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| We do not write in order to be understood; but write in order to understand... C. Day-Lewis |
My writings are my memories or reflections and may vary from what others remember during that moment. I have found that the intensity of my grief does influence my ability to remember, so please keep in mind that many of the words you read here are written during times of mind-numbing grieving. |
| THINGS I WISH I HAD DONE DIFFERENTLY... |
I have felt such tremedous guilt and blame over Wayne's death. It is so easy to get overwhelmed by looking back and seeing so many things I wish had done or said differently. It can literally sink one into deep despair and feelings of failure as a parent. This simple list is something I have created to help myself. It allows me to say, 'yes, there are things I did wrong and these are only a few of them.' But in my mind, these were some of the more critical items...and maybe this list can help some else too.
Things I wish I had done differently as Wayne’s Mom:
Ø LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN! – There were too many things that Wayne said and did that I acknowledged as typical teen rebellion or anger. I learned too late that he was giving us warning signs of possible depression…and even his suicide.
Ø SAY I LOVE YOU MORE – You can never say “I Love You’ too many times. I am glad I always made the extra effort during disagreements of while disciplining to tell Wayne that I may not like his actions but I would always love him, no matter what.
Ø MORE TIME WITH WAYNE– He was so funny and really enjoyed time with the ones he loved. Being a single parent, working and going back to school was exhausting. I did not realize how much it took away from him. I now see that maybe some of the things I thought I was doing to better his life..could have been postponed awhile longer.
Ø MORE INDIVIDUAL TIME WITH WAYNE - We did things together but as he got older, it became less common. I wish I had been more forceful by making plans and getting him involved in doing things together. Once again, I thought ‘typical teen’. How wrong I was!
Ø EARLIER FAMILY THERAPY - It helped our communication skills with Wayne plus supported our position in the parental role. Even the times when Wayne did not agree with the therapist, we gained knowledge and advice for different situations and in general.
Ø UNDERSTOOD THE POSSIBLE EFFECTS OF DIVORCE – Wayne was so young and seemed to recover from the turmoil of the divorce and the couple of years before it. I took it for granted that he was OK. Maybe because he was so young I was hoping he would not remember much about that time. Through family therapy, we learned he had a great deal of repressed anger and hurt from the divorce which was beginning to manifest in his behavior. And because it was painful for him, he was fighting to keep it pushed down inside, creating a battle within himself.. I never dreamed he was going through such turmoil and anguish.
Ø BEEN MORE FORCEFUL IN HIS SCHOOL PERFORMANCE – Wayne was smart. When he applied himself or if it was a subject he really enjoyed, he had no problems in school. When his grades began dropping and assignments not being turned in, I relied on the schools for support. Some years, I found it with the counselors and teachers. I would meet with them at least once every grading period and Wayne would be included. As he got older, there was more of a feeling of ‘he needs to learn to be independent and responsible.’ I even had one teacher tell me ‘Wayne is not a problem because he is not a behavior problem.’ I was extremely angry at that time but did not push with that teacher or even report his comment to the counselor. (Which I have done since Wayne’s death). The first year and half after Wayne moved to his Dad’s, I contacted the school counselors and spoke frequently with them. But in the fall of 2003, I did not make contact with them. At that point, I felt like I was intruding on his Dad’s role as parent and backed off. I wish I had listend to my gut instincts and continued trying to be involved.
Ø STUDIED TEENAGE BEHAVIOR – The information is everywhere! Books, the Internet, magazines, etc. Looking back, I think I was in denial…my Wayne would not be, nor could be, depressed or have mental problems. What scares me more is the fact that in my contact with five years of school counselors and teachers, no one recognized the signs and warning symptoms either. And I tried to be completely honest about our struggles at home, the anger and rebellion and even explaining the extreme changes in Wayne’s school performanace over the years.
Ø AND ON & ON – This list could easily never end. I ‘beat’ myself up daily and cry tears upon tears…especially during the nights... thinking of all the things I should have said or done differently. But now it is too late. And it only boils down to the fact that no matter what I could have changed, there would be no guarantee that Wayne would be alive today. |
| PUBLISHED IN A BOOK... |
The book : Finding Your Way after the Suicide of Someone You Love by David B. Biebel and Suzanne L. Foster was released in June 2005. I have one poem included as the beginning of Chapter Two. The authors use many personal stories and suggestions by survivors of suicide. There are several sections where they include my story of Wayne and my grief. Answering some of their questions for the book enabled me to 'face' and deal with some of the aspects of my grief that I had not allowed myself to think about. I am proud to be part of something that has the potential to help many survivors.
For more information on this book: http://www.zondervan.com/Books/Detail.asp?ISBN=0310257573 |
| FULL MOON REFLECTIONS...
