Questions and Stages

It's been almost 6 weeks since we lost our oldest son to suicide.  But, it still feels so very surreal-as if he is going to walk in the door at any time, smelling like cigarettes (as if we wouldn't catch on that he had been smoking), or knock on our bedroom door early on a weekend morning asking if he could hang out with friends (and of course, he would need one of us to drive him).

I still have so many questions on how to live my life with this gaping hole where Logan used to be.

"How many children do you have?"

• 4-Logan (in Heaven), Emma, Mackenzie, and Sophie (in Heaven). Do I want to explain why I say 4 and only have 2 here with me?
• 3-Logan (in Heaven), Emma and Mackenzie. Again, do I want to explain that Logan is no longer with us?
• 2-Emma and Mackenzie.  But am I dishonoring Logan by not including him?

When I had my baby shower for Mackenzie, a dear friend of mine read a poem about becoming a "mother of three". We felt like our little family was complete with the addition of that sweet baby girl. Little did I know, that 10 years later our family would change dramatically.

"What ages are your children?"

• 15, 12 & 10. But not really because Logan is gone now.
• 12 & 10. But not really because I have another child who is just not with us now.

I know the stages of grief-denial, anger, bargaining, depression & acceptance.

But what I never understood is that these do not necessarily happen in the above order. 

Some days I am still in denial, I cannot believe he is really gone. 

For the most part, I have not experienced anger since those first few terrible hours. 

I have gone over and over in my head, what could I have done differently that day or in the weeks and months leading up to that day. I could have taken all 3 kids to the barn. I could have waited until Rick got home to leave. I could have made sure that gun was better hidden. I could have...should have...would have.  I have come to accept that no matter how much I dwell on these thoughts, it will not change my reality.

I have not felt as depressed as I have just plain old sadness.  I do see myself slipping into depression at times and I am thankful for my amazing, strong husband who does his best to pull me out of those moments. Sometimes I just need to mourn and cry to let out some of the pain that has settled into my soul.

I have not achieved acceptance. Not yet. But someday I will. Someday the good  memories will be what I hold onto and they will not be painful, but rather bring me peace.

Blessings,

Meri

The Letter

"I know this will hurt you, but it was my time to go"

"Dad, God I know we've had our struggles, but I'm closer to you than any other human."

"Mom I love you"

These are some of the words that Logan wrote before he took his life at the age of 15. When we found the letter a few weeks after he passed away, it was like a hot dagger through my heart. I so desperately wanted my son with me so I could help him deal with the struggles he talked about in his letter.

He had kind words to say about his two best friends and asked us to look after them.  Even at the end, he was considering others.

After we read the letter, I took it and stuck it on a random page in my Bible.  But with God, nothing is random. I happened to put the letter in the pages of Isaiah and the following verse jumped out at me:

Logan's short life was marred by oppression and affliction. He battled his demons daily. He fought hard to beat his illness.  But, eventually he became like a sheep before its shearers....silent.

Blessings,
Meri

#metoo

The #metoo movement has been gaining serious momentum in both mainstream and social media. Women and men ripping the mask off of gender inequality in all levels of society.

But I would argue that #metoo can be more than just about gender equality and sexual harassment in the workplace. It's time to expose the truth of mental health issues at all levels of society.  Mental illness is an equal opportunity employer. It does not discriminate by age, race, gender or socio-economic circumstances.

And why stop at mental health issues? 

#metoo-for the mothers who have stood strong while they bury their children, while they are really shattered inside.

#metoo-for the fathers who carry the weight of the world on their shoulders and don't know how to say it's too much.

#metoo-for the woman who made a choice when she was young and now wonders what life would be like with her child in it.

#metoo-for the women who sit politely and smile at baby showers when inside they are broken by pain of infertility.

#metoo-for the teens who feel lost and confused and don't know where to turn for help.

#metoo-for the mother who desperately wants another baby, but the answer seems to always be "no".

#metoo-for the daughters who are watching their mothers slip away, ravaged by cancer, knowing that there may not be one more Christmas or one more birthday.

