"Losing a loved to suicide is one is one of life's most painful experiences. The feelings of loss, sadness, and loneliness experienced after any death of a loved one are often magnified in suicide survivors by feelings of quilt, confusion, rejection, shame, anger, and the effects of stigma and trauma. Furthermore, survivors of suicide loss are at higher risk of developing major depression, post-traumatic stress disorder, and suicidal behaviors, as well as a prolonged form of grief called complicated grief." "Individuals most closely related to the deceased are usually those most adversely affected by the death." --https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov
Just doing a little research today because I keep wondering if I'm avoiding the obvious. Am I filling my days at home doing "projects" to keep myself busy so I don't sink into some kind of oblivion? I found comfort in reading : "Feelings of anguish and despair may initially seem everpresent but soon they occur predominantly in waves or bursts—the so-called pangs of grief—brought on by concrete reminders of or discussions about the deceased. Once the reality of the loss begins to sink in, over time, the waves become less intense and less frequent."
That's been one of my worries. That this state of "waves" will always be there. For most, it seems they dissipate with time -- and probably some measure of acceptance. "Suicide survivors often face unique challenges that differ from those who have been bereaved by other types of death. In addition to the inevitable grief, sadness, and disbelief typical of all grief, overwhelming guilt, confusion, rejection, shame, and anger are also often prominent." This is totally true. It's hard enough telling someone that my son died. It's even harder telling someone that it was death by suicide. Which leaves feelings that are bottled up, held inside. And that's not healthy.
The inability to discuss it at all comes from the ultimate unanswerable question: "What kind of mother doesn't notice their child acting in a way that leads them to choose this?" I've gone over and over every moment from when he moved back home with me to the morning I waved goodbye to him for the last time ... with no real answer.
I have found some relief in being physical: morning and afternoon walks, working out in the yard, even cleaning the house helps. But it's when I sit down, when I take a moment to myself, or when I lay down to sleep that it all comes back. I've spent more than my share of sleepless nights since then. My mind busily runs through scenarios -- but nothing changes. Acceptance is a hard place to find.
The option of moving to a new city has sprung up.
But can I leave the house where I have the most memories of my son?
Right now, that answer is no.
I'm hoping and praying that with time will come acceptance and healing.
I know the pain and heartache I feel will never totally go away.
But with time, it will be less of a burden.
Showing posts with label death by suicide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death by suicide. Show all posts
Saturday, September 28, 2019
Saturday, September 21, 2019
Coping
Many people are affected when someone chooses death by suicide. Family members are left with what feels like a million unanswerable questions. There will never be answers that leave us feeling like we understand. For my own self, I have these same unanswered questions. But I'm also the one who found my son. As if that wasn't shock enough, I'm also the one the suicide note was addressed to. And no one -- not one single person -- has the right to tell me what I should feel, or what I can talk about. You don't have to listen. You don't have to read this. This is for *me* and my own coping.
If you're reading this and feeling as if a finger is being pointed, then maybe you should look into some mental health help of your own. Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the US for all ages. (CDC). Every day, approximately 123 Americans die by suicide. (CDC)
Sorry, but I'm just a bit mad right now. Someone decided that I shouldn't be writing about suicide, or maybe they meant I shouldn't be writing about the one that happened in my life. "So sorry for your loss ..." is a trite statement. I get it -- it's not easy finding words when something tragic has happened, but don't tell me what I should and shouldn't write. You may disagree with my opinion, you may correct me if I'm inaccurate in quoting facts. You may even submit your own opinion. But this is my blog, this is my outlet, and this is my life. I'm sorry someone feels that some descriptives were too much to handle. Too bad.
My son was my number one priority in every decision; because of his vision impairment, he had many more challenges than others. If he needed something, I was there with a helping hand -- or whatever else was needed. This house was chosen because of it's size and location with him in mind, along with so many other decisions, in order for him to have a successful, independent life.
We all need a way to cope when there's a loss, when there's grief.
I have always been a writer; I've been doing this blog for 10+ years.
It has been a tremendous help in so many ways,
and will continue to be my outlet.
If you're offended .... lose my bookmark please!
If you're reading this and feeling as if a finger is being pointed, then maybe you should look into some mental health help of your own. Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the US for all ages. (CDC). Every day, approximately 123 Americans die by suicide. (CDC)
Sorry, but I'm just a bit mad right now. Someone decided that I shouldn't be writing about suicide, or maybe they meant I shouldn't be writing about the one that happened in my life. "So sorry for your loss ..." is a trite statement. I get it -- it's not easy finding words when something tragic has happened, but don't tell me what I should and shouldn't write. You may disagree with my opinion, you may correct me if I'm inaccurate in quoting facts. You may even submit your own opinion. But this is my blog, this is my outlet, and this is my life. I'm sorry someone feels that some descriptives were too much to handle. Too bad.
My son was my number one priority in every decision; because of his vision impairment, he had many more challenges than others. If he needed something, I was there with a helping hand -- or whatever else was needed. This house was chosen because of it's size and location with him in mind, along with so many other decisions, in order for him to have a successful, independent life.
We all need a way to cope when there's a loss, when there's grief.
I have always been a writer; I've been doing this blog for 10+ years.
It has been a tremendous help in so many ways,
and will continue to be my outlet.
If you're offended .... lose my bookmark please!
Sunday, September 15, 2019
Some Days
Dear Brian,
These past months haven't been easy for me. I know you chose your own way, but that was only easy in the moment. In the long haul ... it isn't.
Each decision is a struggle. I pick up something and think: Have I used this in a year? Do I think I will need this in the future? And then there's the whole other part of it: Does this bring to mind any important memories? Sometimes I just shake my head, unable to make a decision, and put the item down, knowing that I'll have to, or need to, deal with it in the future at some point.
I've been working on the backyard, trying to make it less work-y and more self sustaining. I've gotten rid of several of the things growing in pots. Last week, the tub of charcoal and old planting soil was tossed. This week, the BBQ is gone. I haven't used it since you moved out. I don't foresee myself firing up coals and stuff to cook a couple of burgers for myself. It's just too much trouble for one person. I'm debating the fire pit. I didn't use it last year but once. Maybe this year I will make the effort to use it more. We'll see.
Sometimes I just sit in your bedroom and look around. There are a few things that probably should be changed, but not yet. There's a John Deere tractor that Grandpa gave you; I'm thinking of giving that to Zane. Something from his great grandfather, in a way. I'm giving him the Dr Seuss books that no one has ever read at my house. I had a few for when Brianna was a baby, but she moved to AZ while we were still in Ohio, so that didn't happen.
It's funny, the way we see
our future mapped out
versus what really happens.
You know what they say:
If you want to make God laugh,
tell him your plans .....
Every day, I struggle with the grief of
losing you. I know that it will be with
me always, and that's hard to take
some days.
Glitter reminds me of when I was making vases for Tanya's wedding.
I swear, I was finding glitter in odd little corners for years after!
I know that I will feel, experience grief for a long, long time.
Some days I have moments where it doesn't weigh me down.
Some days I have moments where it does.
Some days I let myself cry it out.
Some days I sit in your room and remember everything about you.
Some days I wonder if I can leave this house.
Some days I wonder if I will leave this house.
Some days I wonder what you're doing, and if you're watching over us.
Other days I don't have to wonder.
Missing you always.
Mom
These past months haven't been easy for me. I know you chose your own way, but that was only easy in the moment. In the long haul ... it isn't.
Each decision is a struggle. I pick up something and think: Have I used this in a year? Do I think I will need this in the future? And then there's the whole other part of it: Does this bring to mind any important memories? Sometimes I just shake my head, unable to make a decision, and put the item down, knowing that I'll have to, or need to, deal with it in the future at some point.
I've been working on the backyard, trying to make it less work-y and more self sustaining. I've gotten rid of several of the things growing in pots. Last week, the tub of charcoal and old planting soil was tossed. This week, the BBQ is gone. I haven't used it since you moved out. I don't foresee myself firing up coals and stuff to cook a couple of burgers for myself. It's just too much trouble for one person. I'm debating the fire pit. I didn't use it last year but once. Maybe this year I will make the effort to use it more. We'll see.