December 8, 2003 12:45-2:45am
|
Tonight is the full moon…it is bold, bright and clear…just as it was the night Wayne took his own life almost a month ago. He loved the full moon and it is painful to see, yet it is almost calming to know that one of the last things he saw was something he always looked forward to watching.
When I think back on the past month…. my memories are fragmented and broken…very unfocused and unorganized…a shambles that barely represents the emotions I have been exposed to in the past weeks. I am not sure how I could have gotten through it all without my husband, my family and my friends. My husband was such a rock and was the one thing that kept me going each day…. and sometimes minute-by-minute. I felt so lost and so ‘removed’ at some times…almost like I was floating on the outside of it all. Whether he realizes it or not…he was what kept me grounded…he kept me from floating away entirely…he held on to me and did not let go. He was (and is) so strong and trying to be so supportive…yet I cannot guide him in what I need because I do not know myself. I know his emotions had to be torn as we went through the past month…but he put them aside to try and help me survive. I’ll never be able to express some of the things I feel…or how much I appreciate his being with me during this struggle…. hopefully in time I will be able to communicate better and somehow convince him how important he was… and is… to me.
It started with the phone call about Wayne missing on Monday night. I had just picked Lauren (Wayne’s little sister) up from a friend’s house…. My husband and I had an appointment that night and she was keeping Lauren for us. When I got the call…I was so scared but kept telling myself that Wayne was smart and he would be OK. Then I found out he had packed money, cold weather clothes and food…. and I just knew he was going to be OK…that he was planning on staying in the woods or coming home. I kept replaying, in my mind, his message from the answering machine that morning “hey Mom, it’s me…we had a half day at school and I’m home. Well, I guess I’ll talk to you sometime soon. I love you” and that was the end…the last time I ever heard his voice. But there was nothing in that message that frightened me or alarmed me in any way…it just seemed so “Wayne”.
As the hours passed and he was not found or seen…I begged his Dad to call the Sheriff. After several hours, he called the Sheriff. Even after hearing a gunshot in the woods (I was on the phone with Wayne’s stepmother when they started yelling about a gunshot). I think he finally called about 9:00 or 9:30pm. Little did I know by that time it was too late. I just kept telling myself that Wayne was OK…that he was too smart to do anything rash. True, he had snuck out of his Dad’s house Friday night and was out drinking and riding around…but that was not that bad (so I thought at the time). He had just turned 16…and was being a teenage boy.
After several hours of the Sheriff being involved and nonstop phone calls back and forth…. one officer called and asked me to stay home and by the phone. They thought he was hiding/camping in the woods or either trying to make his way here or might try to call …especially since he had tried to call twice before going into the woods. All night, I kept watching out the window…. or going out on the deck in back…praying, wishing, and trying to see him come sauntering out of the woods. The moon was so full and bright…it lit up the area without the yard light. It was like a dream and I felt that if I wished hard enough…he would materialize and come walking out…. with that sheepish grin on his face and his head barely cocked to one side. I already planned on hugging him so hard and telling him how I loved him…then telling him how scared I had been. I did not think past that point. I just knew he was coming home...I just knew it. The next morning, I was drawn to the front window repeatedly..and would just sit and stare…thinking he would be walking down the sidewalk or waiting for his head to ‘pop up’ in the front window. I kept waiting and watching…. and reminding myself that he was a smart kid…and that the Sheriff said they thought he was trying to get home.
The irony of the whole situation…the day Wayne ‘ran away’…I returned Wayne's call about an hour after he went in the woods. His step mom said he was hunting. Then we discussed Thanksgiving and how I wanted to pick him up on the way to Grandmama’s and Granddaddy’s house…and have him spend the day with us. We made plans for Thanksgiving and Christmas. It just didn’t seem logical that those plans would never happen…. even though Wayne did not know about them.
Our phone rang off and on all during that night…. questions being asked by the Sheriff…or Wayne’s Dad calling to ask something or just to talk or cry. Then came the call around midnight…they wanted to search my parent’s yard..maybe Wayne was there hiding. I knew then they didn’t know anything. I called my parents and warned them….and then waited once again. I think the last phone call came through around 3:30 or 4:00am. And once again, I was asked to stay home and near the phone the next day.
