I've attempted to write my story many times. To talk about the moment that changed my life. Not those two beautiful moments when my children entered the world and forever changed me, but the gut wrenching moment when my mother phoned to tell me my father had killed himself. I relived those moments a lot last week as the three year anniversary approached, including the last time I saw my dad and the day before his death which was his 65th birthday.
I think until now I always wanted to write about that day, what happened. But it isn't what happened that I need to share, it's the continuing grief. Three years later I'm still grieving, grieving hard. What I thought would get easier, has often felt more painful then those first few days. I fight with myself because I often think he doesn't deserve my tears, so I push them away until it hits me so hard I can't do anything else by cry.
In the beginning, I grieved the loss like anyone else. Tears, pain, confusion and questions to God. Grief is painful, and when you're in pain you just want it to stop. To try and help my healing I began to focus on what was good about him instead of this terrible awful ending I was left with. Focusing on that good helped me write his eulogy. I remember feeling so at peace after his service, like I was starting to move forward. An hour didn't go by before that darkness crept back in. Time was beginning to heal, but when the moments hit, they don't get easier.
What's hardest about suicide is that your anger and sadness compete with each other. I want to hate my dad for robbing me of the joy I should have had while carrying William. But then I'm so sad that he will never see or hold our rough and tough, but sweet and silly boy. What I'm realizing is that I just have work through the emotions and not push them away. Being vulnerable has always been hard for me. There is no plan, no map. I just have to trust that being open to the grief will ultimately lead to healing.