Three years ago today, I lost my father to suicide. As I write that I still feel this sense of disbelief as I question, “How could this have happened in my family?” It still just doesn’t seem real. So much has happened in just three short years after losing dad to suicide.
Being a survivor is now a part of my story. It is not something I would have chosen to be a part of my story, but I suppose we do not always want the hand that is dealt to us. Unfortunately, unlike poker you can’t really just “fold” and wait for a better hand. So much has changed since losing dad to suicide. This is a concept that is still very hard for me to accept. Death is quite interesting, isn’t it? Suicide especially. In one split second a life ends, and the lives of so many others are forever changed. In those first few weeks after losing my dad it felt like the world stopped. My entire focus was on his death. I do not think much was accomplished other than what really needed to be. My friends and family stood close supporting me in any way that they could. But then reality set in, and I realized that the world was continuing to turn, and life was moving on. His life ended, mine lived on.
Since the loss of my father, so much has changed in my life. My husband and I were blessed with the birth of our first child. We left the city of Chicago, and made the move to the suburbs; a move I never thought I would make. I obtained my clinical license in counseling, a goal that I worked many years to obtain. I left my job after deciding to stay home for a few years to raise my daughter. These are just a few of the monumental life changes that have occurred since losing my dad to suicide. I could write forever if I talked about the “normal” life events that have occurred since losing dad to suicide three years ago. It is still difficult to accept that he has missed not only the major life events, but the little ones as well. I still think about him during football season, a sport that always brought us close together. Although extremely girly, I am still the boy he never had. I chuckle when Jay Cutler throws yet again another interception. I know that my dad and I would have been texting, talking about how much we hate the guy. I have even picked up my phone before, quickly remembering that the response I would get from his number would not be from the man I called dad. His life ended, mine lived on.
It is difficult to not feel this sense of guilt when I think about all that has happened since losing dad to suicide. Here was this man in so much pain, so far into this black hole of darkness, that he felt that suicide was his only way out. I do not know why his life had to end that day. I do not know why he was unable to pull through the darkness. I do not know why some are able to come out of their darkness, and he never was. I feel guilty when I think about the happiness I have experienced since he died, almost as if I am not honoring him. Here is this broken soul who’s last act further proved the pain he was in, and what do we do? We mourn his death, and then go on living our lives. His life ended, mine lived on.
The guilt you experience as a survivor is overwhelming. It can consume you if you allow it to. I have dealt with tremendous guilt associated with my dad’s death. For the first year after his death, it truly did consume me. It not only changed the person I was, but changed my outlook on life. Luckily, it did not change who I was at my core. Three years after losing dad to suicide I can say that I am stronger than I ever imagined, and have this acceptance of what life truly is about. I have come to this realization that he did not end his life that night to prove to the world the depth of his pain. He left this world, because he could no longer live in the dark hole. He did not want to stop living; he wanted to stop hurting. He did not want me to stop living either. He wanted me to keep living. He wanted me to become the person he knew I wanted to be. He always recognized my strength, and saw someone that I don’t think I even knew was in there. Every call, every email, every card, and every text always ended the same; “Keep dancing” he would say. On December 27th 2011, my dads life ended, but mine continues to live on. I will continue to “Keep dancing.”
RIP Popi.
Our stories are very similar, I relate to everything in this article. I lost my dad on December 21st of 2011. Thank you so much for sharing.
Our situations and experience seem very similar. I’d love to talk further if you’re up to it. My first born just turned two. My father passed away when I was three months pregnant.
Feel free to email me at oursideofsuicide@gmail.com!
Thank you for this website and your post. Your description describes my wonderful husband. He described his depression as a dark hole. He begged God not to take him there, he tried so hard. He was on so much pain. The mental anguish was so unbearable for him. He may have committed the physical act but it was the disease depression that took my husband from us. He wants us to be happy and keep living. Thank you for your post.