Sometimes I just sit in your bedroom and look around. There are a few things that probably should be changed, but not yet. There's a John Deere tractor that Grandpa gave you; I'm thinking of giving that to Zane. Something from his great grandfather, in a way. I'm giving him the Dr Seuss books that no one has ever read at my house. I had a few for when Brianna was a baby, but she moved to AZ while we were still in Ohio, so that didn't happen.
It's funny, the way we see
our future mapped out
versus what really happens.
You know what they say:
If you want to make God laugh,
tell him your plans .....
Every day, I struggle with the grief of
losing you. I know that it will be with
me always, and that's hard to take
some days.
Glitter reminds me of when I was making vases for Tanya's wedding.
I swear, I was finding glitter in odd little corners for years after!
I know that I will feel, experience grief for a long, long time.
Some days I have moments where it doesn't weigh me down.
Some days I have moments where it does.
Some days I let myself cry it out.
Some days I sit in your room and remember everything about you.
Some days I wonder if I can leave this house.
Some days I wonder if I will leave this house.
Some days I wonder what you're doing, and if you're watching over us.
Other days I don't have to wonder.
Missing you always.
Mom
Thursday, September 12, 2019
Brian's Stuff
The things left behind when someone dies can be a great comfort to those who were left behind.
I know my mom has some of her mother's things, and they will be passed to me and my sister, and then in my own case, on to my daughter and granddaughter.
The things left behind by Brian are a huge comfort to me. But what will happen later on when I'm gone? Maybe my daughter will want some of it, but Brian had no children to pass these things to. His memory will be ... well, the memory only lasts as long as the people who remember you.
I think this is my biggest fear - if that's the right word - that no one will remember my son. I know they won't remember him as well as I do. He lived with me 30 of his 33 years. We were close the last 10 of those years.
I know my mom has some of her mother's things, and they will be passed to me and my sister, and then in my own case, on to my daughter and granddaughter.
The things left behind by Brian are a huge comfort to me. But what will happen later on when I'm gone? Maybe my daughter will want some of it, but Brian had no children to pass these things to. His memory will be ... well, the memory only lasts as long as the people who remember you.
I think this is my biggest fear - if that's the right word - that no one will remember my son. I know they won't remember him as well as I do. He lived with me 30 of his 33 years. We were close the last 10 of those years.
Sunday, September 8, 2019
Miss You
How much I miss your smiling face and your sense of humor. You didn't often share those with the whole world, just the people you were close to. I miss the sound of your voice and how you would fix things when they needed to be fixed. (by the way, my shower valve is acting up .... )
I dreamed of you last night. We must have been saying goodbye, because I held you tight and cried until you had to go. For some odd reason, you were wearing a flannel shirt. hehehe Familiar for Ohio, definitely not necessary for Arizona!
There was some kind of sonic boom last night around 1:30am. It woke me up, and I felt the percussion of it. It knocked my TV off, and all the street lights were out, even though the power stayed on. After that, I couldn't go back to sleep. Which means I'm extra tired today. But maybe that will be good; I have a weird shift on Monday, 4am-1pm. I don't know what my BigBox store is doing -- do you think HD would hire me?
With all you had going on with the ex GF, and working third shift for quite a while, you were definitely sleep deprived. Moving back home wasn't what you wanted to do, but was necessary. I'm sorry if you felt I pushed at you to be your "normal self" again. I scrolled through your photos on FB and realized that in your time with the ex GF, you lost weight, and your hair and skin wasn't the same any longer. All the stress and rough times was taking a toll. If only ....
I say that often to myself. I relive scenes in my brain and wish for a different outcome each time....
I miss you.
I love you.
Mom
Monday, September 2, 2019
Fade to Black
Ever since Brian discovered the band Metallica, his favorite member was James Hetfield. He wrote the lyrics to their song "Fade to Black". At work today, my MP3 player going (because it's a holiday and things are quieter than usual), and I heard the song. It has always moved me, and I imagine that it affected Brian as well.
James Hetfield commented on the song in a 1991 interview with "Guitar World":
There is nothing harder on a family, and especially on a mother, when someone chooses death by suicide. There are so many details that need to be addressed, and at the same time, there is this huge ugly "taboo" on the topic. People don't want to discuss suicide or the person who chose it, as if it's catchy -- like a cold. And maybe that's why it becomes the hardest part for those left behind: no one wants to talk to about it, and you're left feeling like no one cares, because of the lack of talk.
I know that there's nothing I wouldn't give to have my son back. But it's not going to happen. So I go on as best I can. If you're not familiar with the tune, you can listen here . Here are the lyrics to "Fade to Black"
Life it seems to fade away
Drifting further everyday
Getting lost within myself
Nothing matters no one else
I have lost the will to live
Simply nothing more to give
There is nothing more for me
Need the end to set me free
Things not what they used to be
Missing one inside of me
Deathly loss this can't be real
Cannot stand this hell I feel
Emptiness is filling me
To the point of agony
Growing darkness taking dawn
I was me but now, he's gone
No one but me can save myself, but its too late
Now I can't think, think why I should even try
Sunday, September 1, 2019
Never Stand Down
Dear Brian,
No matter what day it is, most days aren't easy. When I'm at work, I'm wishing I could be working on things at home; when I'm at home, I'd be happy to be at work having something to do that doesn't remind me of you every where I turn.
I've finally been able to work in the backyard. But every time I do, in the late night hours, your image comes to mind, the one where I found you. It's horrible and I want to cry. Scream. Rewind. But none of those are possible, or productive.
That's kinda where I'm at. I know that no matter what I do, it won't change anything. I can sit around and mope, cry, scream, or hit something. But the real fact is you're not coming back. You won't just wander through the front door and say "Hey Ma" any more. Every day I make a little more peace with that. It's a process, and sometimes a struggle, but I can. Because you asked me to.
Since "projects" are what keep me sane at home, I bought a gallon of paint and started painting the baseboards and doors. It's been five years since I did it last -- where does the time go ?? I got the 5 doors in the hallway done, the front door and the baseboards all along the front wall. It helps. And looks good at the same time!
You kept odd bits of mail and stuff, and every now and then I'll read one. Sometimes it's only a page or two of an incomplete letter. But here's the gist of the one I read today: The GF was wrong for you on so many levels. Alcohol I can understand more than I can the drugs. But anything to excess is bad. And you can't fix that for anyone (except yourself if that's your problem). It's like pulling a wagon up hill -- you can't do it by yourself all the time without stopping for a break. And a person who abuses drugs or alcohol usually adds weight to the wagon you're trying to pull, and it becomes too much to bear. If only I had known. But I can't second guess at this point.
I can only try and ease my own pains now. Mostly by writing you letters, or writing your little stories out. You led quite the amusing life :) You will be forever missed by me. You were the reason behind most of my decisions, from where this house is located, to how to make sure it'll be paid for so you would always have a place to live. I pray that you've found peace, son.
Love,
Mom
No matter what day it is, most days aren't easy. When I'm at work, I'm wishing I could be working on things at home; when I'm at home, I'd be happy to be at work having something to do that doesn't remind me of you every where I turn.
I've finally been able to work in the backyard. But every time I do, in the late night hours, your image comes to mind, the one where I found you. It's horrible and I want to cry. Scream. Rewind. But none of those are possible, or productive.
"No matter the hardship nor the loss, Never stand down. Ever."
That's kinda where I'm at. I know that no matter what I do, it won't change anything. I can sit around and mope, cry, scream, or hit something. But the real fact is you're not coming back. You won't just wander through the front door and say "Hey Ma" any more. Every day I make a little more peace with that. It's a process, and sometimes a struggle, but I can. Because you asked me to.
Since "projects" are what keep me sane at home, I bought a gallon of paint and started painting the baseboards and doors. It's been five years since I did it last -- where does the time go ?? I got the 5 doors in the hallway done, the front door and the baseboards all along the front wall. It helps. And looks good at the same time!
