Memories- Laughs and Tears

Today was another better day. Life seems to roll along, and I can roll with it.

I managed to smile, to laugh, without thinking of the sorrow of my dad and his final choice.

Then something happened. Sabian (12) went up to his room while I was busy cleaning up the kitchen from dinner..... he came back down and proudly showed his arm full of loot: "Mom, I found all the stuff Grandpa Dale gave me!" In his arms he held little model cars and trucks, a baseball mitt, ball. and mini harmonica.

Instantly, I fell into tears. trying to hide my pain from the boy standing beside me in the kitchen. This little man just lost his grandpa, I thought. He has watched his mom fall apart everyday since it happened, and I have to be strong now. I quickly looked away and tried to sound happy, while I told him how great those little treasures were. He told me he was going to put them up far away on a shelf, "They are worth so much now mom!" His voice was a voice crossed with both hope and deep sadness....How can he make sense of this? I wondered, just for a minute, how my dear child would fare carrying this weight on his shoulders for the rest of his life...his grandpa decided to die. He choose to leave us all. We weren't worth living for. How will this affect him? What about the rest of my children? The questions swirling through my mind could have driven me mad... but in this moment I chose to remember the truth of God's Word, that He tells us not to worry in Matt 6:27 "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?"
I choke back the tears, and have a conversation with my son about the precious gifts he holds in his hands.

What goes up.. must come down

Sacred memories- by Lyndie Sorenson

Memories are so sacred
also bittersweet
for with those sacred memories..
was your life left incomplete.

Some smiles and some heartbreak
a double-edged sword.
When you only have your memories
tears can never be ignored.

Memories are a blessing
also painful to one's heart,
for with those sacred memories
comes knowledge we're apart.

Living life without you
forever, will be hard.
To wake each day to memories..
leaves me feeling very scarred.

Most people are just clueless
that I travel down this road...
where memories are so sacred
to this tragic life bestowed.

In a moment grief can grab you
as your memories appear
a special smile or occasion,
an anniversary of a year.

I'm grateful for the memories
for the life that we did share,
although with those sacred memories...
in sorrow I must bear.

The poem above came through from a new group I am a part of- a survivor group.It's a group of people from all different walks of life, and backgrounds who have one painful thing in common.

Every time I say that word... "suicide" I want to cringe- to run away. But the more I say it, the more my heart is understanding exactly what has happened and what will be our struggle from now on.

The last 2 days were pretty good. Of course, tears fall everyday, but they seemed to fall less frequently the last couple of days. Just when I felt like there may be hope on the horizon, I was filled once again with sorrow, and not just sorrow but also anger. Unfortunately it seems to come out at those stuck living with me now.

I can't say why I have been so upset, only that there is a deep-seeded, deep rooted anger- at my dad for causing all this pain, at my extended family for not being supportive, at God- why me Lord?

Broken

When someone you love chooses to die, you are left broken into a million pieces. You want to pick up all the pieces and glue them back together again as quickly as possible. You yearn for normal. To feel normal, to see the joy in things again. To not have your mind consumed with the thought that this person is gone, and you didn't help them when they needed it most.

Last night I slept a little better although I was awakened after a strange dream that left my heart pounding. In it, I was walking through a cemetery with my family. I have no idea why we were there. All of the sudden laying on the ground was a baby- a dead baby. Everyone else wanted to walk past and leave it it be, it was none of our business, after all, but I couldn't. I stopped to touch it and felt a faint heartbeat- I started screaming that the baby was alive and tried to get others to help me.... I woke up startled.

Strange dreams like this have been haunting me at night since my dad died. But this one seemed too real, to close to home. Why couldn't I have seen through my dad's anger, to see that he was barley clinging to life? If only the clock would turn back and I could know the despair he felt, and I could have traveled there for a visit, or convinced him to come and live with us? Maybe then he could have seen that life was worth hanging around for.

My dad chose to leave, and he accomplished what he wanted to accomplish in those final minutes of insanity- shattering my life as a mirror shatters when dropped from a 2nd story window to the pavement below.

Am I beyond repair? Most certainly not. It feels that way today, but God promises me in Genesis 50:20 "You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good. He brought me to this position so that I could save the lives of many people." (NLT)

Proverbs 3:25 spoke to my heart today as I listened online to a Beth Moore study, "Have no fear of sudden disaster, or of the ruin that overtakes the wicked, for the Lord will be by your side,and will keep your foot from being snared."

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.