The halo effect of my dad’s suicide was felt again this week – nearly three and a half years later – during a visit to my hometown; it was the first time I made the trek since welcoming my baby daughter. In addition to introducing her to some relatives, we were holding her baptism at my family church. I cushioned our arrival time to allow for a quick visit to the cemetery to “introduce” her to my dad, as well. Leading up to the trip, I envisioned this as a happy and proud moment. After all, I felt he and my late grandparents had something to do with giving me this little miracle from above. However, I was surprised by how emotional the experience was. It turned out to be a rainy afternoon, so I left my husband and daughter in the car as I proceeded to his grave. This was probably best. My eyes immediately welled with tears as I said, “here she is, dad,” in my head. It just wasn’t right. He was supposed to be there for her arrival and for this special occasion in her life. I pictured him looking down from above, at his daughter, standing alone while cloaked in a fancy black dress and wool coat, and it all felt too somber.
When we arrived at the church, the emotions continued. A longtime church member was on hand to assist the pastor with the baptism. As I was showing off my baby to family for the first time, she whispered in my ear, “your dad would have been so proud” and I pretty much lost it. Of course she meant well, but it was ill-timed. It didn’t help that being at church reminded me of him in general. He was so full of faith and instilled weekly attendance in us from day one. He was even president of the church council and close friends with the former pastor. It only got worse from there as “Amazing Grace” was one of the songs sung during the service… There I sat in the front row, sobbing as if it were a funeral. It was one of the happiest moments of my life, but the cemetery visit, coupled with the saddish song and seating arrangement in the front row with the same people who were seated front row at his burial was very eerie. I was thankful to have my back to all the other attendees but so embarrassed at how things unfolded. At the end of the service, the same woman said, “I could see that was really hard on you.” I later learned she also made a comment to my aunt (his sister). Part of me felt like the woman experienced some sort of satisfaction in all of this – maybe to be able to share with others about the “drama” this suicide has caused our family? Or, maybe she did actually care and feel some sort of empathy towards us. Who knows? In any case, I just wish she hadn’t said anything. This is all part of the halo effect of suicide on family that can extend many years later. I dread the moments I actually have to explain to my daughter why mommy is upset or why she doesn’t have a grandpa on that side. But, hopefully that’s a ways off – and I do have plans in place for how we will address that.
The good news is that the rest of the evening was beautiful. We had a lovely reception filled with lots of cheer and were able to reminisce about holidays past. (I know THIS is what my dad would have wanted for us.) As for the (well-meaning?) woman? I just can’t give her the power or rented space in my head.
Has anyone ever uttered an unwelcome or untimely comment to you about your loved one?
My son passed in June of this year just 2 weeks after turning 17. My 14 year old daughter went to soccer camp as a freshman at the same high school where her brother would have been a senior. She had a girl come up to her and ask how he did it. Luckily my daughter had 3 good friends standing close by who closed ranks and chased the other girl off.
My husband has asked his 3 siblings twice to send us a text or an email once in a while (and even told them just to say something simple such as thinking of you, love you, etc) after 4 months of deafening silence from them. I finally heard from one of his sisters that she has learned that God has a plan and that my son’s death was part of the plan. Oh and God only gives us what we can handle. Never once has she asked how we are doing. I didn’t even answer her email and have heard nothing since. We did not attend Thanksgiving and will not attend Christmas with any of them either.
I have worked with damaged teens all my life – as a teacher, a youth worker and as a foster parent. It is with dismay that I see time and again these troubled and struggling young people will not access professional help. Their fear of stigma is too great. That is why I wrote Bent But Not Broken. It tells the story of one girl who is brought from the brink of suicide to health. During this journey she meets characters who embody the most common mental health issues faced by our young people today. In Australia, suicide is the single biggest killer of our under 25s. Yet we are not allowed to talk about it. I do not have even one client who has not been directly impacted by suicide. It leaves a hole in the fabric of friends and family that can never be filled. I believe that we all must be brave enough to have this conversation with others. If we all use our compassion, empathy and active listening skills we might, just might, keep someone safe for one more day.
I lost my Dad the very same day we were finding out the gender of our baby, I was 4 months pregnant. My Dad wanted me to have a girl more than anything and I was so looking forward to sharing the news with him that day. I always think to myself…”just one more day would have saved him, he would have loved this baby girl”. He killed himself in the morning and I had to go to the doctor that afternoon.
I can’t even describe how hard it has been finishing out that pregnancy, going through all the postpartum issues, maternity leave and raising her without my Dad around. He was so involved with my first child that it’s been pretty much unbearable. I can’t even tell you how many times I have taken her to the cemetery in tears just wishing he could hold her in his arms.
Not having Grandpa around for my kids is so terrible. My oldest remembers him but it makes me so sad that my youngest could have had the best grandpa ever but he decided he didn’t want to be here any longer.
I am so sorry for the loss of your dad. I can’t imagine how difficult that day was for you. I continue to wonder how the topic of my dad’s death will come up in this family.
Really sad. I too lost my dad to suicide it was three years in July just gone, I had a one year old and a 4 month old baby at the time and when I look back I find that time hard to remember cause I was so consumed with grief. My dad was a professional singer and self taught saxophonist very handsome and talented. I wish too he would have talked he was 63 , my family what’s left of us has fallen apart since. I try each day to understand but never ever will.