You kept odd bits of mail and stuff, and every now and then I'll read one. Sometimes it's only a page or two of an incomplete letter. But here's the gist of the one I read today: The GF was wrong for you on so many levels. Alcohol I can understand more than I can the drugs. But anything to excess is bad. And you can't fix that for anyone (except yourself if that's your problem). It's like pulling a wagon up hill -- you can't do it by yourself all the time without stopping for a break. And a person who abuses drugs or alcohol usually adds weight to the wagon you're trying to pull, and it becomes too much to bear. If only I had known. But I can't second guess at this point.
I can only try and ease my own pains now. Mostly by writing you letters, or writing your little stories out. You led quite the amusing life :) You will be forever missed by me. You were the reason behind most of my decisions, from where this house is located, to how to make sure it'll be paid for so you would always have a place to live. I pray that you've found peace, son.
Love,
Mom
Friday, August 30, 2019
Missing Brian
Just the other day, I got an email that someone had left me a message .... I recognized the source and clicked on it to start reading. My son's ex-girlfriend reached out, telling me how sorry she is, how much she misses him, and that he talked of me all the time (that part is probably true!)
It's weird how you can get busy with life and while nothing is forgotten, it is set aside, on the back burner so to speak, and you deal with what needs to be done as it crops up.
But my suspicious nature kicks in and I'm left wondering why she would leave me this message,or why she was reaching out to me now. The last time I heard from her, she was spewing garbage about the girl my son had dated a couple of times, wanting me to make sure I knew what kind of background the woman had. First, it's not like my son was going to continue dating her after his suicide. Second, the GF broke up with Brian, and he moved out of her house and in with me - who he dates after that isn't her concern!! And in the midst of all my motherly grief her biggest concern is making sure I knew the details of the woman's past? What difference would that make to me now???
I know that Brian's heart was broken by the GF. But before the break-up, I suspect there were other things going on. My son was a "pleaser" - he did whatever he could, whatever needed to be done, in order to make life better for someone if he could. Whenever I traveled to Cali to see family, I tried to take Brian along, because everyone needs a vacation from their job. And he didn't have much of that living with the GF. But the last two trips, we noticed that Brian wasn't his normal self. Not that he would talk about it much, but we could tell. Everyone has their ups and downs in relationships, so we thought it was just that. Looking back, it would be too easy to put a spin on things that happened .... but we know that living with the GF changed him.
Only Brian will ever know the real truth about what went on between him and the GF. I don't even bother asking her because I would never get the truth, just her version of it. And there is always more than one side to a story!!
I know that forgiveness isn't about the other person as much as it is about ourselves. For now, the anger that bubbles up now and again is blamed on two things: Brian choosing death by suicide versus finding some help for the overwhelming feelings he had going on; and the GF and whatever head games she put on Brian for the 3+ years they were together. Although if I'm really honest with myself, I hold a very small portion of the blame against my ex -- he didn't make a lot of effort to act like Brian's dad -- and a smaller portion of the blame belongs to me. I lived with Brian, if I had been paying more attention, or had changed what I said or didn't say -- I know, I can't relive those moments, and most of the time I don't dwell on what didn't happen.
I can't change anything that happened, or what Brian chose to do.
What I can do is go on with the task of living in the way that he asked me:
to be strong, and be happy.
I can't change missing him, but being able to write about him
helps me miss him just a little bit less.
It's weird how you can get busy with life and while nothing is forgotten, it is set aside, on the back burner so to speak, and you deal with what needs to be done as it crops up.
But my suspicious nature kicks in and I'm left wondering why she would leave me this message,or why she was reaching out to me now. The last time I heard from her, she was spewing garbage about the girl my son had dated a couple of times, wanting me to make sure I knew what kind of background the woman had. First, it's not like my son was going to continue dating her after his suicide. Second, the GF broke up with Brian, and he moved out of her house and in with me - who he dates after that isn't her concern!! And in the midst of all my motherly grief her biggest concern is making sure I knew the details of the woman's past? What difference would that make to me now???
I know that Brian's heart was broken by the GF. But before the break-up, I suspect there were other things going on. My son was a "pleaser" - he did whatever he could, whatever needed to be done, in order to make life better for someone if he could. Whenever I traveled to Cali to see family, I tried to take Brian along, because everyone needs a vacation from their job. And he didn't have much of that living with the GF. But the last two trips, we noticed that Brian wasn't his normal self. Not that he would talk about it much, but we could tell. Everyone has their ups and downs in relationships, so we thought it was just that. Looking back, it would be too easy to put a spin on things that happened .... but we know that living with the GF changed him.
Only Brian will ever know the real truth about what went on between him and the GF. I don't even bother asking her because I would never get the truth, just her version of it. And there is always more than one side to a story!!
I know that forgiveness isn't about the other person as much as it is about ourselves. For now, the anger that bubbles up now and again is blamed on two things: Brian choosing death by suicide versus finding some help for the overwhelming feelings he had going on; and the GF and whatever head games she put on Brian for the 3+ years they were together. Although if I'm really honest with myself, I hold a very small portion of the blame against my ex -- he didn't make a lot of effort to act like Brian's dad -- and a smaller portion of the blame belongs to me. I lived with Brian, if I had been paying more attention, or had changed what I said or didn't say -- I know, I can't relive those moments, and most of the time I don't dwell on what didn't happen.
I can't change anything that happened, or what Brian chose to do.
What I can do is go on with the task of living in the way that he asked me:
to be strong, and be happy.
I can't change missing him, but being able to write about him
helps me miss him just a little bit less.
Sunday, August 25, 2019
The Backyard
Dear Brian,
It's been difficult for me to go out and enjoy the backyard. My mind drifts to your final place out there, and I just haven't been able to do anything. Yesterday, I was able to go out, and once I took a good look around, I realized that this neglected yard needed to be worked on.
So I started.
And once I was started, I was able to continue ... until the heat got the best of me. But I was able to finish up today.
I moved the bench back along the wall and put my "reading" chairs in place, ready for the fall and cooler weather. Another two weeks and .... I'm so ready!
I cleaned out the junk from the planters, tried to rake up what I could of the pine needles that blew over with the monsoon winds. That Moon Lagoon bush that became more tree-like is chopped down, all that's left is to dig up the root ball. My plan in the fall is change "cactus corner" into some metal art displays and lighting. Just something fun, and less to maintain.
I've gotten rid of more of the plants in planters that just don't look good any longer. The cactus that doesn't bloom ... out it goes. Cleaned out the fire pit, and banged the top back into shape. A palm frond fell on it and caved it in.
When I gaze out over the yard now, I'm a little more at peace with things. As much peace as I'll ever find I suppose. My heart breaks for all the things that you wouldn't or couldn't let me help you through None of us should go through life tackling things alone.
"Carry on, my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done.
Lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more."
I heard this the other day, and it made me tear up.
I hope you've found your peace.
And I hope Grandpa gave you a little guff when you saw him, just for old times' sake!
It's been difficult for me to go out and enjoy the backyard. My mind drifts to your final place out there, and I just haven't been able to do anything. Yesterday, I was able to go out, and once I took a good look around, I realized that this neglected yard needed to be worked on.
So I started.
And once I was started, I was able to continue ... until the heat got the best of me. But I was able to finish up today.
I moved the bench back along the wall and put my "reading" chairs in place, ready for the fall and cooler weather. Another two weeks and .... I'm so ready!
I cleaned out the junk from the planters, tried to rake up what I could of the pine needles that blew over with the monsoon winds. That Moon Lagoon bush that became more tree-like is chopped down, all that's left is to dig up the root ball. My plan in the fall is change "cactus corner" into some metal art displays and lighting. Just something fun, and less to maintain.
I've gotten rid of more of the plants in planters that just don't look good any longer. The cactus that doesn't bloom ... out it goes. Cleaned out the fire pit, and banged the top back into shape. A palm frond fell on it and caved it in.
