OK so this blog is evolving. Like everything, fog clears, pieces fall into place, what started as one journey ends up at a different destination. I have been reflecting, I do this constantly. I started off on a dream, then a quest, now I think I just have a story to tell. The story of what it is like to live every day with this ‘thing’ called grief, caused by someone, no not someone, my son, taking his own life. I will use any term other than ‘he committed suicide’ as this is so ugly, so brutal. I/we prefer, he took his own life, he died by his own hand, he passed away, I lost him!!!

Whatever happened I know he is not around anymore. I can’t talk to him, well I can but he won’t answer back. I can’t see him, only in photos now or in my mind’s eye. I can’t see his life evolve, see him grow and change and have children of his own. He hadn’t even passed his driving test and I don’t know if he was ever truly in love or had great sex. I don’t know anything except I miss him.

I decided that for the short term this blog will just be about what it is like, what it feels like to live every day with this grief.

For the most part I’m doing OK – if that is the right term. I quite often quote lines from Robbie Williams songs. ‘Suppose it’s just a point of view. But they tell me I’m doing fine’

I AM doing fine. I get up every day and put my face on, I go to work. I finally have a job I like, I have a lovely house, a new car and the cutest little dog in the universe.

I live exactly where I want to be. However, every day is a challenge, just as if I had a physical disability. Every day I square up to the day, and I face up to the many things that day that will provoke a memory or an emotion.

I’m going to get down to the nitty gritty now and this blog is going to tell it how it is. No frills, no pussy footing around. I’m going to tell you what it’s like to live with loneliness, guilt, pain and anger. I’m going to tell you how hard it is to live every day without my son, and with the knowledge that he didn’t want to stick around in this world.

I’m strong, and I will survive and maybe I’ll even be happy again, but it’s time to tell my story. 

This entry was posted in Grief, Healing, Loss, suicide, Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Evolution

  1. dale heath says:

    I know it is too hard some days to admit all those things that we feel from this tragedy called suicide. I have learned that my peace has all been from my faith in God but at the same time I have felt anger at God for not stopping what could have been prevented. It is a complex life now….filled with unanswered questions….filled with anticipation because I know, as a Christian, that my son waits for me in Heaven. The questions that haunt me here will have no significance when I die…and yet, it does not stop me from asking them….seeking…..always wondering.

    My son was a dreamer and an achiever….he was brilliant and creative…an intellect and a witty young man who could make everyone in the room laugh at his impersonations and his jokes. As his mother, who once upon a time did not have to share him with another woman…I saw his sensitive side…his caring personality and his distress over things that could overwhelm him at times. He was a young man who wanted the love of another woman besides mine…the kind that seemed conditional…whereas mine was destined to be since I AM his mother and I put no conditions on my love for him. It was a given….but the “love” from his wife was more about herself and what she would get in return for her “love” for him, It was a damaging relationship from the beginning…all those around them could see it….all of us but Brandon. He saw himself as her “knight in shining armor.” For awhile, that is what it was but then even a knight needs something in return….the armor began to rust. Brandon never complained about her but our observations of this train wreck became all too obvious right there at the end. Eventually, it was a duty to be her husband…someone who pandered to her every demand…..she was in constant need….she sucked the life right out of him…literally. It was her unforgiving words that was the last thing my son ever heard. I hope she is haunted by it as much as I am haunted by all the wondering that I do. I hope she is haunted by the sight, the sound, the last words…….

    To be raw with your emotions is to dig deeper into the already infected, weeping wound. I only wish I would have had some kind of intuition that could have prevented that dark impulse on March 6th 2009…he did not sit in a dark room with his finger on the trigger…no, it was in a rage over his wife’s accusations. (according to her) But, there was “evidence” in one drawing that was retrieved from the wall where it hung by the investigator….who claimed that is was “obviously” his suicide note. It was cut and dry…a done deal….obvious to that “keen eye” of someone who thinks they know everything. I wanted to vomit just listening to the arrogance of this “Sherlock Holmes” of a man….who thought he could make such assumptions not realizing the heart of the subject of whom he judged. I was repulsed and reviled….sick…..he was not going to care…and no one could make him. So “suicide” was stamped on the death certificate….and my husband and I were shredded without thought by an unfeeling entity that files away a life in a file cabinet somewhere in a dark dingy cellar. My “weeping wound” still weeping.

    The truth of this matter has yet to be revealed…and I wonder will it ever. In the mean time I have flashes of uncontrolled images if I think too long and hard about it all. I was not there that night but that does not prevent my mind from going into overdrive. It has been 3 years now and the stabbing pain from that awful dagger has been pulled from my heart only to leave a hole….a pulsating reminder that I am no longer whole. The painful truth is that I am without my precious son who was everything to me as any child would be.

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