My husband stayed home Tuesday…without me even having to ask. A friend took Lauren to preschool with her…. which in hindsight was a good thing. After calling Wayne’s house to get an update…we began our worrying…and waiting..and calling back and forth. I was walking around the house with the regular phone and the cell phone in my hands. About 10:30am, I heard my husband on the front porch talking to someone. I opened the door and there was a local Police Officer. When my husband turned to me, the look on his face was so painful and so scared. I didn’t want to know. I almost stepped back, but made myself stand there as the Officer started apologizing. I could not understand why he was apologizing…and then his words broke through “I thought you knew..I’m so sorry”. I dropped both phones as my husband grabbed me to hold me up as the Officer began explaining what he knew . He explained that there was a death and I had to call County Sheriff’s department…and that he did not know anymore than that. I will never forget that moment…the Officer standing there trying to explain, trying to apologize and caught in such an awkward situation. Somehow, I felt sorry for him but my mind was racing and my heart felt like it was going to explode. I was already trying to deny it was Wayne…. and at the same time, reassuring the Officer that I understood. He was just doing his job, etc. It was so surreal…worse than what you see in a bad movie. I don’t remember the Officer’s face but I can clearly see his shape and uniform and hear his voice…and I clearly remember the emotions washing over me so rapidly. I took the piece of paper with the phone number from the Officer and picked up a phone... Walked in the kitchen to call. I think my husband settled with the Officer and then came in to me. He was there beside me when I got through and asked for the lady I had been instructed to request. She told me they had found Wayne. And that he had killed himself. I remember starting to cry loudly…. probably ‘wailing’ is the best word to describe it. Somehow, I heard her ask to speak to my husband. After that…everything is a blur. I know we called Wayne’s Dad and my husband talked to his mother…who gave him what information she knew. My husband then called our neighbor and asked her to come over right away…. she arrived with her husband…they stayed with me as my husband started making phone calls. I asked him to call my sister so she could be with my parents when they were told. We could not reach her. So I found the neighbor’s phone number and he called them to ask him to go next door when we called. Then my husband called my best friend’s husband so he could be with her when she was told.... they were always like Wayne’s 2nd parents and he was their child. I then called friend who lives in town and she left work right away and came right over. I barely remember asking them to call others during the next few hours.
At this point, I could feel myself pulling away from life…detaching from everyone and everything. It was like I was inside a bubble and sometimes the pain was wrapped up in the bubble with me and would not let go. And other times, the pain was outside the bubble but throbbing and pounding to get in. I was not even able to look anyone in the eyes…. I could not ‘feel’ …or felt that I was so ‘under water’ that looking into someone’s eyes and seeing their pain or their sympathy would pull me down further. There were times it hurt so badly. I could not breathe…. and I would have to tell myself to breathe. I would start hyperventilating and have to make myself slow down. I know I was recognizing these things but it was all from a distance. I do not think the tears stopped for days. Nights were the worst. I was so scared to close my eyes…scared of what I would see…. what I would dream…but most of all I was scared of waking. And that first waking thought of having to start another day over with the pain and memories. It slammed into me so hard every morning. It was like I was physically being hit. Sleep was not escape…it was not relief…it did not allow me to hide.
Breathing got me through that week…. I know it sounds silly but it is true. Our bodies continue to function but I felt like mine was not. It wanted to shut down. There were times when I hurt so badly…my breathing stopped and my legs felt like rubber and were about to give out. (And I still feel that). I had to make myself breathe…in and out…. saying ‘breathe…I’m OK…breathe. I’m OK’ over and over. My whole body was shaking…. nonstop. I could not communicate…the words would not come. Many of my sentences were full of gaps and “Umm’s” as I tried to remember what I wanted to say…or the words I was missing. And that still continues today. My memory is shot. Especially short term and I ca not express myself with words…unless I am writing.
The range of emotions I experienced in the first two weeks is unbelievable. The pain and heartbreak, the guilt, the anger, the lost feelings, etc. My anger is not at Wayne…it is at the guy who snuck Wayne out Friday night and others… because I think they knew more and could have alerted us to his state of mind that day. There is anger at Wayne’s Dad…and at myself. I am trying hard not to look back and think of what I should have done differently…or the things I should have said that I did not…or the things I was planning but had put off (getting Wayne and Lauren’s portrait done again). Finding out more information about Friday night and the weekend…only gave me more unanswered questions… less direction to go to get answers…and more anger at those involved in the events of that weekend. And not only learning that information hurts…but gaining more about how and what Wayne did…at least I know he did not suffer.
Dealing with the pain and trying to ‘maintain’ while having to make the burial arrangements is so very cruel. Having to listen to descriptions, prices, etc. at the funeral home was beyond my comprehension yet I knew enough to worry about the finances. Walking into that room where the caskets are displayed was so awful. I could only look at one and that was the first one I saw. And I noticed my X was doing the same. How can you ‘shop’ for a casket to bury your child in when your mind is reeling from that incomprehensible loss? Who cares how long the guarantee on the vault is and the different thickness of each one? The mental images of Wayne being buried were more than I could deal with. We settled on the first one we saw. I did ask for an earth tone color because that is what Wayne liked…that is all I could contribute. Then having to come home and look through pictures for the ‘picture board’ at the Funeral Home…. I was not sure I could do that but found it somewhat healing…. and very bittersweet. I waited until the night before the visitation to gather the pictures…. At that point, I had developed a certain numbness that was carrying me through the hours.
