This week we welcome guest author, Linda Meyers, who talks about the trauma of suicide. Thank you Linda for taking the time to talk about the loss of your mother.
I was 28 and the mother of three little boys when my mother, age 52, succeeded in killing herself. I was devastated, but I was also outraged. How, I wondered, would it be possible to grieve the victim when the victim is also the perpetrator? There is no other death that presents that challenge. I questioned if I’d ever find relief.
There were other complications as well. When my mother was happy, she could be the life of the party. She was smart, funny and very pretty. However her difficult. childhood, the requirements of daily life and her marriage to an errant husband overwhelmed her. Like the flick of a switch, her mood would shift from light to dark and she’d become depressed and relentless. She would rant that my father and I would be the death of her. “You won’t be happy until I’m six feet under,” she’d shout. If she felt her admonitions landed on deaf ears she would threaten to kill herself, and when that didn’t work she would make an actual attempt.
I implored her to seek help, but she refused. I lived with the constant fear that she would act on her threats. There were times I was so beleaguered I feared that her accusations had become my truth and that my life would be easier without her. When she died, guilt and anger punctuated the loss—I could not feel one without the other. How could she leave her grandchildren? How could she leave me? And always the question, could I have done more to save her?
There is no template for dealing with the trauma of suicide. Some survivors are mute and never want to talk about their loss, while others, as was the case for me, need to talk about it all the time—it was the telling and retelling that made the unbelievable real. I kept quiet around the kids but welcomed the opportunity to share it with old and new friends.
My mother killed herself because she had literally come to a dead end. She was unable or unwilling to make the important changes in her life that might have given her a chance at happiness. The only way I could imagine giving meaning to her death was to change my life. I was determined that her fate would not be mine. Within the year after she died, I moved out of the city, began college, started a family business and left an unhappy marriage. I could not save her but I could save myself.
Linda I. Meyers is a psychologist and psychoanalyst in New York City and Princeton, N.J. She is the author of “The Tell,” releasing on June 5, 2018 with She Writes Press. For more information, visit http://thetellamemoir.com/
Thank you for writing this, Linda. You verbalized what I haven’t been able to. So much of your mother’s story mirrors my adult son’s story. At the age of 36, he too, as you so poignantly put it, “had come to a dead end.” He too was “unable or unwilling to make the important changes in (his) life that might have given him a chance at happiness.” He was just tired of fighting the depression and ensuing alcoholism, heartbroken about ruptured relationships, and finally a series of dashed hopes. As a mother of a suicide victim, I fight the choke hold of guilt, much more than my husband does. Mothers are so good at guilt even in the best of times. But your story reminds me to keep looking for a way to honor his memory.
First let me say how sorry I am for your loss—to lose a son to suicide is unimaginable. I’ve come to accept that when someone is determined to die there really is no stopping them. As I said in my blog post, to honor my mother’s death, I changed my life. Think of something or somethings that are wrong and do what you can to fix them.
It was 2 years today we had my husband ‘s funeral after he took his own life. The anger is so real for me. I’m not sure I have mourned the right way, because I’ve been so mad. (I know there isn’t a “right” way)
It seems to be getting a bit softer, but I’m still pissed.
I did finally remember just a short time ago he did love me. I had forgotten.
Hi E. Bell
First let me say that I am so sorry for your loss. To lose a child to suicide is unimaginable. If you are able, the best way I could imagine honoring his death would be to change what makes you most unhappy in your life. I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t want that for you.
Hi Sarah, The problem wasn’t that he didn’t love you but that he didn’t love himself. I’m sure that the seeds for that were planted long before you came on the scene.
On March 18th of this year, my 65 year old husband of almost 20 years, just six days shy of my 54th birthday and ten days before our 20th anniversary, shot himself in the head in front of me. He did not die immediately, he died in my arms while I fought to keep his airway clear of blood. My sister was visiting us, she called 911.
I came out of the bathroom to find him sitting on the side of the bed, gun in his right hand. He was crying. Sobbing about not being able to make me happy. I sat down to hold onto him, told him that I was happy, everything would be ok, not understanding what he was really talking about. He looked at me and put the .45 auto under his chin and pulled the trigger.
My husband had been in EMS for 40 years, me for 32. He was a flight paramedic, I an EMT. There was no warning. My husband was not suicidal. We had not been fighting. He did not have a mental illness. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in the family about having a problem. Our kids, all grown, are devastated. His siblings are as well. He was the oldest, and with both of his parents deceased, he had taken over being the parental. He never once complained, I should say, his two brothers and his sister are all gainfully employed and are doing well. Nieces, nephews, grandkids, aunts and uncles are all in shock. No warning.
