Two Year Anniversary of My Dad’s Suicide

Today is the two-year anniversary of my Dad’s suicide. I can’t believe he died two years ago. Two years is a long time, and I am pretty sure that I think about him all day, every day. He’s always on my mind…not in a crazy way, but I just always think about him. When walking around PetsMart with my Dog yesterday, I saw a “Tommy Bahama” clothing line for dogs and thought of my Dad who loved that brand. I think of him whenever I drive on the Dan Ryan and pass Comiskey/US Cellular. I think of him whenever I see someone wearing an A. J. Pierzynski jersey, a weird Hawaiian shirt, or anything with pigs (as his nickname was “Pig Tom”).

I get sad when I see other father-daughter couples out to dinner, or when my friends bitch and complain about their parents. I miss just being able to talk to him whenever. He was the type of Dad that you could text/email at any point, and we talked every few days.

This anniversary is different than the first anniversary. For the first one, I had a lot of anxiety leading up to the day. From talking with other survivors (Becky and Jessica included), this is common—and not just for the anniversary, but for any big “first” event (holidays, birthdays, etc). It’s like I was waiting for some impending doom. And it was not just a little stressor—it took up a lot of my time worrying about what that day would be like. How would I feel at exactly the time that he killed himself? I didn’t know so I obsessed about the day.

One thing my counselor recommended for me do was to do something to acknowledge the day—this could be something little like lighting a candle, listening to a song that reminded me of my Dad, going to the cemetery or just doing something that reminds you of that person. A friend I know from LOSS used to read birthday cards her Dad gave her before he passed away. By physically doing something and acknowledging the day, you’re giving yourself something back—you’re letting yourself completely acknowledge the day. It takes it from just a mental thought to a physical action.

At first I didn’t really like this idea. I don’t like going to the cemetery, even to visit my parent’s graves. It’s just not something that I connect with (and even before my parents passed I didn’t get anything out of it when visiting Grandparents). I don’t feel any closer connection with them there than I do anywhere else. What I did do on the first anniversary was talk about my Dad’s death with my good friend Chad (whom I carpooled with to work). Up to this point I don’t think Chad knew how my Dad died, and I remember on the car ride home (driving by White Sox) and just talking about his death. I don’t think I gave too many details, but just to say it out loud felt like such a relief. We stopped at a small restaurant on the south side and got take out dinner; my Dad worked all over the south side of Chicago and I knew this was a place he would have loved. I remember getting home and just sitting on my couch, feeling so relieved that the day was finally here, and I was enjoying good food at a place I know my Dad would have liked. It sounds weird, but for me, that was enough acknowledgement I needed at that time.

Since his one-year anniversary, I have acknowledged him in other ways. On Thanksgiving, I lit two candles, one for my Mom and one for my Dad. I also put out a bowl of gravy near one of the candles, as my Dad loved gravy. My mother in law placed a biscuit near the gravy as well. It was something small that I was able to do to bring him in to other important days.

 

 

Leading up to the two year anniversary, I haven’t had the anxiety I had last year, but I have felt more sadness and the desire to talk with him has been much greater than it was last year. Today I am hosting a baby shower for a friend, and even that on this day makes me sad as I know my future children will never know their Grandpa.

For me, I think I’ve done several things in the past month that have let me talk openly about my Dad and let him be a part of my life. Writing this post has let me process this anniversary and reflect on how far I’ve come since his death, and even since last year’s anniversary. I also went out to dinner with my Dad’s ex-girlfriend Jill this week. Her and my Dad broke up several years before his death, but we stayed friends. She is a very spiritual positive-thinking person and for me, it’s so good to have that in my life. At dinner the other night I was able to freely talk about my Dad, about some of the details of his death, and then hear from her positive stories about my Dad, how much he loved me, and how she knows he’s in heaven. Having those discussions with someone who loved my Dad and still thinks about him often really helped me mentally going into this two-year anniversary.

Last night I also had dinner with Becky, Jessica and all of our husbands. Just being around them—even if we are not talking about the blog/LOSS/our Dads is just reassuring.

The last thing I’ve done which has helped keep a connection with my Dad and remembering him is registering for the AFSP’s (American Foundation for Suicide Prevention) “Out of Darkness Walk”. Quoting the site, “The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention is at the forefront of research, education and prevention initiatives designed to reduce loss of life from suicide. With more than 38,000 lives lost each year in the U.S. and over one million worldwide, the importance of AFSP’s mission has never been greater, nor our work more urgent.”

They hold walks all over the U.S., and myself and other friends and family will walk in my Dad’s memory on October 26 in Chicago. Please check out the link and register for the Chicago walk, or check the schedule to see if there is another walk in your hometown.

One of the things that reminds me the most of my Dad is when I see these floss sticks around on the ground. My Dad was OBSESSED with these. In every room of the house there were small cups of these things. Some people think of their loved ones when they see pennies, well my husband and I think my Dad is with us when we see these floss sticks lying on the ground. This one pictured below was at my feet when I left my condo the other day.