The Uncomfortable

We bought two rocking chairs when we moved to our home in Nicaragua. The purchase was at the top of the list. We had looked at several before we settled on the perfect pair. It was a very important purchase because we knew how much time we would spend, the two of us, on the back porch, looking out at the ocean, reading, praying, studying, drinking coffee and talking together. The whole purpose for our move was to be able to spend more time TOGETHER, disconnected from the rat race, the fast pace and expectations of our lives, able to focus on more important things - each other and our calling. We were excited and looking forward to the adventure, to decompressing, being more free to appreciate life and each other. Now I sit in one rocking chair, the other empty. My, how life can change in an instant. All your plans, hopes and dreams....gone.

This reality, this truth has made my life, my thoughts, my work - all of it, a complete mess. Not that one could ever accuse me of being "neat," but there is no shred of organization left here - especially with my thoughts. So excuse me while I try to write about life and what I have learned recently. Expect that my thoughts will be disjointed and that I may chase some rabbits along the way. But that's life, is not it? Not every lesson we learn is outlined with an intro, 3 points and a conclusion. More often than not, it's random words and experiences, littered with tears and laughter, and after weeks, months or years of "I have no idea," we emerge a little wiser for the wear.

I went for a walk this morning. It is exceptionally beautiful here right now. I do not think I've ever seen the landscape look more lush and green. The sky is blue with white fluffy clouds and the ocean varies from light aqua to deep cerulean in the distance. Colorful butterflies bounce around and I can hear monkeys in the trees. As I was walking and enjoying the landscape, always a little bittersweet, I began to think of Jon, trying to imagine the landscape he is now enjoying. I try with all my might and imagination, but I can not muster up an image. Why? I beg God for an snapshot, for a glimpse. I just want to know where he is, but we simply can not fathom it with our limited minds and senses. And then I remember, we were not created for this world. This world is but a dim shadow of what awaits us. The most beautiful Hawaiian waterfalls, the majestic Himalayas, the vibrant lights of the Aurora Borealis, the thick Galapagos rain forests, NONE of it begins to compare. I dream about Heaven and eternity. And by contrast, at times I absolutely despise this life. I suppose that is part of grief. I am constantly torn between the need to read every word he wrote, relive every single moment, and the need to live in the moment, to the experience the present.  Both are painful. There is no escaping the reality that he is gone. And that, oh that fact, it brings myriad of questions and emotions.

So this is the jumping off point - where we dive into the uncomfortable. If you are not ready for that, you might want to stop reading now, because I'm going to talk about IT. I'm going to address IT, the giant, ugly elephant in the room, that horrible word - suicide.

I have learned some things about grief these past 14 weeks. People who grieve do share some experiences and common feelings, but everyone who grieves also grieves differently. Our situations, each relationship and each cause of death provokes different types of emotions, questions and "symptoms" if you will. There is no skirting the fact that suicide adds layers and layers of painful questions, torturous thoughts and sleepless nights to an already unbearable grief process. As a "survivor" you are warned about the dangers of "what if" land, but I do not believe it is possible to avoid its terrain when you have lost someone to suicide. Whether we want to admit it or not, the word "suicide" comes with stigma and the need for lots of folks to ask lots of stupid questions. When someone, Overcome by the darkness of depression, takes his or her own life, everyone wants to know WHY. I mean, there must be a REASON, a single solitary REASON, right ???? "Were you having marital problems? Was it drugs? Were you having financial problems? Was he seeing someone else? Had he started drinking? Was it the move to Nicaragua? Were your parents fighting a lot?" I have been shocked and appalled by the questions people would dare ask me and my children during these days. Let's think about that, shall we? Hopefully you have never been so brass as to ask one of these questions out loud, but we've all thought them, have not we? Myself included. We want a reason WHY.  As though it is not enough to say he was suffering with clinical depression or bipolar depression. When someone dies of cancer, do you ask the same questions? Do you say, "Did he spend too much time in the sun? Did he smoke when he was younger? Did he eat too much burnt food?" No, it's enough to know that they suffered with cancer and we accept that as a cause of death without the need to point fingers at anyone. Had Jon died of a heart attack, I really doubt people would say, "Were you feeding him too much salt? Did you see that he was exercising? Were you aware of the stress effect he was having on his body?" I now know from experience that asking questions is one of the least helpful things you can do. So please receive this as a PSA. If you're ever tempted to do it, stop. Just don't. Do not even ask the questions to yourself in your own head. Accept that life is life and death is death and you can not wrap any of it up in a neat little bow and assign a reason to everything that happens or does not happen. Maybe you are not aware, but every question you ask points a finger, and in this instance, every finger is pointing to me. Why did I NOT KNOW? Why did I not do something more??? Believe me, nobody has asked that question more than I have. I have replayed the days and weeks leading up to his death over and over again in my mind. I have read and reread the note he left, wondering how I missed it, accusing myself of being self-absorbed, berating myself for failing him. This, I have come to believe, is an inevitable process for a "survivor" of suicide. That's what they call us ..... "survivors." Interesting. I don't feel as though I have survived anything. Instead, I feel as though I have been thrown into the pit of torture and despair and I will never be the same. Part of me has died. I'm not being overly dramatic. I WILL never be the same, nor do I want to be. I now have a deep personal knowledge of an intensely dark side of life which I never knew before. You do not emerge from that darkness the same; hopefully you emerge better.

You think I'm angry. You expect me to be angry. You are just waiting for the anger to manifest itself at any moment. The last month before Jon's death, we made an agreement. He was going to take the time to get better and I was going to take care of "business." He was going to go to counseling, get on the right meds, get acupuncture, go for walks, rest, whatever he needed to do TO GET BETTER while I worked, paid the bills and made sure he did not have to stress about that . He did not live up to his end of the agreement, and I AM angry, but not at him. Jon did not do what he did on purpose. He did not do it to hurt anyone. He was in UNBEARABLE pain and believed he was making life worse for everyone. In his last words, he asked me to forgive him. I do. It's forgiving myself that is the greater challenge. I could never be angry at him. I am angry at life, angry at myself for not knowing, and sometimes angry at God for not intervening. This, too, is a journey. It must be lived, felt and experienced to know the peace, the freedom and yes, the joy, that is coming on the other side. God does not take us OUT of the storm, He sees us THROUGH it. I was reminded by a friend recently that I sit in the ash heap, in the midst of self-doubt, even in the days when I doubt HIM, on days when I feel faithless and hopeless, He sits beside me. HE NEVER LEAVES.

I long for the day when I can write a blog entry that is different, one with more hope, more faith, and even joy. I hope to know someday if there was a greater purpose in this or if it's "just life." Until that day, thank you, my friends, for your love and your patience as I find my way. Thank you for your prayers, your notes and your love. You have been the hands and feet of Jesus to me and my family and I would not be this far along the path without you.