Forever Changed

When you lose someone to suicide, you’re called a “survivor”.  

I never even knew the phrase “survivor of suicide” existed prior to June 23rd of this year.   

I belong to an online support group and some put “survivor” next to their name like a post-nominal title.  Instead of seeing Jane Doe, PhD and John Smith, CPA like I’m used to seeing, I spot signature lines that read “Michelle Jones, Survivor”.   

Is that what I am? 

I’m not feelin‘ it.  

Frankly, I am not surviving Aaron’s suicide very well, at all.  It’s been a living hell.  

Destroyed by Suicide might be more like it.  Or crushed.  Or forever changed...

I can’t do a damn thing in my waking hours without having Aaron on my mind.  I’m either wishing he was with me, missing him more than I’m capable of explaining, replaying the horrific events of June 23rd, or, in moments of acceptance, I’m talking to him knowing he can see and hear me while being fully aware of the inequity of my not being able to hear or see him. 

My life and the lives of those who deeply love Aaron have been completely shaken, turned upside down and shattered into a million pieces.  Life still moves forward for everyone else, but for us we’re stuck in a time warp.  We’re stuck in a place where we can’t seem to move forward despite time whizzing by like the days are in some sort of sprint, like the end of the month is some sort of finish line.

Do suicidal people get online and become aware of the term “survivor of suicide” to describe those they’ll leave behind?  Because that term seems so....pleasant.  Like, “Oh, see?  They’ll survive without me!”  I’m used to the term “survivor” to describe people who have beat cancer.  That makes sense to me. They most likely felt broken and defeated at times by their diagnosis but they overcame.  They beat the odds!  They survived and are whole again.

I don’t feel I’ll ever feel whole again; how could I after this experience and after a loss this severe?  I’m completely broken.  I won’t always feel as broken as I am today but my heart will never be whole.  Yes, I will create a new normal.  I will carry on.  But I’ll do so carrying a void I will never be able to fill.  

I think “survivors of suicide” should describe the people who contemplate or attempt suicide and are still upright today with their hearts still beating; their family and friends still able to see them, hold them and tell them how much they are loved.  Those are the real survivors of suicide.  To describe those of us left behind as survivors?  I'm just not feelin' it.  

Signed,

Lisa Ruggiero, 

Forever Changed by Suicide

Piece for Peace

I feel like my heart has been ripped into tiny pieces of emotion, each piece baring its own label:  Denial.  Sadness.  Depression.  Despair.  Betrayal.  Anger.  

It's that last piece - Anger - that I hate the most.  It feels like an unwanted guest.  I'm okay sitting with sadness...that makes sense.  And, give me more moments where I just don't believe Aaron's gone; denial being the 1 or 2 minute vacation I take daily when I spray his cologne and could swear he's in the next room.  Depression, while not my favorite, is my new normal.  And, yes, I sometimes feel betrayal over the way Aaron left me, but sadness and depression win the emotional war so often that I forget betrayal even exists.

But that feeling of anger that washes over me and causes me to purse my lips and shake my head in disgust...

I don't like it.  That can emotional piece can go straight to hell.

I do not want to be angry at the man I loved the most in the world.   I just want to feel love, compassion and empathy toward him. 

But, I do feel angry more than I care to admit.  I feel my hands tightening over the steering wheel as I drive away from my post office with mail addressed to Aaron; mail I'll eventually give to his dad and it breaks my heart every single time.  His dad doesn't want his son's mail.  He wants his son.    

I feel angry when I remember the promises Aaron made to me that will never be fulfilled; promises to take me back to the Grand Canyon, to ride our bikes to Zion National Park, and to be married someday.  He said he would never leave me and promised to love me forever.

I'm angry that my cabin, the place to which I'd escape to rest, recharge and center myself now feels like a black hole containing a void so large that I'm almost positive it can never be filled.

I'm angry when I see his mom cry over the loss of her son.  I'm angry Aaron didn't ask for help; like he was some puzzle we were just supposed to piece together and now it's like it just sits on a table unfinished....all of us feeling like failures because we didn't get it right.

But, I still can't stay angry at him for long.  

I remember his green eyes that lit up with his smile, the way he would look at me when I told him I loved him and all the times he would act goofy to make me smile.  

And, I remember that all I ever wanted for him was for him to be happy.

No, I don't sit with anger very long.  I just love him too much.  That piece of my heart that wants to surge with anger is always quickly replaced with compassion and love.  It's a tradeoff that I easily make every single time.  My anger piece for his emotional peace.  

Love wins every time.