Real thoughts and real conversation about the seduction of suicide following a child’s death.
You may recognize more than one of these internal scripts:
- I have failed my child.
- I can’t live without seeing my child’s face.
- I can’t live in a world where my child is a statistic now.
- No one needs me now. My life has lost purpose.
- My future – as a mother, as a father, as a step-parent, as a grandparent – died with my child.
- I have regrets for things not said/done/realized before the death.
- I should have prevented it.
- I am alone. Other people grieve, but cannot share MY grief or make it less. They do not understand the depths of my grief.
- My energy is gone. My will to live is gone. All around me, I see and feel the sadness and emptiness.
- The world failed me. God failed me.
- I am only living now for my other (children, spouse, partner, family, friends, profession). I am no longer living a life worth living for me.
- I failed my child. (It usually begins and ends with this).
This dialogue around the question “why live?” is the best I can manage.
I am alone.
You are not alone. You are there and I am physically in another space and time, but we are together now, and I am reaching out to you.
I want to die. My soul was lost alongside my child’s physical existence.
Your death will not mediate another death. It will, however, contribute to the grief already in the world. Please reconsider.
The rest of the world is not my concern right now. The absence of my child in my life is my focus and reality.
Time is a dimension. Is there is a psychic energy that outlives death, in another dimension? If so, the possibility of eternity takes new meaning. You may have eternity to be with your child in your future. You also may have a purpose and meaning for your life and journey in the here and now.
I don’t believe that. Even if I want to, my pain prevents me from hoping for anything now. I hoped and expected to be buried before my child.
We all hoped and expected that. And there are many of us here now, with you in spirit and in pain, but still present to be here with you. We are asking you to step back from the edge for today. For this morning, this afternoon, this evening. Whatever time brings you to the edge now. Please step back.
I can’t do this. I can’t bear this any longer.
You can. It is a choice for you. No one can think clearly from a position of pain. We respond, instead, reflexively. This hurts – make it stop. You need time to grieve between the loss and scarring. The suffering, misery, heartache, sorrow, anguish and nothingness will diminish, but that is too far ahead for you to see now. So focus on this minute. Step back from the edge and chose to live this minute and you can do it. You can. Choose it.
My child is dead. I can’t believe it. I can’t process it. I can’t accept it.
What you feel is the finality of a door slamming shut. It stuns, shocks and bewilders. The door is death. I see the death, too, like a door in a door frame. Turn the door it its frame sideways. What is on the other side of the door? Nothingness? Happiness? Reunion? What are you seeking?
Anything would be better than this. Even nothingness.
Step back from the edge. If you lack faith, you are seeking it, even if it is only a questioning about what lies on the other side of the door. Here is a beautiful expression of my faith: When you come to the edge of all the light you have known and are about to step out into the darkness, faith is knowing one of two things will happen… there will be something to stand on or you will be taught how to fly (Richard Bach).
This moves me toward the Footprints in the Sand assurance: A person is walking on a beach with God; they leave two sets of footprints in the sand behind them. [Says Wikipedia:] “Looking back, the tracks are stated to represent various stages of this person’s life. At some points the two trails dwindle to one, especially at the lowest and most hopeless moments of the character’s life. When the person questions God about this, believing that God must have abandoned his follower during those times, God gives the explanation: ‘During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you’.
If you can’t find faith in a higher authority right now, can you find the ground to stand on, the permission to be carried, or the wings to fly above this misery without abandoning yourself and your next purpose? It sounds easy and patronizing, even borderline intrusive to ask you, but I know it is hard. I ask you sincerely to try.
I don’t know….
You don’t know. Step back from the edge. You can. Choose to step back and if you have nowhere else to put your trust, put it in those of us who continue to do this day after day. We are here and we have scars, but we have love and light in our lives again, too. If not healing, we promise you scarring. And we keep our children’s memory alive and their presence real in the world with every breath we take. Please. Step back from the edge.
Contact the author for permission to link or post; copyright 2009: Jody Glynn Patrick
the comments about the seduction of suicide describe my messed up feelings after my darling son died. I have 2 other sons to live for but what if something happens to them? I am terrified.
By: kate on 02/18/2011
at 5:42 PM
I understand. I am still terrified, after adding grandchildren to the mix. If something now happened to one of them. But we live for them when we can’t live for ourselves — the footprints in the sand idea — and let ourselves be carried during those moments of terror — whether by God, if that is your faith, or by those you love. The moments of terror will space out until they are maneagable. Hang on. And we will understand, I believe we will someday, why we are called to continue when our children have gone. I have to believe we will someday understand the journeys, Kate.
