I'm a Survivor

Survivor.... it's a term that elicits a TV show about people who "survive" in the jungle, tough situations. It also brings to mind people who have been through something awful- like war, and survived. For me now however, it has a whole different meaning. The day my dad decided he would no longer live, he propelled me into a world I would have never chosen- that of a survivor. We are mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters, grandparents.... people who are experiencing, against our will, the aftermath of someone else's terrible decision.

I'm told that survivors most of the time have post traumatic stress disorder- the same thing our military suffer from once they return from war. I'm also told that because someone close to me has died this way, my family is 5X's as likely to have another person do this.

My goal as survivor, is to pick up the shattered pieces of my life, allow the Lord to heal and put them back together. To have as little trauma as possible passed on to my kids, and to not get swallowed into the deep dark pit of depression that seems now like it lurkes just beneath the surface of my skin ready to envelop me in the blink of an eye.

As a survivor, I have been unable to sleep. Instead I lay awake at night, trying to shut my mind off- the questions swirling around nearly drive me mad. "Why did he do it out on the porch? Why didn't he call to say good-bye, at least to his grandchildren who he loved so much? Why did he not leave a note of love, but instead of shear anger? Why wasn't I enough to live for?"
Once I fall asleep the dreams are no better. So far, I have dreamt that I am trying to push through a door- my dad on the other side of it pushing it closed. He yells at me and won't let me through. I wake up, and remember that this isn't a bad dream- it's my life now.

As a survivor, I am trying to live my own life, I'm not dead! It has however, been crossed with the ugly reality of being changed. I've been walking through the motions of living, but in my head- all the time- is the thought that my dad is no longer here, and he chose it! At the grocery store the cashier asks the common question, "How are you today?" and although I respond normally, although I want to yell out "I've never had a worst time in my life- my dad died by suicide- I don't know why he wanted to leave me!"

I'm also learning that suicide is something that makes people really uncomfortable. People don't know what to say or do and therefor they avoid talking to those left behind. I was pulled over while in UT dealing with my dad's death. My rental car was from one state, my license from another, and my address in still another. When the police questioned why I was in UT and I responded the reason- an awkward silence followed.

As a survivor, I need to talk about not only my dad's life but also his death. It helps my brain understand as I already know it has cushioned this blow by denial- it all seems not real. Talking about it helps my brain understand that this is real. My dad is really gone.

As a survivor, I will make it through this just as I have the other hard times in my life... relying on Jesus to give me peace. His word to me is a comfort, his hand always on me, his arms holding me tight.