The family visitation on Friday morning was so hard…just walking into the Funeral Home was almost more than I could manage. Then when we got into the room with Wayne…I had to close my eyes. My husband led me next to him…. I breathed and cried as I tried to prepare myself. I opened my eyes and looked and then shut them quickly. What I saw was not my Wayne. He resembled Wayne but it was not the Wayne I loved and raised. It was sad to know that they could not reproduce his features to be truly lifelike…but he did look good for what they had to do. I had to look for him in that face…I found his eyebrows, his mouth, his chin (the chin he inherited from me and my Dad) and his hairline…but that was all. His eyes, nose and cheeks were not his. I actually had to hold my hand up over his face to ‘find’ him. But he was still so handsome. And when I touched him…he was so cold…so very, very cold. I knew he would be but it was still such a shock. I placed my hand over his hand and pretended it was not cold and lifeless. I constantly touched all his buttons and medals/awards on his uniform. Many of his awards/medals were presented after his death so he never saw them…and we don’t have pictures of him with them…how sad. He would have been so proud. I straightened his collar and buttons. I kissed his cheek and his forehead…. and talked to him…and cried & cried. But looking at him…and not seeing “my Wayne” really helped me to get through the Services those 2 days. I asked his Dad to find the clock I gave him when Lauren was born. It was a gift from me to him…with a message inside to always remind him that he was my baby…my ‘first-born’ and nothing would ever change that. I wanted that clock to go with him…it was meant to be with him. Along with pictures of Lauren and him together. And that started the requests to put other things with Wayne.
The public visitation started out all wrong…we got there at 6:45 like were instructed …to find the place so crowded and visitation already started. It was organized where everyone was to stand. My husband and I were the only ones from my family in the visitation line. My family was in a separate room with my Father, who had suffered a stroke only a few months before. I felt like I was lost in the crowd…and looking out through a very cloudy fish bowl. I was upset over the ‘arrangement’ and how it all started without us. I eventually settled with the knowledge that my family was there... In another room with my Dad…supporting each other and our friends.
I did not feel the need to put on a public display of grief and love…I knew I loved Wayne and in my heart, I know that he knew how much I loved him too. There were times when standing there…I felt so lost. So overwhelmed …and not sure I could continue with it. And then I would look up and see our friends or family. There were so many people there, it got to the point where I would wave them on towards me…because I needed them. I barely remember what anyone told me. I do remember the hugs…and the wonderful words of comfort even though I do not remember the exact words of comfort. It was so bittersweet…seeing people from all stages of Wayne’s life…his 1st grade teacher to his 9th grade algebra teacher…. people from our Church in Greenville…friends I have not seen in years…and Wayne’s friend’s from Greenville. Then there were so many kids from Wayne’s High school… And the JROTC…I was so touched by all of the cadets coming, and speaking. I told each one of them to remember Wayne’s smiles, his laughter and the good times…not how he died. ..But the good things. I cried with many of the girls and hugged many of the boys. I recognized some names…but not many and cannot recall them now. I do not want those kids to think of Wayne as “the boy who killed himself”…. I want them to remember his humor…. his willingness to befriend everyone…. his caring and concern for his friends, etc. I really hope they can do that. The one bad thing that really stands out in my mind was looking up and seeing the guy who took Wayne out Friday night…and how long he stood there and stared at me. I am so thankful he did not approach me at the time…. I do not think I could have handled it very well…all my anger at that point was directed towards him...I have never experienced anger so intensely before.
The Funeral was hard too…again; I do not remember the words or the music. About the only clear memory I have is when the JROTC escorted Wayne out of the Sanctuary…. and it was at that point, I knew my baby was gone. He was really being taken away from me…. and that this was all too real. The procession to the cemetery was brutal…following the hearse and watching it in front of was like someone was twisting daggers further and further into my heart. And the cemetery, I barely remember. It was at the point where I was really having to concentrate on my breathing…. and I know I was shaking all over. At one point, I realized my husband was holding my left hand and reached over and grabbed my Mother-in-law’s hand with my right hand. I needed someone to hold onto each hand so I would feel ‘grounded’ and I was thinking ‘breathe in, breathe out’ over and over. At times, the pain of what was happening would slip in and I would feel myself start to crumble and fall apart…and then I would bring myself back to my breathing. I know there were 2 poems read…. and that the JROTC presented a flag. But that is all I remember…then it was over. I do remember hearing the 12:00 town siren going off at one point…and thinking that I would never forget that sound. And there were hugs and more hugs and so many tears…and so many people. I still cannot believe the number of people for each of the Services Friday night and Saturday…. Wayne would have liked that. I hope he knows how many people loved him and cared about him. I always knew everyone liked him but now I really know.
