Today is the 6th anniversary of the day my son died. Its never an easy day for me. Mom says she knows what its like, my sister died of pancreatic cancer.
But its not the same.
Sis was diagnosed and lived three years longer than was expected. That gives a person's mind time to reconcile to the expected.
But I happened to be reading this today:
- "Things are never, ever the same again. People who haven’t been to that other place can never really understand how hard it is for the travelers who return, travelers like us, to pretend that nothing has changed.”
Finding a loved one who has died by suicide is different somehow. There are so many unanswered questions, so many thoughts like what you could have done different, said different, could you have changed the outcome?
I will never get answers to those questions. I try not to burden others with the details of finding my son six years ago. Death by suicide leaves a stigma, something that's not spoken of, almost as if it were "catchy".
As a society, where have we gone wrong? What creates situations that result in suicide rates increasing over the years? There is a lot of shame and blame that gets heaped on those left behind when a loved one makes that decision.
I miss my son every day. And I never stop asking why.
Please remember you can dial 988 at any time if you need someone to talk to.
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