By: jodyglynnpatrick on 02/19/2011
at 2:37 AM
I am terrified for my 3 other children as well…
By: bonni on 02/26/2011
at 4:02 PM
Bonni,
I understand exactly what you are saying. I hear you. How long ago did your son die? I realize it could be a day or a year or 10 years and these feelings do not change quickly. Your other children do need you — they are traumatized by this death as well. But you do not need guilt — you need help to sort this all out. Can you afford (not only financially, but mental as well) to speak to a death counselor? Better yet, can you afford not to?
I’m here for you, Bonni. Many of us are here for you. Do you have someone there for you, too?
Jody
By: jodyglynnpatrick on 02/27/2011
at 11:06 PM
I feel like there is nothing left to me or for me now that my son has died by suicide. I feel I have failed and I stay here only for my other children but I feel I am failing them too. I want nothing more then for the day to come that I can lay down and die and be buried besides my son. I just do not want to be here anymore.
By: bonni on 02/26/2011
at 3:57 PM
The pain never goes. Although there are periods where I think it might have. Only to return to haunt.
I can be normal for a while and then the anger wells up,
and I am useless.
Much to live for, so many others to love – this helps.
But my God, when my time comes, I won’t ask why.
My pain at first was a selfish one, I couldn’t help my little ones. Their father was an angry shell. I was there, but not helpful.
So now the anger subsides and I am left emotionless. There are others who have suffered worse, much worse. But I’m told this does not help to say. But how else do I gain strength, if not bolstered by the courage of others.
Thank you for a place to say something.
By: Neil on 03/29/2011
at 6:02 PM
Our beloved son died suddenly and extremely traumatically 6 months ago. We have just been to the garden centre. Christmas displays, Christmas cards, overwhelmed me. I realised we will never buy a “Son” Christmas card again, or enjoy Christmas. We all loved Christmas, but my son has gone and we feel we will never enjoy anything, especially Christmas again. I want him back. I cannot live without him. My husband just found your site for me and it has helped. Thankyou so much, Chris
By: Christine Gee on 10/27/2011
at 10:08 AM
Christine: I lost my young (9 years old) daughter two years ago, also extremely suddenly. I felt the same way as you for that first Christmas, and the next. Now we’re looking toward our third Christmas without my beloved little angel. I won’t say it gets better — nothing on Earth or in Heaven will make it “better”. But I will tell you that there are glimmers of hope in the middle of the sorrow. Life does continue, and over time it starts to feel “normal” again — there are even opportunities for joy. They are different, and bittersweet. But they are there. You will live without him, even if sometimes you don’t want to at first. It sounds corny, I know — I didn’t believe a word of it that first year, either. But our loved ones long for our happiness. Go ahead and be angry this Christmas. For this year, close the shades and watch Spongebob, if that helps. Order Chinese food and play a hundred games of Solitaire. But know that, if you give yourself space to heal and if your treat yourself with as much love and patience as you would show him, all your Christmases won’t feel like this forever. Have faith. Much love from one grieving mom to another.
By: Beanie on 11/15/2011
at 11:21 AM
Dear Beanie, I am so so sorry that you have lost your little girl, thank you for replying to my letter even in your own grief.
I did get through my son’s birthday in December, although I still start to shake when I think that he will be that age forever.
I also got through Christmas with the help of your kind words and my family including my younger son, who is also grieving for the older brother who was always there and has now gone. This is what grieves me the most – the completeness of the loss – the finality of it, and the utter helplessness I feel in not being able to bring back my son. It is a mother’s job to keep her son safe but I failed.
I especially liked your phrase “opportunities for joy” I did find some over Christmas. We had never had Christmas lunch at my younger son’s home before and it was lovely to do so for the first time – he and his family gave me such joy, they were so kind and thoughtful.
From one grieving mom to another, you, more than anyone else, can really say “I understand”. Thankyou for helping me, Chris
By: Christnei Gee on 01/24/2012
at 10:06 AM
My 10 year old daughter was murdered on september 5th 2011. Her father abducted her and murdered her, his other 3 year old daughter and killed himself. I was working really hard on my grief until these past 2 weeks. My mother became incredibly ill with cancer which spread to her brain, she died sunday and her funeral was yesterday. I don’t understand where they went. Why can’t my daughter send me a message letting me know that she is safe and that some part of her still exists?
