How Have Things Changed??

This started from a post I saw from a fellow suicide widow in a support group on the 'Net. She's going back to school and posted the following: “Alrighty folks, I'm writing an essay on the effects of suicide. In your opinion, how has suicide effected your life? Financially, emotionally, long term effects? I know how it has effected me, but I wanted to hear from other survivors.” At first, I just had a couple of words come to mind. Then more than a quick response would really allow. As I've thought more about it, more kept coming to mind, and it occurred to me that it's a good question to deal with in a post.

First off, how about the effects I see as bad/negative:

• After 11 years of marriage and almost 15 years together, I've been having to figure out life on my own. That not only includes things like goals and plans, but also a fair chunk of my own identity.
• Financially I'm in a harder space than I was before. It's always easier when you can split the bills with someone else. She was also the one who kept on top of getting them paid on time, and I'm still struggling with that.
• In terms of emotions, I know it's harder for me to be happy than it was before. I just don't seem to have the same strength or intensity of positive responses to things that I used to.
• Along with that, it's easier for less pleasant emotions to hit hard. Thankfully anger seems to be fading back down to about what it was before, at least overall. However, it's still substantially easier to get sad or anxious these days.
• Physically I don't have the energy that I used to. I've recovered a fair amount, but not back to where I was. And, added to that, I picked up an arrhythmia in my heart since her death, and it's hard to think that didn't have at least some to do with it.
• I have a harder time being as focused and productive at my job. Thankfully it's not so bad I'm in danger of losing my employment, but I also know that I'm not doing as well as I used to there, either.
• I can't say I'm sleeping much worse now, because I wasn't sleeping real great in the last couple years before she took her life. However, I was able to handle running low on sleep better than I can now.
• I know this is more on me, but I picked up smoking again. I'd been quit for several years before she'd died, and was even able to stand outside with her when she'd smoke and be OK. I know it was my choice to pick it up again, but I also know that I very likely wouldn't have without having to go through dealing with not just her death but all the extra crap that comes with suicide.
• There are still a fair number of things I wish I'd have been able to do, or do differently. Those thoughts don't come up as often, but I suspect that they'll never fully go away.

These are, however, counterbalanced by some things that are positive:

• I would likely never have learned as much about cooking, and how much I enjoy it, as I've done in the last four years. At first it was primarily driven by necessity. Now, though, I'm finding there's a great deal I enjoy about it, especially seeing if I can make/do new things.
• I also likely wouldn't have gotten back into hiking the way I did last summer. And one good thing that came from that was getting to see that I can still manage a really tough hike in a pretty short amount of time, even 20 years after the first time I did it. Not bad for a middle-aged desk jockey.
• I wouldn't have made the friends I have through some of the groups that I've been lucky enough to become part of. There are some truly amazing people I've met, several of whom have humbled me more than once by what they've said and done...though never with malice. It's always been leaving me in awe, and wanting to be like them when (if??) I grow up.
• I'd thought I was a pretty good person before. However, in dealing with all of this, I've gotten to see I have depths of character I hadn't dreamed were there. Lord knows I've still got a lot to work on and some more growing up to do, but there are also aspects of me that I'm quite pleased with and proud of. One example was seeing that I could drag myself to the memorial service for a co-worker's wife who'd passed away...five months after me darlin' wife had shuffled off this mortal coil. I hadn't wanted to go. I hadn't planned on going. And yet I showed up and was able to offer a few words of condolence and support. Plus, I didn't start crying until I'd left and gotten out to my car.
• As hard as it is to admit, I'd feel like I'd be lying to not admit that my life's now better for not having to deal with her anxiety and depression and isolation and rage.
• At this point, I think I've got an overall better sense for who she was, both good aspects and bad. However, that's counterbalanced by knowing that my memories of her have gotten a bit faded and fuzzy with the passing of time, and so I'm not sure.
• I firmly believe that us being together bought her a fair chunk of the last 15 years of her life that she might not have otherwise had. She'd told me several times in the last few years I was the main thing that kept her holding on and kept her going. Well, I can now view things as having in part been what gave her a chance to deal with her stuff, and that's a lot right there.

I'm sure there's more to it than that, but those are the first things that had come to mind. I don't want to write out a novel here, or use it as an intensive, in-depth therapy exercise. I do think it's good, though, that it wasn't too difficult to identify a decent number of aspects that're both good and bad. In slogging through the Hell of grief from suicide, it's sometimes way too easy to get lost in what's broken or tarnished or stained or just....wrong. That's part of it, but it's not all. And that's good to KNOW.

Four Years: My Progress and My Choice

February 4^th is the date I.....what is the right word? It's sure as Hell not “celebrate.” That's got too much of an implication of something that's appreciated and enjoyed and brings happiness, which this day doesn't. Perhaps the right word is “honor”....or even “remember”....when me darlin' wife died. I know it's not the actual day she died. They couldn't tell me that, but from what they described (and what I saw for myself) of the condition of her body, it wasn't that day. I have my guess of when it was, but I'll likely not know for sure, at least not in this life. Regardless, that's the day that's set aside. And this time 'round, it was four years ago.