#metoo-for the husbands who watch their wives suffer with an illness they cannot cure and watch time march on and know they cannot stop it's inevitable result.

It's time to talk. To share.

Enough hiding behind the mask of  "I'm fine".  One voice can start a revolution. Your voice. My voice.

"I AM NOT FINE". And you don't have to be either.

Blessings,
Meri

It's Time

One and 1/2 years ago, I wrote an open letter to my son on this blog (http://lifewithdeath1.blogspot.com/2015/05/to-my-son-on-your-13th-birthday.html). He had just turned 13 and I prayed fervently that he would heed the lessons his father and I tried to teach him as he grew into a young man and moved forward with his life.

Tonight, those words echo in my heart with a deep, bottomless ache.

You see, on January 2, 2018, my son lost his long and hard fought battle with mental illness. At 5:42 pm that night, my husband found our only son's body in our bathroom with a gunshot wound to the head.

He was gone.

And even knowing that the life had already left his body, my husband still tried to save him.  But, what we have learned in the subsequent days and weeks, is that there was never anything we could have done to stop him from doing the only thing he knew would end his pain.

I am not ashamed that my son took his life. We moved heaven and earth to treat the illness that eventually claimed his life.

I am not ashamed that my son suffered from depression, anxiety, bipolar and possibly schizophrenia. No more so than I would be if he had leukemia or kidney failure or any other disease process that effects the way an organ works.

I still feel guilt sometimes, I am working on that.

I desperately want to take back those 30 minutes between the time I left the house and the time my husband came home to find our son's lifeless body.

There are many things I don't know about this process.  Why now? Why at all? Did we do everything we could have? Is this somehow my fault?

But there is one thing I know for sure-Logan is at home in heaven and is no longer suffering as he did here on earth. I know this with all of my being.

I don't know what my grief journey is going to look like. So far, it still feels very surreal and I keep expecting him to come through the front door.  However, I will be sharing my journey here on my blog, all of the ugly, raw, painful, beautiful, redeeming moments.

There are 2 things that I hope sharing this grief journey will do: 1) Let some other mother/father/family know that they are not alone when they experience this type of catastrophic loss and 2) Reach at least 1 young person to show them that suicide is not a victimless solution, there are other options and mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of.

Blessings,
Meri

Our Brand Is Crisis

First-A Disclaimer:
This is real. This is raw. This is transparent. 

Last night we met with a counselor. A trauma counselor.

In speaking with her, it is evident that for the past 3 years, our lives have been a series of crises strung together with fleeting moments of normalcy.

In late 2014, both Rick and I lost our jobs. As a result, we lost our home and one of our vehicles.

This seems to be the catalyst that sparked a series of events that have made the past 3 years incredibly traumatic.

After losing what I thought would be our "forever home", we moved to an old home in a "transitional" part of the city.  Rick had gotten a new job and I was starting to make more money working from home as an independent contractor.  We wanted to make sure we could easily afford the rent, so we (mostly me) chose a home that turned out to be, well.....a nightmare. The final straw was when a man overdosed on drugs in the driveway of the vacant house next door to ours.  We broke the lease and chose to move into a smaller, but significantly nicer and safer apartment in a neighboring town.

In 3 years we have moved 3 times. 

We are now in a home, albeit a rental, in our desired town and desired neighborhood.  A home that fits our needs perfectly.

In the spring of 2016, I had a hysterectomy after a year of ER visits, terrible pain and desperately trying to find a doctor that could help me.

A couple of months later, my husband had gastric surgery in July 2016.

I have to pause here and explain something.  I have a couple of chronic health problems that lead to chronic pain.  I have spent the past 8 years trying to manage this. It is hard. I mean really hard.  

Now that that's out of the way....

One month prior to my hysterectomy, our son attempted suicide.

That was harder than anything I had experienced. Ever.

A few months later, he injured his shoulder at summer camp. We spent the next 10 months trying to get his shoulder injury resolved, culminating in surgery to repair his torn labrum in April 2017.

In February 2017, we moved from our 1400 sq foot apartment (which was lovely, but rather small for a family of 5 plus a dog) to our current home.  

