When Happiness and Sadness Collide

There are moments in the aftermath of a suicide loss where happiness and sadness collide. For many years I felt conflicted when sadness appeared during times that should be happy. I tried to stuff the sadness down, not acknowledging its presence. What I found was by burying the sadness, I wasn’t able to experience the happiness. Why does it have to be happiness OR sadness? I have come to find out that it doesn’t have to be one or the other. You can acknowledge your sadness while also feeling happiness. They do not have to be seperate. This week, Elle shares her conflicting feelings after learning of a pregnancy only to moments later be told about her mother’s suicide. 

 

I will never forget the moment I was told my mom was gone. It was a sunny and unusually warm February afternoon. My husband and I rushed to the hospital straight from an ultrasound appointment where we had our 8-week pregnancy confirmed. The adrenaline was pumping as soon as I saw the text from Mom’s significant other: “Call me ASAP”. Mom had been hospitalized after a major manic episode just months earlier, but we all thought she was doing so much better, if not a little down about having to look for a new job. And I was pregnant! She was going to be a grandma! I plastered a smile on my face and tried to remain calm while checking out with the lady at the desk, my heart beating through my chest, after telling my husband to go call him. When I came outside, he was so upset and flustered he could barely talk. All he had told my husband was that Mom had “tried to hurt herself” and he was in the car following the ambulance to the hospital, we were to meet them there. The car ride from the midwives’ office to the hospital was the longest fifteen minutes of my life, so many emotions rushing through my chest – terror, anger, panic, paralysis. We arrived at the ER and gave the desk person Mom’s name. We were ushered quickly into a small room with sofas, chairs and heavy window treatments – I knew what this room was for. It was surreal. This couldn’t actually be happening.

Hearing that Mom was gone – forever, without saying goodbye, without warning – was like a giant bright white light exploding over everything in my line of vision. It was shock, disbelief, numbing pain, and clarity all at once. So this was it. This was how the story was ending, the story that began a year before when issues at work propelled her into the first major manic episode of her life, had her hospitalized for a week, and resulted in a diagnosis of bipolar disorder that she was unwilling to accept. Mom was simply an incredible person, anyone who knew her would tell you that. She was beautiful, poised, successful, intelligent, generous, and loving. As her only daughter I knew her differently than anyone, and from the time I was a little girl, although I didn’t understand it, I always sensed the pain within her. This is where the feeling of clarity came from when I got the news. Despite the crushing pain, there was a part of me that understood. It made sense deep inside my heart. I didn’t need a goodbye letter with an explanation. I know my mother. I know her heart, I know her struggles, I know her pain.  I am fortunate to have had a wonderful therapist since the time she was hospitalized, to have been educated about bipolar disorder and subsequently, suicide. I am fortunate to have the peace of knowing I did everything in my power to help and support her through her ordeal. And I know that my mother, if she made up her mind to do something, was not going to let anyone stop her. It was one of her greatest strengths that ultimately was her greatest weakness.

I worried about how this trauma and grief would affect my pregnancy, as did my family, friends, and healthcare professionals, but by the grace of God we now have a healthy 8-month-old son, Jack, who provides me with enduring strength to be happy and enjoy life in spite of missing Mom incredibly. Becoming a mother in the same year as losing my mother has been a lonely experience.

There are so many things I want to ask her, talk to her about, and share in the joy of motherhood with her. There hasn’t been one day since she died that I haven’t needed her. Does she think I am doing a good job? Is she proud of me? Tears fall from my eyes most nights that I rock my baby to sleep, imagining her doing the very same thing with me 30 years ago. Every milestone of Jack’s is bittersweet that she isn’t here to share it with us; she was over the moon excited to become a grandma. I feel as though I had something so precious ripped from me unfairly – the joy of seeing my mother become a grandma. The comfort that only a mother can provide as I made the immense transition into becoming one myself. I am still working on being at peace with the notion that she is here, but in her own way. Free of earthly pain and struggle. Selfishly, I want to see her, hug her, hold her hand, hear her laugh, and see the sparkle in her eyes that I know would be there every time she’d look at her grandson. I can’t wait for him to know her through our stories, photographs and memories, and for him to know how loved he is by her. Mom had my ultrasound appointment marked down in her calendar for Friday, February 17, 2017. The moment I heard Jack’s heartbeat for the first time, was literally the moment that hers beat for the last time. He was born on October 8, 2017, and thus we celebrated Jack turning 1 month old on Mom’s birthday, November 8. I don’t believe these things are coincidental. She knew my love for him would pull me through – and it has.

I will live with the grief for the rest of my life. Time does not heal wounds like this, but we learn to live with them. However, experiencing this kind of loss has made me a kinder, more understanding, patient and grateful person. I have an amazing circle of support through my husband, father, family and friends. I have many close girlfriends who have become moms recently too and are there to discuss every nitty gritty detail of motherhood, and we revel in all of its joys and struggles together. As a suicide survivor, other than that ride to the hospital, I haven’t felt anger towards my mother, although common. I’ve felt only compassion and grief for the deep suffering she must have endured, alone, because I know she would have never consciously chosen to leave me or her grandchild to be.

I desperately wish that she could have asked for help, let down her guard even just a little. I bet she does, too. Because of this, I’ve made it my mission to talk as openly about mental health and suicide as possible in hopes that I can encourage others to seek help if they are struggling and not worry that they will be judged, or worry that they will not be able to live their life to the fullest, which is sadly what I believe she felt. I hope to live my life in a way that honors her legacy of love and kindness that she showed to everyone who knew her. I hope that her limitless love for me comes through in the way that I in turn love my son. And I will forever be proud and grateful to be her daughter.