When I gaze out over the yard now, I'm a little more at peace with things. As much peace as I'll ever find I suppose. My heart breaks for all the things that you wouldn't or couldn't let me help you through None of us should go through life tackling things alone.
"Carry on, my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done.
Lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more."
I heard this the other day, and it made me tear up.
I hope you've found your peace.
And I hope Grandpa gave you a little guff when you saw him, just for old times' sake!
Thursday, August 22, 2019
Lonesome Thoughts
Dear Brian,
Today we're busy marking things down to clearance prices in the hardware department. There are a few things that are a great price! and I wish you were still here with me to install the stuff I'd like to buy.
How I miss your humor and your laugh, and your tolerance of me and my silly ideas when I want to try something new in the house.
Sometimes I'm mad at you for choosing death by suicide. I can't help feeling that we could have helped you work through all your non-feelings and the other bad feelings you had. Sometimes in life we all go through hard times. And we survive through it, and become stronger people for it.
Look at me. I walked away from three different marriages because things didn't work out. Sure some of it may have been my fault, but there were things within each of those men who didn't meet my own needs. After a while, it often felt like I was the one trying to pull a wagon up hill by myself. After a while, a body becomes tired. I know I did. But I didn't opt out of life, just out of those relationships. Because I knew that my family loved and needed me, and I loved and needed them.
No, don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming you. I know that M did things, manipulated things, and frankly, wasn't very truthful with some things. And this took a toll on you. A very deep toll. But you should know that whatever happened to her, with her, by her, wasn't just on you. It takes two people to make or break a relationship. And when she broke it off with you, it had no bearing on you or your worth. She's the one who messed up and let you go. Because you were a great person, and you did what needed to be done. Every time.
In a very small minded way, I hope she feels guilt over what she did to you.
and shame on me for saying it, but it's how I feel.
I'll keep writing you, and I'll continue to post your stories because I want the rest of the world to know the Brian I knew, and because I don't ever want you to be forgotten.
Love always,
Mom.
Today we're busy marking things down to clearance prices in the hardware department. There are a few things that are a great price! and I wish you were still here with me to install the stuff I'd like to buy.
How I miss your humor and your laugh, and your tolerance of me and my silly ideas when I want to try something new in the house.
Sometimes I'm mad at you for choosing death by suicide. I can't help feeling that we could have helped you work through all your non-feelings and the other bad feelings you had. Sometimes in life we all go through hard times. And we survive through it, and become stronger people for it.
Look at me. I walked away from three different marriages because things didn't work out. Sure some of it may have been my fault, but there were things within each of those men who didn't meet my own needs. After a while, it often felt like I was the one trying to pull a wagon up hill by myself. After a while, a body becomes tired. I know I did. But I didn't opt out of life, just out of those relationships. Because I knew that my family loved and needed me, and I loved and needed them.
No, don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming you. I know that M did things, manipulated things, and frankly, wasn't very truthful with some things. And this took a toll on you. A very deep toll. But you should know that whatever happened to her, with her, by her, wasn't just on you. It takes two people to make or break a relationship. And when she broke it off with you, it had no bearing on you or your worth. She's the one who messed up and let you go. Because you were a great person, and you did what needed to be done. Every time.
In a very small minded way, I hope she feels guilt over what she did to you.
and shame on me for saying it, but it's how I feel.
I'll keep writing you, and I'll continue to post your stories because I want the rest of the world to know the Brian I knew, and because I don't ever want you to be forgotten.
Love always,
Mom.
Thursday, August 15, 2019
If .... Then Tell Them!
Dear Brian,
I gotta tell ya, trying to "close out" someone's life isn't very easy! In fact, it can be downright frustrating!! There's the credit card companies who need to be told, your bank who keeps using the excuse that your account is "on hold". You kept everything private, and there's no way for me to know anything or even check on anything at this point. I know that soon I will get to that "fuck it" point and just let the bank keep the money; can't be that much in there.
I keep getting glimpses of moments that I wish I could forget; I'll be reading a book and something in there will happen, and it will make me think of your choosing death by suicide rather than trying to work something out. I didn't walk in your shoes, so I don't know, and I won't judge. But damn, son, it's rather hard to "be strong" like you asked us to do.
So I just keep on remembering you as you were, and trying to post those stories and pictures every day. I don't want anyone to forget you, forget what you meant to us. Maybe we didn't say it often enough. I thought we did, but now I wonder. Now you're not here and I'm left wishing I'd said it more often.
The doctor prescribed sleeping meds for me, to see if that helps me out.
I'm going to try my first one tomorrow night -- don't want to try and work if there's some kind of "sleep hangover" from them. I'll let you know!
Love,
Mom
I gotta tell ya, trying to "close out" someone's life isn't very easy! In fact, it can be downright frustrating!! There's the credit card companies who need to be told, your bank who keeps using the excuse that your account is "on hold". You kept everything private, and there's no way for me to know anything or even check on anything at this point. I know that soon I will get to that "fuck it" point and just let the bank keep the money; can't be that much in there.
I keep getting glimpses of moments that I wish I could forget; I'll be reading a book and something in there will happen, and it will make me think of your choosing death by suicide rather than trying to work something out. I didn't walk in your shoes, so I don't know, and I won't judge. But damn, son, it's rather hard to "be strong" like you asked us to do.
So I just keep on remembering you as you were, and trying to post those stories and pictures every day. I don't want anyone to forget you, forget what you meant to us. Maybe we didn't say it often enough. I thought we did, but now I wonder. Now you're not here and I'm left wishing I'd said it more often.
The doctor prescribed sleeping meds for me, to see if that helps me out.
I'm going to try my first one tomorrow night -- don't want to try and work if there's some kind of "sleep hangover" from them. I'll let you know!
Love,
Mom
Tuesday, July 30, 2019
Four Weeks Ago
Dear Brian,
Little did I know four weeks ago that my world was going to change. The sting of finding you in the backyard, the unbelievable feeling of someone ripping my heart out of my chest, the mind numbing anxiety that kicked when I realized that I would have to be the one making those horrible phone calls informing people.
My first text was to Tanya. "Come home" I wrote to her. She wrote back and said "Is this some kind of joke?" Then it came to me that she might have trouble comprehending so I texted Alonzo as well so he could drive her home. Then I had to call your dad. Yeah, you know how *that* went. Then I sent a text to Lori. I knew she was at Grandma's and that I needed her to answer the phone. Why I thought I had to call her on Mom's phone rather than just calling her phone myself .... well, that just goes to show that I wasn't in my right mind. Thank goodness Lori had the foresight to call Karen to come be with me til Tanya arrived.
One of the things that happens in death by suicide is that the subject is very much taboo; no one talks about it, or asks about it. When someone learns what happened, they don't ask any longer. Maybe they don't know how to ask, or what to say. I read in one of my books that talking about you and events leading up is important in my own healing. Because Rita works so close with me, she knows, but I can't talk to her about any of it ... she's one of those who always has a bigger, better, longer story to tell and my own is put on the back burner.
It leaves me to feeling that I'm more on my own that ever before. You and I always had a .... connection when it came to how we felt about events that were too people-y, about how we felt we were different from the other people in our family. But we were also alike in that we knew what needed to be done, and always got the job done, even when no one else did. (Like trimming Grandma's tree! ha!)
Four weeks ago was an ordinary day at work. Not a single day since then has been ordinary. I feel like I need to put up my sign "DON'T POKE THE BEAR" , because every interruption, every task that I'm asked to help with seems to irritate me to the very ends of my limit. When I'm at home, the hours seem to drag. My ability to focus on or complete a task is at an all time low. And yet, when I'm at work, I can't wait to get home again. When I'm home, I'm wishing I could go to work ... if only to take my mind off things for a few minutes.
My life changed four weeks ago.
And I can't have that moment back.
If only .....
I'll love you always,
Mom
Little did I know four weeks ago that my world was going to change. The sting of finding you in the backyard, the unbelievable feeling of someone ripping my heart out of my chest, the mind numbing anxiety that kicked when I realized that I would have to be the one making those horrible phone calls informing people.