First off, I never thought I'd get this far, either in terms of what I've dealt with or even just seeing this many pages on the calendar turn by. For a long time, my goal was to get to where I felt like I could handle a single day at a time, and that was months in the coming. Even just a single year? Forget it! The fact that it's now been four (and a spare bit o' change) is still somewhat surreal. I guess it'll sink in at some point, hopefully not too close on when I'll be coming up on year five.

I wasn't sure (yet again) what to do on the day this year. The only thought that came at first was part of what I'd done last year, namely buying a couple of flowers and leaving one in front of the hotel room where she died and another at a place that'd been special to us both, where we'd renewed our vows on our 10-year wedding anniversary, where I'd scattered a bit of her ashes. As I sat with it, that idea kept feeling more and more not-right, especially at the hotel. It wasn't so much about getting “caught” as the idea that it'd be passing on at least some confusion and awkwardness to others, if not some of the pain. And yet no other idea was coming. One of the prices to be paid for going with what feels right over having a set tradition and leaving it at that, I suppose.

The day before, when I was out having a smoke, I was mulling just that over, when an idea hit me. I've got a friend who uses the term “God-winks,” and I think that fits a fair number of things. However, this felt more like what I'd heard of as a “God-bomb” in one of Stephen King's books. Bear in mind that, as I write it out here, the whole thing blazed into my mind all at once, information that felt like it was carried on a spear of light. The idea was simply that what'd happened four years ago was tragic and painful and sad, and that a lot of why it'd come about had been due to tragedy and pain and sadness. Doing something to focus on those same feelings again would, in some ways, be remaining in and perpetuating that same dynamic. Instead, perhaps, it would be better to break that chain, to spend some of the time that day praying for healing instead. I can't claim credit for having thought of that. I'm not that smart nor that wise. I'm just grateful I at least had the capacity to listen and not reject it out of hand for not fitting with how I'd been looking at things. And the more I sat with it, the more right it felt.

On the day itself, I left work a couple hours early. After dropping off my work stuff and changing out of work clothes (and feeding the cat, 'cause I had no idea how long I'd be about this), I snagged a pocket-sized notebook and a list of places and headed out. All of the places listed were ones that seemed to have associations with things she'd been able to face down and overcome or places where she'd grown. And, at each, I spent at least a few minutes there, just reflecting on what she had done and what those places had represented for her, ending with jotting a few notes on what came to mind into that notebook. The places themselves don't really matter, at least not to anyone else, and I won't share them all here. Nor will I share all the things that came to mind, as some are very deeply personal still. Some I will share, though.

I stopped by the place where we got married. She'd been married before, and from what she'd told, it had ended badly and painfully. For her to decide to take a chance on marriage again took a great deal of courage and willingness to be vulnerable again. There's no guarantee with taking that step, and it represents both a massive risk of pain as well as an equally massive chance of fulfillment and joy. I get that now, much better than when we wed. Another was the school where she'd gone for her medical assistant training. She'd believed she was smart before, but this was a place where she got to show and see it for sure. She did incredibly well, graduating with a 3.96 GPA, which was far better than I'd ever done at my best (and I told her so repeatedly). A third was a coffee shop she'd gone to for awhile, checking out a local meet-up group. She'd been somewhat leery of reaching out to a community again, and this time around was able to find a group of her own, and some good friends. That took a lot of courage, too, as well as being willing to look at what role she'd played in some not-so-great experiences before in order to avoid repeating them.

All told, I was out and about with this for four hours. It was a real challenge to stay focused on those instances of healing and growth. The sadness and anger wanted to come up, did boil up hard a couple of times. At least I was able to set them aside for the moment while going through that. The couple places before the last were hardest, where I felt the most turmoil and resistance, but after the last it felt like a huge weight was lifted. I went home and lit a candle for her, and offered all the energy and good intention that revisiting those places—and even more importantly, those memories—had pulled together. I'd hope some would go her way if she's still needing it. I reckon some stayed with me, as that's often how those things seem to go. And the rest, whatever's left over, I offered out to the Creator to share with those as might be in need.

I'm still reeling and recovering. It was an exhausting process. The way my mental autopilot has been making a lot more mistakes lately lets me know just how demanding it was. At the same time, I can also be grateful to have gotten to a point where that's something I can do. There will always be sadness and probably occasional anger or resentment about what she did. But it's good to see that I don't have to be ruled by it. If there was any question left, this proves (at least to me) that the grief and loss can no longer run or define me, not unless I let them.

Is this the final climb down out of Hell? The scramble along the frozen passage at the bottom, where the devil stands trapped in ice? The way to the Great Egress? I don't know. But if it's not, it's put me far closer to it than I've ever been. And that gives me continued hope.