Wednesday will be a month since Wayne’s death. 8:30pm. Yet I did not find out until 10:30am the next day. It has been over a month since I last saw him…. held him…touched him…and told him that I loved him. It was his 16th birthday when I saw him last. I try to be thankful that we shared that time with him. It’s been a month since Lauren last saw him…. will it be enough for her to remember him? Or will her memories be formed by pictures and the stories I share with her? I keep waiting for him to come home…. even when I go to the cemetery…it is too hard to believe it is his final resting place.
I miss him so much. I know I am still in a bit of denial about it. There are so many unanswered questions about ‘why’…and I am not sure the answers will ever be found. Or if we will know what is true and what is not. The tears come and go…. and that overwhelming physical pain comes so rapidly sometimes. I know there is such a long and painful road ahead. I am so scared to travel it. But I know I have to start taking one small step at a time. This past year, has taught me so much about myself. And how I deal with pain, stress and grief. From my Dad’s stroke, the miscarriages and now this…. I have learned enough about myself to know I can survive. And will be a stronger person in the end…. but that is small comfort when compared with never holding my child again…never looking into his eyes, hearing his laughter, seeing his smile, watching his proud ‘boy-man’ walk…. never being able to say “I love you’ to him ever again...and never seeing him grow up. He was the grandchild who was carrying on the Hooks features…with each passing year; he was starting to look more and more like my Dad at his age. Everywhere I turn, there is Wayne. The full moon, the hunting clothes in the stores, a teenage boy, the woods behind out house, deer in the field, country music, classical rock music, movies we watched, etc. I cannot escape…and I am not sure I want to escape…those memories remind me of my love for him…of the good times…and the bad too…but at least we were there…and we had the times together.
December 8, 2003 12:45-2:45am
EA Gay |
| INVASION.... |
It is an invasion and goes beyond my heart, mind and body. It stormed into my very soul and took over without warning. People keep trying to tell me how to deal with it. How to get rid of it. How to get over it. As if it can be cured. These are not the regular basic germs that intrude upon your life by creating havoc within your body and immune system. These are much worse. There are no drugs, no antibiotics to fight it. The battle to take ‘over’ began without warning. There was no time to prepare. There is no proven way to escape or to eliminate the devastation left behind. I have been damaged and will never again be whole. Yet, my outward appearance lends no clue to this fact. My life continues each day despite the war within. This invasion is a stranger, an unwelcome guest…it is grief. A grief I was forced into it by the death of my son. A death by suicide. A death chosen by him. No warnings. Just the words ‘your son is dead. He killed himself.’
I hear so many good intentions of how to ‘get over it’ or ‘not think about it.’ If only they understood. I do not sit in a darkened room and dwell on my loss. I try so hard not to think about his last moments, what he thought, how he did it, etc. I can understand how unhealthy those thoughts are. How easily they take over and distract you from life. I understand and try to be so thankful for the 16 years of his life and the memories that go with those years. I want to move past the loss and remember his life and his love. I try to focus on my daughter, husband, family and friends who are living. But despite my best intentions, the invasion is always there. It erupts when least expected. It battles the positive, the good and the healing. It thrusts its ugly being into my thoughts, which momentarily takes my breath away each time. I challenge the grief everyday by making it through each day. I attempt to continue on and bring my ‘life’ back. I understand that I have been changed and I accept that fact. I know that the person I will become will be a better and stronger individual. But this grief greedily seeks out my new self and batters at my very soul. It wants me…all of me. And I refuse to surrender.
EA Gay
November 4, 2004
8:32am
|
| GUILT.... |
GUILT... a major issue in my life now. Right after Wayne died...I could only see what I had or had not done in the past week. I remember saying to myself for days, "if I had only been inside to answer the phone when he called'. It was like a chant... said in-between 'my baby, my Wayne is gone'. Then the anger moved in on me...but it was more anger at others..not myself. Anger at anyone and everyone who had been around Wayne in his last days. I kept waiting for the 'huge' guilt but it did not arrive. Then one day, maybe a month later, I read something that said 'it's so easy to bury your anger and your guilt and not face up to it. Only to have it come back at a later time and be more painful than ever'. Those words scared me and scared me BIG time. I couldn't imagine hurting any worse than I already was hurting.