By: rae on 12/03/2011
at 1:08 AM
Rae, this situation that you have had to face would be overwhelming to any rational person. And I understand your desire to have validation that it isn’t the end — of your relationship with your daughter or your mother. What you are asking for — proof — is a reasonable and honest expectation, especially to those of us who do believe that the energy (soul) continues after the physical body stops functioning. I believe, and time will bear me out, I know, that you will get the message. It may not be in the form you are expecting, or at the time you are expecting. For now, take the message from others. Read the posts, if you haven’t already or if you are ready to do so now, that address this on my blog site. Sometimes knowing OTHERS have had the experiences you crave gives them weight and can help you understand that what is true for one person might be true for you. We don’t understand the dynamics of thought or energy transfer, but we do believe that love/energy does not die with a physical body. People who share my beliefs (and many, many death counselors and scientists do, and many bereaved parents have shared stories supporting it) get to a point where they accept it as true without needing proof. We provide a quiet, introspective landscape. “If I believe that happened to her, then I believe it as an option for me” during that time when we are too emotional to receive messages, or our loved one is not able to send one for whatever reason. And, I’ve found, whenever we reach that plateau truly and not artificially, messages begin to be transmitted and/or received. But just as some people are better at hearing musical tones, or better at discerning colors on the spectrum, you may need help understanding the message or even getting it initially. We can be trained in how to recognize a bassoon’s notes in a symphony production, for example, though separating out one instrument from all the noise in the room doesn’t come to us naturally. Unfortunately, there is no educational degree like “MD” to identify people more attuned, but they do exist — and so do fakes who can drain a bank account quickly based on your emotional dependence on them and a few hints you have unwittingly delivered that they capitalize on. My advice is to find comfort in your beliefs alone at this juncture, and to know that you are still connected to them. Then, when you least expect it, I believe you will find the door you are seeking or hear the knock.
By: jodyglynnpatrick on 12/03/2011
at 12:45 PM
Rae: your story made me cry. I’m so sorry. To lend additional credence to what Jody has said, though: I have found, as my grief has waned from those horrible first few months, that I can feel my daughter close-by quite frequently now. As first, she would only appear in dreams, and then so acutely that it would upset me terribly. Now, she is a companion, a mature spirit who sometimes walks by my side and who gives my heart tremendous peace. I don’t “see” or “hear” her in any sense that we think of those words in life, but rather, I simply feel the presence of her spirit. And it’s not a “woo-woo” ghost-type of thing. Just a calmness and a profound sense of love. I hope your experience is similar.
Hang in there. It gets better. My heart reaches out to yours.
By: Beanie on 12/06/2011
at 4:08 PM
My son killed himself and now i want to die
By: Juliena Darling on 01/10/2012
at 4:53 AM
Juliena, I understand. Your feeling is quite understandable. This, however, is my response: As you said in your other comment in the Anew section, live moment by moment for now, even without enthusiasm or desire. Dying may or may not release our pain — I’m not that wise to know this answer — but I know it shifts our burdens to those remaining, just as your son’s pain may or may not be present now in his plane of existence, but his pain doubled when it was shifted to you. Every action causes a reaction. Now is the time to not react, but to just be, moment by moment, until you can live hour by hour, and then day by day. It will happen, and this is not an abandonment of your child, when it does happen, or of your love for your son. It simple is survival. And then, eventually, a laugh. And after your guilt over that, a joy brought to you by another loved one. You can live, moment by moment. Thank you for reaching out to talk to me; I am here and reaching back to hold your hand and pull you, ever so slightly, a little bit back from the edge. We are here for you, this community. Tell us about your son.
By: jodyglynnpatrick on 01/10/2012
at 9:32 PM
Dear Juliena, please never feel alone because there are others out there who understand the dreadful dreadful pain, grief and isolation you are going through.
Our beloved son took his own life in April, 2011. It was sudden and traumatic and almost broke me. At the time I felt the same way as you do but what stopped me was the thought of the pain the people left behind me would feel. There are people around me who are also devastated and I just couldn’t bear to make it worse for them. It has been very hard to go on but I think that while I am alive my son still lives on because part of him still lives on within me. I want to live for him; I want to do good things in his name; I want to make a difference and attribute it to him.
My younger son set up a website in memory of his brother and it gives me a lot of comfort to see the tributes and realise that my son lives on in the memories of so many people. Things like the replies from this website comfort me and help me to go on living. I sincerely hope you find the strength within you to go on living too, because people do understand, and they do care.
By: Christine on 01/24/2012
at 10:46 AM