Bereavement by suicide has been described as ‘grief with the volume turned up’. The grief of loss overlaid with the impact of trauma can have a devastating impact on the bereaved. In response to this, I along with two friends set up the York SOBS group (Survivors of Bereavement by Suicide) a few years ago and I would warmly invite anyone bereaved by suicide in need of peer support to get in touch (details at the end of this piece). The following reflection on my own experience of bereavement by suicide and is adapted from a piece I wrote for the annual Service of Reflection held in York in September 2021.
The early days and weeks passed in a fog of trauma. A version of me somehow arranged a funeral, dealt with all the endless administrative tasks which follow, fed my children while another ‘me’ sought out moments to sit in my car and wail and scream myself hoarse with grief, a wound so terrible I wondered if I could survive it, or indeed even if I wanted to.
I remember at times feeling like I wasn’t a real person, just a kind of shadow, watching my nightmarish new life like an observer. And I was fearful, all of the time. For the first time since childhood, I slept with a light on every night. When my sons were asleep, I would go to their rooms to check they were breathing, if they were feeling low, I worried. If my husband could take his own life, well so could they? anything now seemed possible.
So, my children became my focus. My own grief and trauma to some extent on pause as I tried to hold them, to be strong for them. And I was, but at a cost. It took me the best part of a year to realise that I needed to look after myself too and yet I had no idea how to begin. A friend suggested I follow my passions, which left me rather lost, if you had asked me a decade or so before, I could have given you a list of things I felt passionate about, but in recent years life had been too full of work and caring for our children to leave any space for much else. And me and my husband were happy with that, but of course it’s different now without him. I am an impatient soul and I struggled to accept that for now I was adrift.
It was then that something changed for me. I realised that until now, it was as if I had been waiting, waiting to feel better, almost waiting for a return to our old life, or a version of it, waiting for the turbulence of grief and trauma to pass. And yet it had not. I realised that I had a choice, to try to live amongst the shattered pieces of ‘old me’ and my old life; to exist, or to live, to accept that what had happened to us could not be changed, but ‘I’ could. A very wise lady called Carolyn Spring says that to recover from trauma, you’ve got to actively, forcefully want to. Time doesn’t heal trauma. And there are no magic wands. Very often, we have to fight to recover. We have to give it our all. And I have fought.
We straddle two worlds those of us that have lost someone to suicide. On one side, everything is changed, our future, our identity our everyday routines, while on the other side, life carries on as if nothing has changed, the sun still shines, people laugh, worry about stuff which to us seems trivial. It’s really hard trying to make those two worlds come together and to find a new normal. The journey from that moment, has been made via a thousand small steps and I have learned so much on the way.
I have learned that sadness and grief come in waves. It’s as if the light dims a little, the colour fades and the hope which has begun to creep through the cracks instead feels like lies; Moments of excess as if one drink too many. And yet I also know, like all things this will pass. If I invite grief, it in, and sit with it for a while, then I can also let it go and hope will return.
I learned that I was experiencing not only grief but trauma. I read about trauma and my brain, about steps I could take to recognise when trauma was directing my thoughts and feelings, and how to ground myself and to find a sense of safety.
I learned that confidence is re-gained via a thousand small acts of bravery. Each time I faced a challenge, and there were many, as helpless as I might feel at the time, often a new strength emerged.
I’ve learned to try to live in the present, indeed trying not to worry about the future is what has helped me most, because for a long time the future was a very scary place.
I’ve come to accept that my mind, out of my awareness reacts to the smells, spring flowers, light levels positions of the stars in the night sky, a song, a scrap of a memory. As if an alarm has been set off, my body connects with the trauma and loss and whist this still catches me off guard and I may feel puzzled at why `I feel so low today’. I am working hard to notice when this happens and to accept when it does.
I’ve learned that love transcends death and has no end.
Of course, the journey has been very rough at times and may still be yet. When I’ve found myself again with that kicked in the stomach feeling that I can’t do this anymore. Seeing my children’s pain, knowing I can’t change what has happened for them. When I’ve felt lonely, fearful, numb. When challenges have arisen, and I’ve again had no choice but to be stronger than I feel to get us through.
But I’ve also learned that the feelings however raw, cannot hurt me and if I allow myself to feel them, they will pass. Problems and difficulties which arise are nothing compared to what I’ve coped with since the worst has already happened. And whilst I did not and would not choose this life, I can make choices about how I live it. I am not only a product of what has happened to me, I am who I choose to become.
Sources of support:
York SOBS Survivors of bereavement by Suicide email york@uksobs.org
SOBS national helpline 0300 1115065 9am to 9pm seven days a week 365 days a year.
MIRT North Yorkshire Major incident response team – volunteer led service trained in mental health first aid, contact 07974745194
~
Author: Jenny
~
References:
[1] https://www.carolynspring.com