My first text was to Tanya. "Come home" I wrote to her. She wrote back and said "Is this some kind of joke?" Then it came to me that she might have trouble comprehending so I texted Alonzo as well so he could drive her home. Then I had to call your dad. Yeah, you know how *that* went. Then I sent a text to Lori. I knew she was at Grandma's and that I needed her to answer the phone. Why I thought I had to call her on Mom's phone rather than just calling her phone myself .... well, that just goes to show that I wasn't in my right mind. Thank goodness Lori had the foresight to call Karen to come be with me til Tanya arrived.
One of the things that happens in death by suicide is that the subject is very much taboo; no one talks about it, or asks about it. When someone learns what happened, they don't ask any longer. Maybe they don't know how to ask, or what to say. I read in one of my books that talking about you and events leading up is important in my own healing. Because Rita works so close with me, she knows, but I can't talk to her about any of it ... she's one of those who always has a bigger, better, longer story to tell and my own is put on the back burner.
It leaves me to feeling that I'm more on my own that ever before. You and I always had a .... connection when it came to how we felt about events that were too people-y, about how we felt we were different from the other people in our family. But we were also alike in that we knew what needed to be done, and always got the job done, even when no one else did. (Like trimming Grandma's tree! ha!)
Four weeks ago was an ordinary day at work. Not a single day since then has been ordinary. I feel like I need to put up my sign "DON'T POKE THE BEAR" , because every interruption, every task that I'm asked to help with seems to irritate me to the very ends of my limit. When I'm at home, the hours seem to drag. My ability to focus on or complete a task is at an all time low. And yet, when I'm at work, I can't wait to get home again. When I'm home, I'm wishing I could go to work ... if only to take my mind off things for a few minutes.
My life changed four weeks ago.
And I can't have that moment back.
If only .....
I'll love you always,
Mom
Sunday, July 28, 2019
Turn Back the Clock
When it comes to surviving the death of a loved one, so many of the things that were "normal" no longer feel normal. When it's the death of a child, even if that child was grown, it seems magnified. Today was one of those difficult days.
While there are chores that need to be done, it's like I don't have any energy to get myself going. Or maybe it's the difference between having all the time in the world versus having a time schedule. I got myself up and out to the bank to make a deposit, then off to the grocery store. But as I walked the aisles, I realized there were things that I would never buy again: his favorite soda, or burritos. Or browsing the men's clearance racks for work shirts. When I think about it too long, I get teary-eyed. I moved through the motions to gather up my groceries and check out. The entire total was only $60. There's not much needed when it's just me now.
I did find a nice binder with a zipper, and bought some sheet protectors to put the last of your school work pages inside. It will close up for safekeeping, allowing us to read his things without damages.
My biggest fear is that people will forget him. I post things on www.forevermissed.com/brian-court so that there will always be a place for people to remember the good things, the funny things, the things he wrote, the things he drew.
As his mother, I feel I was especially close to him. We had a special bond. And while I shouldn't say this, I felt many concerns because the three years he lived with his girlfriend changed him. Or maybe he wasn't changed so much as guarded. I had the gut feeling that he felt he was alone against the world, that the problems between him and her were something he couldn't deal with. I tried to have a couple conversations with him, but he held back.
How I wish I could turn back the clock.
If only .....
I wish .....
But that doesn't change anything.
I've learned that when I feel the sadness,
to just accept it, to let it work its way through me.
Today is one of those days.
The laundry is done, the cooking for the week has begun,
the house has been vacuumed and steam mopped.
A nap would be nice.
Each day marches on without my son, Brian.
While there are chores that need to be done, it's like I don't have any energy to get myself going. Or maybe it's the difference between having all the time in the world versus having a time schedule. I got myself up and out to the bank to make a deposit, then off to the grocery store. But as I walked the aisles, I realized there were things that I would never buy again: his favorite soda, or burritos. Or browsing the men's clearance racks for work shirts. When I think about it too long, I get teary-eyed. I moved through the motions to gather up my groceries and check out. The entire total was only $60. There's not much needed when it's just me now.
I did find a nice binder with a zipper, and bought some sheet protectors to put the last of your school work pages inside. It will close up for safekeeping, allowing us to read his things without damages.
My biggest fear is that people will forget him. I post things on www.forevermissed.com/brian-court so that there will always be a place for people to remember the good things, the funny things, the things he wrote, the things he drew.
As his mother, I feel I was especially close to him. We had a special bond. And while I shouldn't say this, I felt many concerns because the three years he lived with his girlfriend changed him. Or maybe he wasn't changed so much as guarded. I had the gut feeling that he felt he was alone against the world, that the problems between him and her were something he couldn't deal with. I tried to have a couple conversations with him, but he held back.
How I wish I could turn back the clock.
If only .....
I wish .....
But that doesn't change anything.
I've learned that when I feel the sadness,
to just accept it, to let it work its way through me.
Today is one of those days.
The laundry is done, the cooking for the week has begun,
the house has been vacuumed and steam mopped.
A nap would be nice.
Each day marches on without my son, Brian.
Saturday, July 27, 2019
After It All Comes the Chores
It's Saturday, a very long day with all that's been going on.
I steeled myself to take the first step, took Brian's "papers" to his bank to close out his account. After sitting there waiting for 30 minutes, the banker took me back, started the process. I'm going to get a little snippy here .... I think the woman needed glasses. She was trying to read the papers and kept easing it closer then further away. To top it off, she was entering data into the computer - but her nails were so long, she couldn't type and had to keep correcting her mistakes. She would glare at the screen, lean in for a closer look, correct again. Then she said "I'll be right back, I need to make a copy of this." I make copies of stuff all day long at work, it shouldn't take 10 minutes! When she brought it all back, she handed it all back to me and said they can't do anything until 30 days have passed since Brian died.
Talk about being a little perturbed with all this!
I hope next time I approach the bank, it will be with someone else.
On top of all that, work called because they couldn't do something ..... they're not trained? they don't know the procedure? Hello... can't you look it up like I would????? And frankly, as much as I like my co-worker, sometimes she's .... just not all that. It's very frustrating to know that the next 48 hours they are doing things they're not used to doing, and making mistakes. Come Monday, they will expect *me* to fix it all. I tell ya, it makes me want to call out sick!!!!
The rest of the day has been pretty much a bust. I've been trying to keep busy. I tried binge watching some Netflix. I tried cleaning the garage. Brian's room. The dining room. I managed to vacuum and then steam mop my floors -- we had 3 dogs in the house last weekend, all weekend long! So it's nice having that done. :)
Tomorrow will be another long day.
Having to make decisions about what to do with Brian's stuff has been plaguing me. I don't want to create a shrine in his room, but at the same time, his guitars and his Metallica art hangs on the walls still. His dresser still has his wallet(s) and his pocket knives. There are two jackets hanging in the closet, along with a long leather duster-style coat - I think the guy in the Matrix wore one like it?? Then there's the stuff in the garage. Tools. Bike Parts. It'll be a process weeding through all of that stuff as well. My nephew Anthony is the mechanic, maybe it will all eventually go to him. For now, I can't part with it.
I am putting his school papers in page protectors. There are some really cute things he wrote about for some of his writing assignments. I found old test scores and he scored really high in the mechanics of language. I take that to mean he understands sentence structure, etc. And his writing style of "telling it like it is" makes me smile. He's a lot like his mother in that way. Along with the mechanical way, and of being orderly -- a nice way of saying borderline OCD when it comes to lining things up and staying organized. lol
I miss my son - there's an ache that doesn't go away.
Will it ever?
I steeled myself to take the first step, took Brian's "papers" to his bank to close out his account. After sitting there waiting for 30 minutes, the banker took me back, started the process. I'm going to get a little snippy here .... I think the woman needed glasses. She was trying to read the papers and kept easing it closer then further away. To top it off, she was entering data into the computer - but her nails were so long, she couldn't type and had to keep correcting her mistakes. She would glare at the screen, lean in for a closer look, correct again. Then she said "I'll be right back, I need to make a copy of this." I make copies of stuff all day long at work, it shouldn't take 10 minutes! When she brought it all back, she handed it all back to me and said they can't do anything until 30 days have passed since Brian died.
