This past week marked seven years since my dad took his life. It also feels the furthest progressed in my grief journey because it has reached the point where I’m sure friends and family wonder if it’s too far along to say something anymore – myself included. How long do we go on speaking about THAT day, specifically? Are we supposed to? Is it awkward? Is it more awkward not to? We all know it’s there. In the back of my mind, I made sure that on the date, we did something nice as a family, which is what I know my dad would have wanted, too. In fact, we coincidentally had family pictures taken – something he loved.
Reintroducing a beloved element of her son Tom’s life is the theme of Kimberly Starr’s guest post this week and the reason why her reflection resonated so deeply with me. It’s always difficult to know how or when to revisit sentimental routines, but it usually equates to a feeling.
A Renewal of Sorts
When my husband joined our family, one of the first major projects we undertook was setting up an above ground pool in our backyard. It was small, maybe 12 feet across, but it played a huge part in our family’s summer life. Tim, Tom, LJ, and I spent many evenings that first summer splashing together as the sun went down.
A year or two later, we upgraded to a higher quality and bigger pool where our swimming shenanigans continued. In addition, LJ designed a deck to go around about a third of the pool, and we worked as a family to build it. Most days some combination of us could be found floating, playing, and splashing in the pool. As Tim, our older son, matured, he spent less time with us out there, so it was often just Tom, LJ, and me. We invented games, splashed each other, and floated in silence, bonding during the long summer days. LJ’s children and grandchildren occasionally joined us, bringing barbecue, music, and additional joy to our home and allowing us all to spend quality time together as one big family.
Tom, LJ & Kimberly
Of course with a pool comes work. The four of us would work together each May to clean the winter gunk from the small amount of water left in the bottom and set up the outdoor furniture on the deck in preparation for the summer’s activities. We could count on Tom to test and report the chemistry each day, and then LJ would add whatever combination of chemicals was necessary to keep it safe. Even with all of the work, swimming together in our pool was what I looked most forward to in the summer.
The year Tom died, LJ and I fell into depression as we processed our mid-March loss. May came and went and the pool sat with a few inches of dirty water and decomposing leaves as we did not have the wherewithal to face getting it ready for the summer without the boys’ help. But more-so, we could not imagine the pool bringing us joy in Tom’s absence. A year went by and the pool sat there, a testament to our sadness.
We live in a windy area, and the second summer after Tom’s death, a huge gust of wind picked up the nearly empty pool, turned it inside out, and dumped it over the top of the raised deck we had built. The pool was ruined – its supports bent out of shape – and we had to deconstruct the frame and cut up the vinyl into pieces small enough to fit into our garbage cans. The yard sat empty for a few years; the weathered deck around an empty space a gaping reminder of happier times.
This year, we decided it was time to put up a pool again. We made the purchase and spent many days and evenings setting it up as well as providing maintenance to the neglected deck. It was a lot of work, and there is still much to do to return the backyard to the beautiful and inviting space it used to be. But LJ and I have used the pool every night in the last few weeks, often recounting the happy memories from years before as well as talking about everyday things in our lives now. The boys’ absence is palpable, with Tom gone and Tim now a 22-year-old adult living his own life in another town about three hours away.
Yesterday afternoon Tim texted me and asked if the pool was up. I said yes, and moments later, he called and said he and his girlfriend would be coming down for a visit later in the day and to spend the weekend in town. I was thrilled! After they arrived, they ate a quick meal and then slid into the 90-degree pool water. We chatted, floated, and connected in ways which are not possible with our world’s ever-present technology.
It felt right, but not the same as when Tom was with us as the three of us are changed since Tom’s death.
As the sun set, the evening air turned chillier, but the water did not, enveloping us in warmth which we found we did not want to escape. The clouds reflected the sunlight and as I looked above me, there was a long narrow cloud filling the sky above us. It was an intense yellow, a heavenly beacon of reassurance from Tom that he is watching over us and always a part of our lives even in his absence. At that moment, I was finally able to enjoy the pool as I had in the past. I was able to joyfully say, “Hello, Tom” even while the tears streamed down my cheek.