The book also said, survivors need to realize that no matter how many 'what if's' we have, and no matter how much guilt we feel, there was no guarantee that changing anything would have kept our loved one alive. And I found some type of bizarre peace in that. So, somehow, I began looking inside me.... and at my life with Wayne. And BAM! Here came the guilt. IT was there...I had just stopped it from surfacing. But I let it come...and I cried and I cried… and I talked to Wayne over and over..and I prayed and prayed. To Wayne, I apologized for all the things I did or did not do....and for all the things I should have seen and recognized but did not. I told him how I tried to be a good Mom and how I was learning being a Mom from him..just as he was learning from me. I cried about how I moved him away from our hometown and his private school - so I could have a better job. He was one of the top students in his school and so well known by everyone. He won the Citizenship award several years in a row at his school ...and I took him away from it all. I tore him away from it. (In reality, that was his last year there anyway...I just could not afford it anymore and felt he needed public schools to learn how to adjust in the everyday world. Plus we'd been talking about moving for a couple of years.... the job opening just came suddenly and I was the top candidate for it. There was no gradual adjustment period for Wayne..., which I think he needed). I cried about how I did not spend enough time with him...how I went back to graduate school when he was a toddler and my folks kept him while I was working or in class. I cried about how my 2nd marriage affected him (not for my marriage which is the best thing in my life)...but for how he seemed to really care for my husband but then everything fell apart and it was WWIII in our household. I cried about our last words.... I think he was trying so hard to make me angry over the phone...and I cut it off...saying I would not talk to him like that and we would speak later. My last conversation with him. I cried about how all that Monday night, when we thought he had runaway, I just knew he was coming home. I told my X over and over "Wayne wouldn't do anything rash"....then I cried about how could I not have known he was gone? How could my 'mom sense' not have felt his soul leave this world? Oh, I cried about anything and everything. It was if my heart was bleeding and just would not stop. I also journaled....and just let myself write. The whole time knowing what I wrote were words I would probably never have the courage to read at a later time.
I guess by admitting that I had guilt…I just opened the floodgates and let the guilt take me into the floodwaters. But I had the small life preserver of 'no guarantee that if things had been different - Wayne would be alive.' It wasn't much...but those words helped me to keep my head above water and to make it through the 'flood' in one piece. Now I came out bruised and battered...and I still feel those bruises and wounds. Sometimes the pain and guilt is still very fresh. The guilt is always with me...and the thoughts still come frequently...but the force behind them is not usually as bad as it was at first. It's not easy....and I had to come to terms with realizing and accepting that Wayne made the decision..not me. And that I did not deliberately do anything or deliberately not do anything to influence his decision.
There is no one who knows my own guilt and blame as I do; therefore, no one can shoulder that pain. My guilt does not ease the heartbreak and pain. But having to confront the guilt and admit it is there, allows me to take one step forward in my journey of healing. And each time, I fall backwards into the guilt..I force myself to accept it, to feel it, to cry through it, and then I began again…taking another step forward. It creates a long and difficult journey..a journey full of steps backwards…but the steps backwards sometimes seem to clear the way so I can see where to place the next step forward…rather than blindly follow the footsteps on the path before me.
EA GAY
January 24, 2005 |
| DOES IT MATTER HOW?...
February 22, 2005 |
MY SON DIED – DOES IT MATTER HOW?
My son’s death is a fact. He is gone. Does it really matter how he died? Why can’t it be acknowledged that we are family members and friends who mourn his death? Why can’t we be recognized as grieving…as mourners…rather than someone who lost a loved one by suicide?
Our loved ones died. And we grieve in the same manner as anyone who looses someone to death. But we also struggle to understand the ‘hows’ and the ‘whys’ and many other questions that are beyond the realm of logic. We fight the guilt and the self-blame, which haunts us – no matter how much we understand that anything we could have done differently does not guarantee our loved one would be alive today.
We live with the stigma of how our loved ones died. The stigma that many times overshadows the fact that we are hurting and heartbroken. We live with seeing others physically react when they learn of the suicide – the eyes that suddenly look elsewhere, the half step backwards and away, the uncomfortable pause and change in topic or even total end of any discussion. Why should we have to guard ourselves against other's uncomfortable feelings? How do they think we feel?
My son died. My heart has been broken and will never completely heal. There will always be a hole that only his life occupied. Maybe some days the edges of that hole are not as bruised and bleeding as other days. And then there are the days when the wound seems raw and open – unable to heal. Isn’t it enough that I have this lifelong loss? Why should I suffer and feel as if I cannot openly discuss his life – because of how he died?
SUICIDE – a word that takes on a life when said out loud. A word that places those left behind in a category that is seen as dark and unhealthy. A word that can instantly bring a conversation to a screeching halt. A word with power – power given to it by those who refuse to see beyond it or to understand it.