Talk about being a little perturbed with all this!
I hope next time I approach the bank, it will be with someone else.
On top of all that, work called because they couldn't do something ..... they're not trained? they don't know the procedure? Hello... can't you look it up like I would????? And frankly, as much as I like my co-worker, sometimes she's .... just not all that. It's very frustrating to know that the next 48 hours they are doing things they're not used to doing, and making mistakes. Come Monday, they will expect *me* to fix it all. I tell ya, it makes me want to call out sick!!!!
The rest of the day has been pretty much a bust. I've been trying to keep busy. I tried binge watching some Netflix. I tried cleaning the garage. Brian's room. The dining room. I managed to vacuum and then steam mop my floors -- we had 3 dogs in the house last weekend, all weekend long! So it's nice having that done. :)
Tomorrow will be another long day.
Having to make decisions about what to do with Brian's stuff has been plaguing me. I don't want to create a shrine in his room, but at the same time, his guitars and his Metallica art hangs on the walls still. His dresser still has his wallet(s) and his pocket knives. There are two jackets hanging in the closet, along with a long leather duster-style coat - I think the guy in the Matrix wore one like it?? Then there's the stuff in the garage. Tools. Bike Parts. It'll be a process weeding through all of that stuff as well. My nephew Anthony is the mechanic, maybe it will all eventually go to him. For now, I can't part with it.
I am putting his school papers in page protectors. There are some really cute things he wrote about for some of his writing assignments. I found old test scores and he scored really high in the mechanics of language. I take that to mean he understands sentence structure, etc. And his writing style of "telling it like it is" makes me smile. He's a lot like his mother in that way. Along with the mechanical way, and of being orderly -- a nice way of saying borderline OCD when it comes to lining things up and staying organized. lol
I miss my son - there's an ache that doesn't go away.
Will it ever?
Friday, July 26, 2019
Reliving It All (Part 3)
Dear Brian:
With the holiday in between, there were so many things we didn't know. Everyone wanted closure. The mortuary was trying to work with us and the ME's office transporting your body. They were going to advise us to see if we were able to do a viewing. Because of the time delay, your dad drove up on Friday afternoon. He came to the house, jerked his head because he wanted to talk to me in the other room. Yeah, you know the move I'm talking about. hehe. He asked "What the hell happened?" and I told him (again) I don't have any answers for myself, let alone for you. I don't know, I can only guess.
There are many misconceptions about a person who is considered "suicidal", as if they walk around ranting and raving before hand. But that's not reality. And in your case, I could tell there was a difference in your behavior from before you moved in with Michelle to after you moved back home. Three years changes most people, especially young men. I didn't have any more answers for your dad that day, or even now.
We showed him the note you left. He wasn't handling things very well. Maybe there's some guilt because he hadn't seen you in three years. But I told him that was between him and you, and I'm not going to accept any of that guilt. Yes, I lived in town. Yes, I sometimes made up excuses to see you -- asking for help with a household task, or bringing a meal to the family. At least it was a connection, and that was important to me. But I got away from my story....
Later in the afternoon on Friday, the mortuary called and they were pretty adamant about not having a family viewing. I agreed, because I didn't plan on going. And my advice to the rest of them was this: Remember Brian as you last saw him. You don't want to see him this way. They agreed in the end.
The rest of Friday was spent doing little chores, having a meal, and looking things up on the internet, trying to find a place to hold a service. You weren't churched and it seemed like the wrong move to have some kind of ... funeral. We decided on a Celebration of Life ceremony, and because I couldn't locate any other kind of place, opted for the library. And that seemed very fitting. When we first moved to Arizona, we spent every Thursday after work going to the library for books, CDs and Videos to keep us entertained. Then we had Taco Bell for dinner. As I was thinking it all over, we did this for like five years!! HA! We got into such a rut. But it was our day for spending time together. And I miss that. It's funny what you miss after it's gone.
Because I work retail, there were things going on and I had to work Saturday and Sunday. The kids loaded up and drove home on Saturday as well. It was oddly nice to have something relatively normal to do for a change. The day passed as quick as work days do ..... but looking back, I know I wasn't my normal self. I could only keep one thought at a time in my head; an interruption meant starting a work task over again. There were notes I wrote and couldn't read later because they didn't make any sense.
At the end of that weekend, we all survived as best we knew how.
We knew there was more heartache to come as arrangements were made.
Even now, more than three weeks later, my mind still leaves little holes as I go about my day
I hate knowing that you're not coming back,
that you won't be around to help me do those odd little chores.
I hope you're in a happier place now.
We all love you and miss you bunches.
Love,
With the holiday in between, there were so many things we didn't know. Everyone wanted closure. The mortuary was trying to work with us and the ME's office transporting your body. They were going to advise us to see if we were able to do a viewing. Because of the time delay, your dad drove up on Friday afternoon. He came to the house, jerked his head because he wanted to talk to me in the other room. Yeah, you know the move I'm talking about. hehe. He asked "What the hell happened?" and I told him (again) I don't have any answers for myself, let alone for you. I don't know, I can only guess.
There are many misconceptions about a person who is considered "suicidal", as if they walk around ranting and raving before hand. But that's not reality. And in your case, I could tell there was a difference in your behavior from before you moved in with Michelle to after you moved back home. Three years changes most people, especially young men. I didn't have any more answers for your dad that day, or even now.
We showed him the note you left. He wasn't handling things very well. Maybe there's some guilt because he hadn't seen you in three years. But I told him that was between him and you, and I'm not going to accept any of that guilt. Yes, I lived in town. Yes, I sometimes made up excuses to see you -- asking for help with a household task, or bringing a meal to the family. At least it was a connection, and that was important to me. But I got away from my story....
Later in the afternoon on Friday, the mortuary called and they were pretty adamant about not having a family viewing. I agreed, because I didn't plan on going. And my advice to the rest of them was this: Remember Brian as you last saw him. You don't want to see him this way. They agreed in the end.
The rest of Friday was spent doing little chores, having a meal, and looking things up on the internet, trying to find a place to hold a service. You weren't churched and it seemed like the wrong move to have some kind of ... funeral. We decided on a Celebration of Life ceremony, and because I couldn't locate any other kind of place, opted for the library. And that seemed very fitting. When we first moved to Arizona, we spent every Thursday after work going to the library for books, CDs and Videos to keep us entertained. Then we had Taco Bell for dinner. As I was thinking it all over, we did this for like five years!! HA! We got into such a rut. But it was our day for spending time together. And I miss that. It's funny what you miss after it's gone.
Because I work retail, there were things going on and I had to work Saturday and Sunday. The kids loaded up and drove home on Saturday as well. It was oddly nice to have something relatively normal to do for a change. The day passed as quick as work days do ..... but looking back, I know I wasn't my normal self. I could only keep one thought at a time in my head; an interruption meant starting a work task over again. There were notes I wrote and couldn't read later because they didn't make any sense.
At the end of that weekend, we all survived as best we knew how.
We knew there was more heartache to come as arrangements were made.
Even now, more than three weeks later, my mind still leaves little holes as I go about my day
I hate knowing that you're not coming back,
that you won't be around to help me do those odd little chores.
I hope you're in a happier place now.
We all love you and miss you bunches.Love,
Mom
Thursday, July 25, 2019
Reliving It All (Part 2)
Dear Brian,
All night I was plagued with the question: Would you have made the choice to end your pain if you knew what other pains, the ripple effect, your death would have on the rest of us? Had you been in your right mind, I don't think so. But that's second guessing, and you needed to find your peace.
The morning after was rough, we all walked around in a daze, wondering what to do, what needed to be done, and how to go about it. With your body at the morgue and the next day the 4th of July, we needed to get arrangements made. So I called the funeral home and made the appointment for 1pm. In the meantime, we decided to go through your room.