Copyright, Kimberly Starr (2018).
Beautiful. You made me cry before the start of my work day!. It’s been 18 months since I found my dad after he had taken his life. I hope we can always do something special to celebrate the great life my parents provided to me & my brothers. Hugs to all who deal daily with being a survivor.
Thanks for this insight. Today marks 2 years since my son Eric has been gone. The pain is still so raw. Next week is his birthday. I’m still navigating the what when and how of this tragedy.
Hello Judy, I too lost my son Brett and it’s been 2 yrs and 4 months but seems no time at all. Yes very raw. I will never be the same. I would like to be connected to other mothers who have lost sons to suicide because it is a unique loss I think. It would maybe help a little to have others to communicate with who are experiencing that kind of grief. If you want to communicate you can write to me at lindylou325@aol.com.
I’m still navigating this tragedy too. It’s devastating in so many many way.
there is a facebook site called SOLOS that is geared toward who you lost- in our case our sons. When I get in those moments -which happens often you can post -ask advice-give support to others.
I lost my 14 year old son to suicide. The tragedy of finding him is a pain that will not go away. Its been only 2 years. I cry at any given moment i feel that impending doom. And this pain is unbearable. Only a survivor can understand.
The way i found him still flashes in my head and my tears are endless. Now i am experiencing extreme anger that i cannot control. I dont know why. I don’t know how.
Im lost. Its hurts so bad ive aged in 2 years. 8 have put a wall up and i have isolated. Depression sets in. If only i could see him one more time to have the chance to tell him how very much i miss him and to hold him until the pain goes away.
To Dylan Hunter
I lost my 14 year old son to suicide. The tragedy of finding him is a pain that will not go away. Its been only 2 years. I cry at any given moment i feel that impending doom. And this pain is unbearable. Only a survivor can understand.
The way i found him still flashes in my head and my tears are endless. Now i am experiencing extreme anger that i cannot control. I dont know why. I don’t know how.
Im lost. Its hurts so bad ive aged in 2 years. I have put a wall up and i have isolated. Depression sets in. If only i could see him one more time to have the chance to tell him how very much i miss him and to hold him until the pain goes away.
To Dylan Hunter
Thank you for sharing your story. Its been 2 years since my son Justin took his life. I have always loved our pool , floating on the raft while reading a book. Justin use to always mess with me , trying to tip me over, putting a dog on the raft, taking my book and reading it aloud. At times he would read the end of the book as I am plugging my ears. Now sitting on the patio, floating on the raft brings on a new feeling which has so much mixed feeling. I miss him picking on me, taking my book (if it aggravated at times) . I wish we had a Do Over Moment -just maybe the outcome would be different and Justin would still be here physically.
Hello Denice,
I too lost my son. His name is Brett and it’s been 2 yrs and 4 months but seems no time at all. I will never be the same. I would like to be connected to other mothers who have lost sons to suicide because it is a unique loss I think. It would maybe help a little to have others to communicate with who are experiencing that kind of grief. If you want to communicate you can write to me at lindylou325@aol.com.
I am finding it harder as time goes on to believe I will never see him again.. It’s devastating to all of his family. I miss him so much..
Im so sorry.
I know your pain.
Thank you for this article. Its been 4 months since my Dad took his life and I still find getting back to routines difficult. Glad to know I’m not alone and it does get better…..
It will 3 years since my best friend Cliff also committed suicide he survived our country I ask myself why couldn’t I seen this coming so I could have stop him from doing this I try so hard to be OK but I known him since I was 12years old now am 36years he was my first love of my life and only one that I will ever love there are days were I say am OK then a song comes on I start to cry or I see a familiar face and I start to cry I start all over again but I think to myself he watching over me everyday and I will see him in heaven when my time is up he waiting for me up there it still hurts but he around me giving me signs that he’s around so I laugh and smile and say I will be OK