Suicide is not a method of death – it a death by a mental illness or disease. And many times, the illness or disease is not known until it is too late. It is an escape for the one who dies. A final taken to stop the pain, the turmoil and the anguish within. It defies logic – but so do cancer and other diseases.
My son died. My heart is broken not only because he died – but also because of the suffering he must have experienced to result in suicide as his only option. My son died of an illness – one that I did not know. But does it really matter how he died? Or is it enough to say he is gone? He is missed. He is loved and always will be. And his suicide does not change how much he will be missed or how much he was loved. So why should it change how society reacts to the survivors left behind? |
| A POEM FOR KRISTEN by EA Gay |
A dear friend, who I met in my Parents of Suicide group, named Donia is experiencing almost the same 'timeline'as I have with my grief. Her daughter's birthday and angel wings days fall shortly after Wayne's dates. I had spoken to Donia about writing a birthday poem for her daughter, Kristen. Today I 'felt' the words and as I began to type...it was as if I could feel Wayne and Kristen peering over my shoulder and guiding me with the words and the lines of the poem. I had an instant recognition of Kristen's spirit and being...and felt as if I'd known her all my life. I believe my Wayne and Donia's Kristen are angels together..and they visited me today to 'give me the words' so I could help Donia through the next few weeks and months.
KRISTEN
Our daughter, Kristen – so wonderful and bright
Her personality was a spiritual and beautiful delight
Her free spirit ways and endless creativity
Produced laughter and smiles for so many to see
Her absence left emptiness deep inside our souls
Our hearts ripped apart and never again whole
Her birthday approaches, but how can we celebrate
The tears fall nonstop as we wrestle her chosen fate
Energetic in every part of her young life
Her mischievous antics, sometimes did cause strife
Our daughter, Kristen, was known for being heard
And would not hesitate to have the very last word
Loving, caring and fun - are words we often hear
When others needed help, Kristen was always near
Her strong will and desire, to be who she wanted to be
Sometimes veiled her generous sensitivity
Our daughter, Kristen – touched so many hearts
Now approaching her birthday, we are torn apart
Our minds full of sadness, memories and her love
For our angel Kristen, who watches from above
Our daughter, Kristen – captured us right away
Born 19 years ago in November, on the 28th day
Now we grieve our loss and the love she left behind
As we travel through the pain, and waiting for a sign
Kristen our dear angel, and our daughter above
We send you birthday wishes, with all of our love
We miss you in ways, that we never knew
And wait for the day we’ll be together again with you!
Happy Birthday Kristen!
Written for Donia - my dear Sister Mom
For her sweet daughter Kristen’s 19th birthday
© EA Gay 2004
For more about Kristen, visit her web site:
http://www.freewebs.com/kristendouglas/ |
| Speech with Yellow Ribbon |
The following is a 'speech' I used when asked to speak as a Survivor along with the Yellow Ribbon Suicide Prevention Program at one of the area's private high schools:
My name is Ann Gay And I stand before you a Survivor of Suicide. I became a survivor because a loved one died by suicide. I no longer think of ‘survivor’ as a TV reality show…survival is real. And the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life.
Before I begin….. I want to do something a little bit different. I want you to get comfortable (but not too comfortable) and to visualize the time and place I am going to describe:
(pause)
The date is May 15, 2004…11:00am
(pause)
Open space…green grass…tons of flowers – all different kinds and colors
Brilliant blue sky…small white fluffily clouds
Gentle breeze stirring the leaves of the tree nearby
The warmth of the sun feeling so welcome after the cold weather of the winter months.
(Pause)
NOW….Look up……there are 50 helium balloons…all colors…long, white ribbons streaming underneath each one
Floating….bouncing…twisting…turning….being carried by the breeze
Beautiful as they lazily drift away…creating spots of color in the blue sky…
Making you smile as you watch…washing away the tensions, the stress, and the problems of the day
(pause)
NOW stop….. and look around you….the open space is a cemetery.
The green grass is covering the graves of lost loved ones
The flowers are all the flowers on the graves
And there are people all around you…young and old…… male and female…all watching the balloons too
(pause)
Now reach up and grab the nearest balloon…bring it closer to you
There are words written on it. Can you see the writing on your balloon? Those words are:
- Words of love
- Words of laughter
- But most of all…. words of pain… and heartbreak ….and missing someone special
(pause)
The event I described is real. It actually took place on May 15, 2004 …. Exactly 6 months from the day we buried my son, Wayne….Wayne died by suicide only 8 days after his 16th birthday…on Nov. 10th, 2003.
