As we head into the hopeful season of spring, guest blogger Nicole shares how the beginning of a new year affects her mindset as the survivor of her father’s suicide.
In 2017, I experienced depths of pain that are difficult to describe. I’m glad that year is behind me, but one of the most frustrating things I’ve been told lately is, “Don’t worry, this year will be so much better!” Yes, barring the tragic loss of another immediate family member, this rest of year will be less devastating. And while I am hopeful that it will bring more peace and comfort and healing, it will be difficult.
I’m still grieving, but now with less support. I’m dealing with trauma and navigating through complicated grief. Survival mode is shifting into a more permanent maintenance mode as the shock wears off and I adjust to a new normal here without my dad, but the pain persists. Multiple people have wished me the ‘best year ever’ and I know they mean well. But I want to explain that even if I won the lottery and moved onto a cruise ship for the next 11 months or got a job cuddling kittens all day, this still would not be the best year ever because my dad is missing. It’s an incomprehensible adjustment. And that word ‘adjustment’ sounds so passive. There are moments where I’m actively questioning the fact that my dad died, and cycling through all of the emotions connected to that is painfully hard work. Things are still unstable and unpredictable – and some days require a deliberate effort to keep moving forward.
Everything is different now. For a while, I was afraid that this traumatic experience was going to change me. I worried that I wouldn’t feel like myself after surviving this kind of loss and I fought that. I wanted to get back to my old ‘normal’ as soon as possible. In some ways, I have. But a year later, I can see that this experience has changed me and continues to change me, sometimes in unpleasant ways, but often in healthy and powerful ways.
Here are six ways I’ve changed in the wake of loss:
- I love so much more fiercely. I tell my spouse and my friends and family that I love them all the time because I really do.
- I’ve had a healthy priority shift. Work drama and day-to-day stressors bother me less because I see my life in more of a big picture way rather than a task list to manage.
- I don’t fear aging. I truly see aging as a privilege and if I’m fortunate enough to live into a late stage of life, I want to enjoy it as much as possible.
- I care less about appearances. I don’t agonize over a new gray hair and I hardly wear any makeup now. It feels so freeing. I feel more human.
- I care about documenting more. I wish I had more home videos with my dad, so I’ve found a passion in recording and editing videos of precious moments in my life (hello, baby nephew!) and I’m building a library of videos for my family.
- I prioritize my mental health. After losing my dad to undiagnosed depression, I’m committed to guarding my own mental health, and I’m more empathetic toward people who may be fighting battles I can’t see.
Sometimes it feels like this past year crushed my spirit, but I still consider myself to be a genuinely optimistic person. Mainly, because I know that’s what my dad wants for me. I feel vulnerable, but like I’ve shaken off a façade that wasn’t serving me. Now I know myself better than I ever have before. I know I’m not aiming to fly into the rest of this year with unfiltered joy. I couldn’t if I wanted to. Healing takes time. I don’t know what’s coming next, but I hope that my capacity for empathy and love will be even greater a year from now. I hope I feel better a year from now. And I hope everything feels more manageable for all of us.
Thank you for the hope this message brings me. I lost my only child (son) to suicide February 15, 2018, just as he was beginning his adult life at the age of 21. My future was his and looking forward to building memories of his accomplishments and new family beginnings that will never happen now. There are days I don’t feel I can handle the pain, guilt, regret, and questions any longer. I’ve always thought I was a pretty optimistic person, but this has changed me. Some good, some not so good. Your message gave me hope there can be a next year and embrace the love of others.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Chari. It’s hard to stop cycling through those complicated questions of why and what if after losing someone in such an unexpected and painful way. And it’s so painful to grieve a future. My grandpa lived until his mid-nineties so I feel robbed of all the years and decades I imagined I would still have with my dad here on earth. Lately, the thing that gets me through is knowing that my dad doesn’t want me to suffer. He doesn’t want me to dwell on the pain. I wish I had him here in person, but trying to shift my mindset toward hope for the future and gratitude for the years we had together helps. Thanks so much for sharing. I promise the pain gets lighter, just slowly and not all at once.
There are so many things about this post that I absolutely love and relate to! In 2017, I lost my grandfather and uncle to suicide. There deaths were about five months apart, and I was told by multiple people to simply make it through 2017. As though when the clock struck midnight on January 1, I would be magically cured from my grief because a new year was in the works. However, I felt the exact opposite. I couldn’t bare the thought of ringing in a new year without ALL of my family members there. Throughout the year, I have thought “this time last year we were doing…” Navigating the world and changing seasons without them is a constant reminder of their death, and I would agree that in the new year there is less emotional support.
I would even add to number 3 that I no longer fear death. In death, the wounds of loss would be healed, and I would see those that I long to hug and hold.
Thank you for sharing these incredible words. It’s nice to feel understood by others.
Thank you for your sweet comment, Kim. I completely relate to what you said about how navigating the world and changing seasons without your loved ones is a constant reminder of what’s missing. I wish everyone could understand what it feels like to live through this kind of loss, but I’m so grateful for this web site that connects those of us who have this shared experience. I’m learning that grief is not something that you cure or get past. At best, I think it’s something that molds you, hopefully, into a better version of yourself and, as you’ve said, someone who lives a less fearful life.