There are things in life which change us:
Accidents and events we don’t recover from.
In the blink of an eye, we are never the same.
Forever defined by the words: before and after.
How ridiculous to pretend this isn’t so.
Why do we try - not only as individuals, but as a society, to “get over” a suicide loss? Over the last 6 years, people have repeatedly told me that I will heal from this overwhelming grief - that the pain will stop - that I should, and will “move on”.
It’s as if we are expected to pick up the pieces and go back where we left off…
Society gives us a year … perhaps two, to fully get back on our feet. But anything longer than that and your grief has crossed a line. It’s clinical depression we’re told. Perhaps you need medication - perhaps therapy would help. "You haven’t been the same," we hear from a friend. "I’m worried about you."
I don’t know about you, but I am pretty damn sure, I will never be the same. How could I be?
Why on earth, am I expected to be?
It’s clear that the seeds of a speedy recovery are planted during childhood. As kids we fall down repeatedly, and are encouraged to get up quickly. As if the sheer act of bursting off our pants, or kissing a boo boo, is magically enough. Each time we fall - each time we fail - as children we are immediately encouraged to shake it off, stand up, and go on.
As an adult, I have taken great pride in moving on from the moment which could have destroyed me.
"Put one foot in front of the other,” my father would say.
Ironically it was his death which made this impossible.
Life altering events can and do happen - in fact, they happen A LOT! Yet while trauma to the body is quickly recognized, trauma to the soul is often dismissed, or at best, given a time limit.
In physical medicine, there are countless events which make it impossible for someone to return to their previous lives. No one would deny that. If you have a stroke. You’ve had a stroke. Your life has been altered. With treatment you may regain parts of yourself, but chances are, you will never be quite the same. Everyone involved understands this.
Likewise, after having a limb ambulated - no one expects you to reattach the missing extremity, not even after a year or two of grief. With time you may walk again. You may run - you may even compete in special olympics. You may ultimately be happier and more physically active that you had previously been. But your life will still be defined by before and after.
No one would argue that this isn’t the case. No one would look to an individual who has experienced physical trauma and expect them to be who they once were. Can you imagine saying to a lower limb amputee - “I’m worried about you. You just don’t walk like you used to”?
It would never happen. Visible forms of trauma are quickly recognized and accepted as life changing. The concept of a separate and distinct before and after is universally accepted, understood, and even anticipated.
How ridiculous to pretend this isn’t also true in mental health. Losing someone you love to suicide is a permanently life-altering moment. I wish our society understood this: I wish doctors and health care providers understood this. And mostly, I hope that you will find peace in this message.
Mental trauma can and does change us - permanently. Loosing someone you love to suicide will derail your life. In the blink of an eye, everything changes. There is no way to remain who you once were. It’s not a question of time. It’s not an issue of healing. And it is certainly not a personal failure. There is no amount of medication, counseling, or grief work that will restore any of us to our previous states. Once amputated, a limb can not be reattached.
There is only the acceptance of your loss, and the eventual recognition of this newly created before and after. Suicide survivor grief does not fade, instead it becomes a part of you. Ultimately transforming your sense of self, and way of being in the world. You will be happy again. You will find joy, and a reason to get up in the morning. Yet, you will never be who you once were. And that’s okay.
The grief will never leave you. And that’s okay.
Your loved one will never be forgotten. And that’s okay
Ten, even 20 or 30, years from now, you may still cry in the shower or while driving alone. And that’s okay.
Perhaps someday modern medicine will recognized that the effects of mental trauma can be every bit as permanent as their physical counterparts. But until then, I hope that you will find peace in knowing that you are not alone. And perhaps more importantly, that not feeling like your old self, or returning to your previous life is okay.
This new version of you will go on. This unflappable, grief carrying, don’t sweat the small stuff version of you, will someday be okay… maybe even happy again. So the next time a well-meaning family member or friend tells you “you just aren’t the same.” Be grateful, Revel in the progress you are making. And rest assured that you are becoming your “after”.
“After” is different, and that’s okay.
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