That is now the day my life changed forever. The day that my family will never forget. The day that Wayne’s friends will never forget. The day that broke so many hearts and thrust each of us into a world that is so unreal and so painful that we no longer have our ‘lives’ as we knew them.
Wayne was a handsome young man. He had lots of friends, a steady girlfriend, was liked by his teachers, was known for making everyone laugh…for always smiling….for always being willing to listen and help others. After he died, I was told by many, that he was the last one anyone expected to die from suicide.
Wayne was not the perfect child. There were problems in his life…some I knew about and some I did not. But believe me, I would trade and take all those problems rather than to bury him.
Many of Wayne’s friends have really struggled with his suicide…and his choice to end his life… They just cannot not understand nor comprehend Why? Or How? Or why he did not seek out his friends or family for help? They simply cannot get past the fact… and the pain….that my Wayne chose to take his own life. As they stayed in touch with me…and through my own pain and heartbreak… I could feel theirs.
The balloon release was my way of gathering Wayne’s family and friends to remember his life…and to honor his memory. Writing to Wayne on the balloons and then releasing them was a way to release some of the pain, the grief, the heartache…I called the balloon release “Celebrate Wayne’…because it was a way we could all come together….to cry, to share stories and mainly to try and remember how he lived..not how he died.
Without going into details, I can tell you from my own experience and from talking to Wayne’s friends and other survivors of suicide….recovering from a loved one’s death by suicide is more painful than you can even begin to imagine.
The act of suicide is not an event that ends the problems… It just creates new ones and lots of heartbreak and lots of suffering…which never ends. It doesn’t go away in a month, a year, 10years…it haunts survivors forever as they continue to ask why? What could I have done? Or what did I not do? What did I not see? Those questions are never answered. ……..‘Suicide does not end in death…it only begins a nightmare of living for those left behind’
You may wonder why I told you the balloon story. It’s because on the morning of my son’s death…he made several comments to his friends at school. He actually told his friends that they probably would not see him again. He told his friends he was going away. Yet no one questioned why he was saying those things…….. No one called me….called his Dad…or spoke to a teacher or counselor about Wayne’s comments. No one understood that his words that day were his good-bye.
His words were very quiet words yet they could have screamed loudly if anyone had been aware and tuned in to what he was really saying. No one took a few moments to tell someone they were concerned. Stop and think….a few words…a few minutes of their time…and my son’s life may have been saved that night.
I understand and remember being your age…and how everything that went wrong seemed so heartbreaking…so extreme. There are things in life that baffle/surprise/overwhelm us...and we think we jsut cannot handle it. There are time when we may feel so lonely, so discouraged, so hurt...or that no one could possibly understand. OR maybe if I just went away, my family would not have to suffer my problems. As a parent, I can tell you, I would rather suffer through any problems that Wayne had rather than to have to prepare his funeral and bury him.
I’m not sure how comfortable I would have been going to an adult asking for help…or trying to explain that I just did not want to go on. But I think having a Yellow Ribbon card that allowed me to give it to someone else because I needed to talk…..may have been an action I could have done…rather than having to find the courage to say the words “I think I need help”
Or maybe when a friend confides in us or says something that implies suicide…Or we hear the hints of just not wanting to be around anymore..or jsut wanting to die. We may not know what to do..so we do nothing.
I’m not sure I would have reported what I heard was noticed… to a teacher, counselor, a parent …or anyone. ...Maybe we don't want to take the cahnce of making a friend mad at us. May it's jsut easier doing nothing. But later we might regret not taking some action. When a friend threatens to end their life, we have to put caution aside and get them some help. Isn't better to’act’ because you care about someone….than to be speaking those words when it is too late?
You may not realize it…but the Yellow Ribbon cards give you POWER. … The POWER to help yourself…without having to say “I need help’….. the POWER to help others in need. ….the POWER to make sure that other families and friends will not have to suffer.
That’s a great deal of POWER in each of those cards…and you hold it in your hands. If only my son’s friends had the Yellow Ribbon cards…if only they had said something when Wayne told them he would not see them again. Even without the cards….You….EACH of you… have the POWER to help save lives… your own life …and possibly others.
Be smart! Be strong! Be powerful! Be alive!
(For more information on the Yellow Ribbon Program....http://www.yellowribbon.org/ ) |
| THE MISSING... |
When I first started going to the SOS (Survivors of Suicide) meetings, the group facilitator said 'after awhile, the grief lessens and the real missing begins.' He lost his son to suicide over 13 years ago....and I can remember thinking 'the grief lessens? how?'
Yesterday I stumbled across the movie THE MOUSE & THE MOROTCYCLE (based on the book by Beverly Clearly) and remembered how much Wayne always liked it. So I turned it on and | | |