We couldn't find a suicide note; we found your phone but it doesn't work. Of course, all the little things -- the junk you never could get rid of was boxed up. We went through your clothes. Luckily Alonzo could fit into some of those jeans that had gotten too big for you, so they went to a good cause. Your motorcycle jacket went to Brandon, since he rides to work every day. Some of your work shirts were still looking good enough, Alonzo can wear those to work! No one fit into your shoes. They're all still piled in the garage.
When it came time to leave, we tried grabbing a little snack -- no one feels like eating just yet, but we know that we need to. We arrived at the mortuary and of course there are several decisions to be made. We looked at the urns, and while your sister needed some time to think about it, I didn't. I saw one that was all black, nothing fancy on it, and knew in an instant it was perfect for you. We decided on an electric guitar, block lettering for you name and date. Simple. Timeless. Classic.
There wasn't anything left for us to do but head for home, stare at the same walls, let the TV keep our brain occupied for a bit more. No one was interested in finding a fireworks display to watch. We spent part of the afternoon looking through things in the garage. I sat down at the computer to ... well, I don't remember what I was going to do, probably look up some photos. I opened my drawer and underneath my portable hard drive, I found your note. My heart nearly needed a jump start. I didn't want to read it. And yet I did. I wanted to know everything you were thinking, learn whatever you needed to tell us.
I carried it out to Alonzo and Tanya, they read it too. It was so sad to hear your final words. It has always made me wonder why you couldn't talk about Michelle and family. You were living like a family, but I'm certain it wasn't any kind of family life you'd ever had in the past. And maybe you felt some kind of shame in the way things were, so much so that you wouldn't talk about it. And you needed to.
That night, I slept maybe 3-4 hours, because my body was exhausted. There weren't any kind of arrangements that we could have made because it was a holiday, so we pretty much coasted through the rest of the day and evening. I cooked the lasagna you and I were going to have, so that helped us feel a little bit more normal -- fixing dinner and eating something helped everyone feel a little better.
Friday was going to be another difficult day.
Here's the urn we selected for you:
All night I was plagued with the question: Would you have made the choice to end your pain if you knew what other pains, the ripple effect, your death would have on the rest of us? Had you been in your right mind, I don't think so. But that's second guessing, and you needed to find your peace.
The morning after was rough, we all walked around in a daze, wondering what to do, what needed to be done, and how to go about it. With your body at the morgue and the next day the 4th of July, we needed to get arrangements made. So I called the funeral home and made the appointment for 1pm. In the meantime, we decided to go through your room.
We couldn't find a suicide note; we found your phone but it doesn't work. Of course, all the little things -- the junk you never could get rid of was boxed up. We went through your clothes. Luckily Alonzo could fit into some of those jeans that had gotten too big for you, so they went to a good cause. Your motorcycle jacket went to Brandon, since he rides to work every day. Some of your work shirts were still looking good enough, Alonzo can wear those to work! No one fit into your shoes. They're all still piled in the garage.
When it came time to leave, we tried grabbing a little snack -- no one feels like eating just yet, but we know that we need to. We arrived at the mortuary and of course there are several decisions to be made. We looked at the urns, and while your sister needed some time to think about it, I didn't. I saw one that was all black, nothing fancy on it, and knew in an instant it was perfect for you. We decided on an electric guitar, block lettering for you name and date. Simple. Timeless. Classic.
There wasn't anything left for us to do but head for home, stare at the same walls, let the TV keep our brain occupied for a bit more. No one was interested in finding a fireworks display to watch. We spent part of the afternoon looking through things in the garage. I sat down at the computer to ... well, I don't remember what I was going to do, probably look up some photos. I opened my drawer and underneath my portable hard drive, I found your note. My heart nearly needed a jump start. I didn't want to read it. And yet I did. I wanted to know everything you were thinking, learn whatever you needed to tell us.
I carried it out to Alonzo and Tanya, they read it too. It was so sad to hear your final words. It has always made me wonder why you couldn't talk about Michelle and family. You were living like a family, but I'm certain it wasn't any kind of family life you'd ever had in the past. And maybe you felt some kind of shame in the way things were, so much so that you wouldn't talk about it. And you needed to.
That night, I slept maybe 3-4 hours, because my body was exhausted. There weren't any kind of arrangements that we could have made because it was a holiday, so we pretty much coasted through the rest of the day and evening. I cooked the lasagna you and I were going to have, so that helped us feel a little bit more normal -- fixing dinner and eating something helped everyone feel a little better.
Friday was going to be another difficult day. Here's the urn we selected for you:
Wednesday, July 24, 2019
Reliving It All (Part 1)
Dear Brian,
It's been three weeks, and after all the hubbub, I'm wondering if I'm ready to recount the actual day you chose death by suicide.
It was Tuesday, and I was only scheduled to work until 3PM and drove home my normal route, talking on the phone to Grandma. I let myself in and Sadie greeted me at the door. Your room was dark, the door halfway closed, I assumed you were sleeping until your work shift started. I set down my things and opened the back door for Sadie. I looked up and saw you laying on the rocks. I hollered "OH MY GOD BRIAN" and ran over to where you were. Your skin was greyish, there was dried blood under your nose. Your right hand still held a gun, your left hand was clenched.
My guts started churning and I ran into the house and called 911. After I told them my emergency, they said they would transfer me. (Thinking about this later, I found it very odd!!) I was on the line for what seemed like forever, they wouldn't let me hang up while waiting for police officers to show up.
Two cop cars pulled up in front of the house, lights flashing and got out of their cars, but wouldn't approach the house. My phone rang, 911 was on the line, and I had to go outside before the officers would approach. One came up, knocked on the open door and announced "Police! I'm coming in". I know ... procedure. But in the midst of it all, I wanted to laugh because no one else was in there.
They kept me outside while they did an entire search of the house, making sure it was empty. If it hadn't been, I would have been totally shocked! ! I had to recount my story several times to the police officers. Then I needed to use the restroom. I went into my bedroom and closed the door, but they came knocking and chased me out. Guess they didn't think I should be alone.
They questioned me about having guns in the house (not that I know of) and about who lives in the house. In between all the questions, I sent Tanya a text "Brian died, come home" ... she texted me back "Is this a joke??" Then I sent the same to Alonzo, so that he would know I wasn't joking. I texted my sister and said I was going to call Mom's house and please answer the phone. That's when I told her. Then I had to call your dad. He was in shock, I told him the police were still questioning me, and I'd call later when I knew more. 15 minutes later, he called me back and asked "ARE YOU SURE???" Well, duh. I wouldn't make this shit up!!
The police wouldn't leave until I wasn't alone any more. While we waited for someone, they walked around and did a deep search, looking for guns or anything else. I told one officer that as a kid you liked to hide things underneath the bathroom sink. He checked, only found the knife you had taped to the wall. In the meantime, Lori called Karen, who came right over. They also called in a grief counselor who helped with making some of the decisions that I didn't seem able to make in the moment. It was a relief when Karen got here. Around that same time, the coroner and CSI team arrived as well, doing their thing in the back yard. They were nice enough to keep me busy with questions in the living room while they loaded your body and took the gurney out through the back gate.
It was even more of a relief when Tanya and Alonzo finally arrived. They dropped everything to come home and help me with things. There wasn't much we could do that evening. We looked over some of the things in your room, trying to find a note, a clue, a reason. We couldn't get your phone to work -- still can't -- and didn't find anything that gave us any answers to our millions of questions.
We sat around drinking water, food held no appeal whatsoever to any of us. We had the TV on for some noise. Finally it was late enough, I decided to crawl into bed and try to sleep, but that wasn't going to happen. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was you, and my eyes would open back up, I was afraid to go to sleep and keep reliving the moment. I drifted in and out of little naps; Frazier kept me entertained on the TV most of the night. I felt like I couldn't catch my breath, that I was caught in the middle of a nightmare that I wanted to wake up from.
No such luck.
Disbelief, shock and grief do weird things to a person. You stumble through ordinary chores (Does anyone need more water? Should I fix dinner?) and yet the nightmare doesn't let you out of it's grip.
