Confessions of A Survivor

Guilt and regret are common emotions when we lose someone. That’s often the case no matter how they leave us. But when the method of death is suicide these two emotions loom unbelievably large for survivors; Some who will spend the rest of their lives agonizing about how they failed the person, wondering what they could have done to stop it. Among the frank but gently delivered bits of wisdom offered by Survivor support group leaders is the fact that your loved one’s method of death was their decision, not yours. As a mother, it always seemed to me that might be easier to rationalize if the suicide was your spouse, parent, sibling or friend. I always felt it was harder to accept if the suicide was your child. To put it in perspective I’ve heard group leaders pose the question, “Wouldn’t you have done anything in your power to stop them?” The answer to that is “Of course I would have!” But in my head I would always follow that with “But I didn’t stop it.” Like Justin told me in the birthday letter he wrote to me “…..you are undoubtedly primary in anything I have been or ever will come to be.” What he ended up being was a beautifully complex soul who took his own life at 24 years old. And I can’t help but believe some of this was due to my failings. As a parent, I took my eye off the most important thing in my life and it slipped through my fingers. I let go. And while it runs counter to a basic tenant of Survivor 101, I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that.

Like Glass

Looking back, I believed I was the perfect gardener,

the infallible architect.

That against the force of fickle circumstance,

I would stand.

And with grit, certainty and perseverance,

painstakingly mold the shape of life.

Nurturing my seedlings to unrivaled harvest.

Protecting what was precious.

Preserving the essential. Fending off evil.

Fierce earth mother, I believed I had built an

impenetrable fortress against the storm. An

affirming, gentle space, armoring you

with steel for departure.

Tethering you to safety with a fibrous, living

cord, fed by blood and memory.

Resilient and unbreakable.

A consecrated bond, linking us all, one to another.

Stretching forward in time as far as I could see.

How was I to know that love, pure and unconditional

can be fatal; that undying perseverance

can kill you, deadly parasites to their hosts.

When did the slow infusion of toxic air

seep into our fortress. And when did it become lethal?

How could such determined labor so profoundly miss its

mark? How could I have fallen? How could I have failed?

Looking back, I believed I was the perfect gardener,

the infallible architect.

Sheltering fragile beauty with stone and mortar.

Protecting, Determined, Unbreakable, Fierce.

Made brave and believing by love, will and tenacity.

But a growing firestorm, undetected and cruel

laid waste to all I had built.

Charred all that was green and living.

Fired mortar and stone to glazed, brittle finish.

Splintering belief into a thousand pieces.

Dispersing certainty into tiny, reflective shards on the ground.

Leaving me shattered and broken,

like glass.

Forever,

Your Mother

1/17/07