I walk around in a fog most days. I can’t sleep. I have a wonderful family support unit that tries to help but they aren’t. I think most days that nothing will ever be ok, I’m living with my 82 year old mother in the house next door. I can’t even bear to be in my own home. I’m looking for help.
Hi Jess, What a God awful story. I can only imagine how hard it is to get up in the morning. Yes, you should definitely get help. Don’t put it off. There is no good reason to suffer in silence. I strongly suggest that you get the name of a good psychologist.
Thank you Linda. Our daughter took her own life last year. She was 49 and on the outside had everything – lovely house, 3 young children etc. She was a GP – a partner in the practice. Her husband was a high flying academic, who we knew was to say the least an oddball and the marriage going down the drain. She actually went to get a divorce, but never signed the last piece of paper, so she was technically still married. Her first attempt was unsuccessful, as she had signed herself into a hotel and the police had put out an alert for her. The second attempt was the same, but on the third attempt she was not found until too late.
We don’t feel angry at her, but we do feel angry that her call for help was ignored by the various medics who treated her after the 1st and 2cond attempts. She did not receive the treatment she obviously needed by them.
We also feel angry at her husband, as he has now alienated our grandchildren against us, by telling a load of lies about us. He manipulated our daughter’s funeral plans, so we finished up paying for the his flowers and then told the florist, she would have to wait for probate before he could pay her. We stepped in and paid for everything.
The pain is still on going as there has not been an inquest as yet nearly a year onward. Our daughter’s medical notes have been redacted 4 times by the health authorities and the coroner has now stepped in and said she was going to decide what would be in the notes etc. We have never been allowed to see them as her husband refused to allow us access. We have no idea when we may feel a sense of closure, if at all.
The pain we feel is she was a lovely bright, cheerful girl, who must have been brought to the depths of despair by a manipulative, mentally cruel husband and a health service which failed her in every sense.
Hi Sheila, I am so sorry that your grief is compounded by all the craziness that is swirling around you. It is all a nightmare. I hope that you are reaching out for professional help as no one should have to navigate your loss by themselves.
Thank you Linda. Perfectly said what I feel-
I was devastated, but I was also outraged. How, I wondered, would it be possible to grieve the victim when the victim is also the perpetrator? There is no other death that presents that challenge. I questioned if I’d ever find relief.
8 years later I still feel this way. Not every day, but on days/ months that my kids struggle with their loss, I absolutely go to such a state of hate, literal hate for what he took from my kids and I cannot hide this anymore, I hate what he took from my happy, silly, loving self too! Hate is an awful feeling it makes everything and everyone look shady in my eyes. I can only go on for so long when I have to pull myself out of this state and I’m very fortunate that I can and I do and seems my kids are doing the same with very hard work. Most of my days are happy and free and I enjoy them and love and share my fun silliness side. Someday I hope to not have so many shady days, I will not give up. Suicide from the person in your life that you thought would protect and love you forever is undescribable , the pain is so very conflicting that learning to live and move forward is challenging but also very doable if you stay true to who you are and take each step, feeling good or awful and honestly feeling it. If you can’t talk outloud about it, write it. Write as many journals you need to. Use as many Kleenex you can and do things that make you smile and laugh and you will start learning how to love yourself again and it will get you through to those grey shady days.
Thank you all for sharing and being real. The more we share the more we heal with time. I’m thinking a lifetime journey but this is what was handed our way and maybe we can help eachother along the way. We’re not alone when in your town you might feel that way.
Jess, I’m so sorry. This is so fresh for you. Take care of you and I know your pain at this stage and your shock is probably protecting you a bit. I’m thinking of you ❤️
Hi Shannan. I think your suggestions about how to cope are excellent. Journaling is a great idea.
I found my father minutes after he shot himself in the head. He was dying from cancer, but I had devoted my life to him and making sure he wouldn’t suffer. He asked me to stay with him and to check on him hourly, which I was doing. I don’t understand why he asked me to do that if he was going to end his own life. I understand that he was tired and afraid, but I feel like such a failure. I’m not angry with him at all, but I feel as if he was releasing me of my promise because I had failed him in some way. It’s been almost five years and I still have nightmares of that morning.