Diary of a Suicide Survivor

This week marks my sixth year as a survivor of my father’s suicide. On the day, I faced a heavy schedule of work meetings, which didn’t leave much time for doing something specific or dedicated. However, I did go back and read all of the posts I’ve shared on my dad’s death day with the intention of observing how my grief has evolved. I found the process interesting and thought I would outline my diary of survivorship six years in with excerpts from those posts.

One Year In

Emotions, tears and my somber state were running high. It was within year one that I hit my personal rock bottom, where all I can recall is living each day in a heavy fog. For all I know, the weather could have been warm and sunny, but all I can picture from that time is clouds, cold and rain.

I specifically remember trudging to work each day armed with a snarky excuse should anyone dare question my inattentive performance (e.g. “Well, my dad was found dead in a public park and I was the last to know, sooooo…”). I recall telling my counselor that if an anvil happened to fall from the sky onto me, much like in the old Road Runner cartoons, then so be it. I knew deep down that this was not a healthy way of thinking and after wallowing in it for some time, I did my best to pull myself together and work through the thick of my grief. I couldn’t let my dad’s suicide “win.”

From Bitter to (A Little) Better During Year Two

As the fog thinned, I was met with more clarity and the occurrence of significant life changes. My mom finally sold our childhood home after a year on the market. I got a new job and traveled internationally, soaking up every ounce of this precious life.

Shock lessened but revealed continued disbelief that I was living in this nightmare of reality. I wrote,

bitterness has been a predominant emotion over this time. I’m bitter sometimes about the fact that I now have something undesired – suicide – to invest so much of my time to.

Coincidentally, I had caught a segment on the ‘Today Show’ during which Kathie Lee Gifford spoke about the tragic loss of a family friend. She said that it’s really easy to become bitter when you concentrate on what you’ve lost, but you slowly start to become better when you shift your focus to celebrating and nurturing what you still have.

I have made efforts to really concentrate on those people I do have in my life, making plans where I used to casually say, ‘we should get together sometime.’ I accept invitations whenever I’m able. I make more phone calls than I used to… On the whole, I have a better appreciation for the notion that life is short and could change at any moment.

Year Three: Exploring Paths to Healing

Left with only my thoughts and the unfortunate truth that my dad died by suicide, I started to roll up my sleeves and fixate further on the “why.” Why did I mistake suicidal depression for a “slump?” How long had this been on his mind? Could I have done anything to stop it?

All of this left me one terrified, on-edge and anxious person. I’ve over-compensated a bit. Maybe I’ve become too vigilant. Not just about suicide, but about anything that could catch me by such surprise and despair again.

Throughout this time, I’ve been seeing a counselor, I’ve tried bereavement yoga, I’ve tried acupuncture and most recently – hypnotherapy. But, that huge, invisible backpack of grief is still there on my back. Sure, I’ve learned some skills on how I can cope through harder times and how to try and calm my own anxiety. But, the fact is, I will never be the same person I was before this happened.

Time has helped to take away the sting and that initial, hopeless haze I felt in the early days. I laugh and smile and am able to appreciate the beauty in life. All of the things I’ve experienced in these three years (from my marriage to the jobs to the house and baby on the way) have brought me more joy than I could have imagined. But, I’m going to keep proactively exploring these various forms of therapy and treatment because I also need to be vigilant with myself (in addition to watching out for others).”

An Older And Wiser Survivor in Year Four

I hadn’t planned on doing anything of significance to mark the four-year anniversary of my dad’s suicide. I tend to think it’s better to focus on happier occasions, like his birthday or the holidays we enjoyed together. I also realized I’ve learned a lot:

• Sometimes, the best way to honor someone is to simply to continue carrying on small pieces of their personality or memory.
• For me, it feels ok to not have a plan in place for birthdays, holidays, etc. and just let myself do whatever feels natural for the occasion.

Late in the day, I did decide to visit a bakery for one of my dad’s beloved chocolate eclairs and tried to find laughter in the fact I did it with my baby in tow and that a man asked if he could finish my half-eaten treat.

Appreciating How Far I’ve Come

Last year, I actually used the word grateful in a post. I am appreciative of things that have gotten me through to this point.

I am a firm believer that there is no end to the grief journey or cycle. I still have days where I am angry or sad and sometimes still don’t think I have fully accepted what happened. I’m pretty sure this is a road I’ll be on for the rest of my life. When I used to attend support group meetings, I’d find myself wondering why people were still attending 5-10 or more years out. Now I completely get it.

And Today…A Survivor’s Advocate

It’s been a labor of love to continue coming back here every day and choosing to speak about the one second of my dad’s life that was extremely traumatic and shocking. Yet, as I look back at where I was that first year even up through to today, I see how important it has been for me to have these outlets to be open and talk about my experience. To know I’m not alone. To find people who understand and offer their own experiences back. There aren’t a tremendous amount of resources out there for survivors of a suicide loss and I never want anyone to feel alone or silenced in their grief. I am thankful that you also choose to listen and perhaps find some comfort in our reflections.

Even after all this time, I still think about what happened nearly every day.