  We simply understand.  So until you are a parent who has lost a child by suicide - don’t try to make yourself feel better or to prove to me that you are right – by casting blame on me.  Believe me - I have mastered the self-blame and the guilt – not by choice but simply because it was thrust upon me and I live with it day in and day out. 

Time heals all wounds.

I've been told that I am a 'Victim'.  That I am no longer the person I used to be.  That I am different - and a victim.   What does that mean?  I try my best not to play 'the sympathy card'.  I try my best to keep my grief private.  I try my best to make sure my two young chidlren are not the 'other children'.

What makes me a victim?  I lost my child- my first child- to suicide.  That is a fact.  His suicide changed my life.  That is a fact.  His suicide changed me.  That is a fact.   I freely admit to those things.  I no longer know who I am.  I do not have the inner strength and confidence that I used to have.  I have tried to find my way back- but the 'old me' seems just out of touch.  I know who the old me was - I know how the old me felt - but I cannot become the old me again.  I am now a 'new me'.  I am someone who is changing - all the time. Maybe that makes me a victim of not knowing who I am.  Maybe that makes me a victim of being exposed and unsure in life.  Maybe that makes me a victim of constant change as I try my best to struggle through the grief of my child's suicide.   But is that really a 'victim'?

Isn't a victim someone weak?  Someone who gives in?  Someone who stays stuck ina  situation and refuses assistance or help?  Someone who repeats the same mistakes over and over again?  

How can I be weak?  it's been 5 year since Wayne's death - I'm still here.  If only the 'others' undestood the strength and endurance it takes to get through each day.  If only the 'others' understood the impossibility of getting over it....of stopping the self-blame....of the deep need to know 'why'?  And to know if I could have changed anything if I'd understood before Wayne pulled the trigger.

I have tried to educate myself.  Actually, I've had no other choice than to educate myself - on suicide, on grief, on depression and on surviving.   I've also ignored my grief- only to have it come back at me with a vengance.  I've tried to push down my feelings - only to have them bubble up and flow out uncontrollably.  I've had to learn - who I am in grief.  I've had to learn -how I respond in grief and stress.  I've had to learn - how I can make it through the overwhelming grief and survivie.   I've had to learn - who I am and that I am someone who needs to reach out and help others.   Does acknowledging my grief make me a victim?  Does understanding the feelings tumbling and toiling within me make me a victim?  Does understanding I need time during Wayne's birthday or memorial date make me a victim?  Does 'scheduling' time to cry when I'm by myself make me a victim?

I just don't understand.  How am I a victim?  I am a survivor.  I am an person who has educted myself in my grief- to understand the signs of being overwhelmed by it - to understand the need to help others in grief.  I've learned that I am a 'caretaker' - that I am no longer able to sit still and do nothing - that even when I feel the bottom closing in on me, I know I can climb out and continue to survive again.  

So, I ask you- how does that make me a victim?  It is because I acknowledge my son - in his life and in his death?  Is it because I refuse to bury my memories and my love like I buried his body in that cemetary?

Or am I a victim because you are uncomfortable with me?  Uncomfortable in my knowledge of my grief- something you cannot understand?  Or is it simply because I am no longer the woman I was - and in your eyes - I refuse to be?  It is not mt choice not to be the 'old me'.  I liked the 'old me'.   I liked the 'old me' - and the courage, the confidence, the outgoining nature, the ease in which I could talk to everyone, the confidence, etc.   I wish I could be that person again.  But that person died 5 years ago- at the same time Wayne killed himself.   I've had to scrape and to claw - to literally pull myself through the muck -to keep my head above the raging and thrashing waves of grief that bombard me - to even be who I am today. 

And I ask you - if I do not know who I am - how can you know?  If I freely admit I am no longer the woman you knew -  how can you try to use that against me?  If I try to tell you that I do not know who I am - that I can no longer predict how I will react in certain cirumstances - that I can no longer walk into a room of strangers and make friends with them all - how can you accuse me of not being 'me'?  If I say I am changing- have been changing- and will keep changing...does that make me a victim?   Does that make me wrong?  If only you knew- if only you could understand- I DON'T want to change.  I DON'T want to be in limbo in kowing who I am.  I DID NOT elect to be a survivor of suicide.  I CANNOT change that I am a survivor of suicide.  It is done.  It was done.  It was not and is not my choice.  I am a new me- I am a changing me - Does that make me a victim? 

Or does it make you a victim ? A victim of trying to force me to be the 'old me' and then accusing me when I can't return to that part of me?

I'm finally joining the 'new craze' of blogging.  I like to write - I need to write - it's stress relieving and helps me to sort out and understand myself and the things going on in my world.  But I don't have much free time....so be patient with me as I learn 'by fire' ...I'm jumping in with both feet and not looking.............