It's been three weeks, and after all the hubbub, I'm wondering if I'm ready to recount the actual day you chose death by suicide.
It was Tuesday, and I was only scheduled to work until 3PM and drove home my normal route, talking on the phone to Grandma. I let myself in and Sadie greeted me at the door. Your room was dark, the door halfway closed, I assumed you were sleeping until your work shift started. I set down my things and opened the back door for Sadie. I looked up and saw you laying on the rocks. I hollered "OH MY GOD BRIAN" and ran over to where you were. Your skin was greyish, there was dried blood under your nose. Your right hand still held a gun, your left hand was clenched.
My guts started churning and I ran into the house and called 911. After I told them my emergency, they said they would transfer me. (Thinking about this later, I found it very odd!!) I was on the line for what seemed like forever, they wouldn't let me hang up while waiting for police officers to show up.
Two cop cars pulled up in front of the house, lights flashing and got out of their cars, but wouldn't approach the house. My phone rang, 911 was on the line, and I had to go outside before the officers would approach. One came up, knocked on the open door and announced "Police! I'm coming in". I know ... procedure. But in the midst of it all, I wanted to laugh because no one else was in there.
They kept me outside while they did an entire search of the house, making sure it was empty. If it hadn't been, I would have been totally shocked! ! I had to recount my story several times to the police officers. Then I needed to use the restroom. I went into my bedroom and closed the door, but they came knocking and chased me out. Guess they didn't think I should be alone.
They questioned me about having guns in the house (not that I know of) and about who lives in the house. In between all the questions, I sent Tanya a text "Brian died, come home" ... she texted me back "Is this a joke??" Then I sent the same to Alonzo, so that he would know I wasn't joking. I texted my sister and said I was going to call Mom's house and please answer the phone. That's when I told her. Then I had to call your dad. He was in shock, I told him the police were still questioning me, and I'd call later when I knew more. 15 minutes later, he called me back and asked "ARE YOU SURE???" Well, duh. I wouldn't make this shit up!!
The police wouldn't leave until I wasn't alone any more. While we waited for someone, they walked around and did a deep search, looking for guns or anything else. I told one officer that as a kid you liked to hide things underneath the bathroom sink. He checked, only found the knife you had taped to the wall. In the meantime, Lori called Karen, who came right over. They also called in a grief counselor who helped with making some of the decisions that I didn't seem able to make in the moment. It was a relief when Karen got here. Around that same time, the coroner and CSI team arrived as well, doing their thing in the back yard. They were nice enough to keep me busy with questions in the living room while they loaded your body and took the gurney out through the back gate.
It was even more of a relief when Tanya and Alonzo finally arrived. They dropped everything to come home and help me with things. There wasn't much we could do that evening. We looked over some of the things in your room, trying to find a note, a clue, a reason. We couldn't get your phone to work -- still can't -- and didn't find anything that gave us any answers to our millions of questions.
We sat around drinking water, food held no appeal whatsoever to any of us. We had the TV on for some noise. Finally it was late enough, I decided to crawl into bed and try to sleep, but that wasn't going to happen. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was you, and my eyes would open back up, I was afraid to go to sleep and keep reliving the moment. I drifted in and out of little naps; Frazier kept me entertained on the TV most of the night. I felt like I couldn't catch my breath, that I was caught in the middle of a nightmare that I wanted to wake up from.
No such luck.
Disbelief, shock and grief do weird things to a person. You stumble through ordinary chores (Does anyone need more water? Should I fix dinner?) and yet the nightmare doesn't let you out of it's grip.
Tuesday, July 23, 2019
What If's and Why's
When it comes to surviving a death by suicide, one of the hardest questions to answer is "WHY?" Logically, we will never know the entire scope of things going on, but we may be able to pinpoint whatever was the 'straw that broke the camel's back'.
In my quest for answers, I'm using a Survivor of Suicide guide written by Jeffrey Jackson. In the section dealing with the Why's he tells us that it's normal to always wonder about the why's. And if you think you have the answer, think again. Chances are you're only seeing part of the picture.
In my own case, I believe I know the why answer to the straw that broke the camel's back. My son Brian was in a relationship with a woman who ... didn't always tell the truth. While I can be certain that I didn't know the entire truth of their relationship, I know two things: She told him she was given a terminal illness verdict and has only a few months to live and at the same time, she broke up with him and he moved back home.
Brian was always the one who felt things deeply. And if I admit it in my heart of hearts, I always worried about him and his mental health. He had many obstacles in his path with his vision impairment, and it was a source of many sorrows when it came to friendships as a young boy, as he grew into a young man.
I am stuck in the what if's at this stage of my grief. What if I had recognized something? anything? What if I had a clue? When he called off work because things were ugly with another woman he had dated the week before, when I offered to take off and drive him to the beach, to anywhere -- if he had said "let's go" I wouldn't have hesitated. Would it have made a difference???
I believe what Jeffrey Jackson says is true: that every time life left a little dent in Brian, he carried that pain with him. He may have moved past the incident, but the pain stayed with him. With each new hurt both great and small, a little more pain is added to this tragic cargo until it becomes unbearable.
Trying to figure out the why is part of the process, but in the end, be prepared to face the possibility that many of the answers may be unknowable. There will come a time when ... hopefully ... I can accept that there isn't going to be a satisfactory explanation for it all.
I always tried to be there when my son needed something, and would have continued to do so through anything it took. But he wasn't the kind of guy who asked for help (or directions!! haha) and I have to accept that part as well.
I know that in the deep dark hours of night, the what if's will still haunt me for now. I'm just hoping that by continuing to write, to feel, to allow myself the time I need, they will happen less often, and I can just accept things.
My son made a tragic, regrettable choice to end his life. I will never fully know what was going on with him, or how different aspects of his life contributed to his decision. I'm sad that he felt the need to end his pain this way. But a mother's love for her son lives on.
Rest in peace, Brian.
In my quest for answers, I'm using a Survivor of Suicide guide written by Jeffrey Jackson. In the section dealing with the Why's he tells us that it's normal to always wonder about the why's. And if you think you have the answer, think again. Chances are you're only seeing part of the picture.
In my own case, I believe I know the why answer to the straw that broke the camel's back. My son Brian was in a relationship with a woman who ... didn't always tell the truth. While I can be certain that I didn't know the entire truth of their relationship, I know two things: She told him she was given a terminal illness verdict and has only a few months to live and at the same time, she broke up with him and he moved back home.
Brian was always the one who felt things deeply. And if I admit it in my heart of hearts, I always worried about him and his mental health. He had many obstacles in his path with his vision impairment, and it was a source of many sorrows when it came to friendships as a young boy, as he grew into a young man.
I am stuck in the what if's at this stage of my grief. What if I had recognized something? anything? What if I had a clue? When he called off work because things were ugly with another woman he had dated the week before, when I offered to take off and drive him to the beach, to anywhere -- if he had said "let's go" I wouldn't have hesitated. Would it have made a difference???
I believe what Jeffrey Jackson says is true: that every time life left a little dent in Brian, he carried that pain with him. He may have moved past the incident, but the pain stayed with him. With each new hurt both great and small, a little more pain is added to this tragic cargo until it becomes unbearable.
Trying to figure out the why is part of the process, but in the end, be prepared to face the possibility that many of the answers may be unknowable. There will come a time when ... hopefully ... I can accept that there isn't going to be a satisfactory explanation for it all.
I always tried to be there when my son needed something, and would have continued to do so through anything it took. But he wasn't the kind of guy who asked for help (or directions!! haha) and I have to accept that part as well.
I know that in the deep dark hours of night, the what if's will still haunt me for now. I'm just hoping that by continuing to write, to feel, to allow myself the time I need, they will happen less often, and I can just accept things.
My son made a tragic, regrettable choice to end his life. I will never fully know what was going on with him, or how different aspects of his life contributed to his decision. I'm sad that he felt the need to end his pain this way. But a mother's love for her son lives on.
Rest in peace, Brian.
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