In July 2017, my husband had surgery to fuse 3 vertebrae in his neck.

On September 19, 2017, we received word that my father-in-law had passed away.  He had been sick for several years following 2 strokes.  While you can try to prepare for the loss of a parent, you are never ready. We are still trying to process this loss.

In early October 2017, our son attempted suicide. Again. I cannot tell you how those words break my heart.

So...why am I telling you all of this?  Why lay out the tragedies and trials of the past 3 years for you?

I have shame. I feel lost. I don't understand what has happened in our lives.  I am searching for answers and solutions. I desperately desire "normal".  But what is really my true desire?  I want one other mother-just one-who may be struggling with some of the same feeling, to know that she is not alone. To know that it is not her fault. To know that she does not have to carry the weight of her circumstances like an albatross around her neck, nor wear the trials of her family like a scarlet letter on her chest.

I have struggled with my faith in God.  That is the dark and ugly truth of this. I have questioned. I have raged. I have cried out.

God has not abandoned me, despite my anger and fear. I am just now starting to see my way back to Him, starting to feel like I can trust again.

I know that this is not what white-bread middle America Christians expect. I have even been told that the trials and tragedies we have experienced are a direct result of our sinfulness. As if God is handing out punishment for us not being "good enough"?

Sister-God does not dole out punishments based on how "good" or "bad" others perceive us to be. The entire premise of the Christian faith is that we cannot ever be "good enough" to earn our redemption, it is entirely through His grace, and that alone, that we are redeemed.

I don't know if we are going to see and end to these issues soon or ever.  We can only address them as they come.  And there are other issues that have gone on and continue to go on in the background of all of this.  But, we have faith-in God and each other. Faith that tomorrow is a new day.

Blessings,
Meri

Last Night.....

Last night my son slit his wrist.

Writing those words, seeing them in black and white, takes my breath away.

The cut was horizontal, not near an artery, superficial, and required no stitches. 

We have struggled for the past 2 years to help our teen-aged son manage his depression and anxiety.  These illnesses are as real as any physical ailment, they simply attack a part of our bodies that is still very much a mystery to modern medicine.

This event is the latest in what feels like an unending season of crisis in our lives.

Health problems, financial worries, the loss of my husband's father.  All of these things seem to pile on my heart and weigh it down until it feels like I am in a permanent state of emergency management.

But of all of our struggles, this battle with depression that my son has fought valiantly, is what I want the world (or at least our corner of it) to see.

See, the feeling I have been fighting since last night is one of guilt.

What did I do wrong?  What, as his mother, did I do (or fail to do) to cause this?  I am too hard on him? Not hard enough? Do I hug him enough?  Do I give him enough freedom?  Or too much freedom?

But what some sweet friends, and God's word, and a well-time post by one of my favorite bloggers reminded me of today is that depression is a disease and I have as much to do with it's symptoms as I do if it were a cancer or broken bone.

They also reminded me that before he was my son, he was God's.  And God is already working on this. He is there in the hospital room with my son. He is here in our home, calming and comforting my family. He is watching over my sweet boy and protecting his life and soul, even as my son wants nothing more than to give up on the life God gave him.

I am not sharing this for the sake of garnering pity for our situation, although I do covet your prayers for our family. 

I am sharing this in the hope that perhaps one person will read this and know they are not alone in their fight against mental illness.

I am sharing this int he hope that one mama will read this and know, if only for a moment, that she is not to blame for her child's struggle with depression. 

I am sharing this in the hope that someone may know that there is another option.

Suicide is not a choice, it is not a commitment. Suicide is the result of a terminal disease. 

www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org
1-800-273-8255

Blessings,
Meri

Awareness

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month & Infant Loss and Miscarriage Awareness Month.

I am aware.

I am so very aware.

I am aware of both of these struggles every single day, not just the 31 days of the year that my FB and Instagram feeds turn pink and blue.

In November 2010, we lost our fourth baby to miscarriage.  I was never able to conceive again.

Every day I grieve for that child, for what could have been. So often I wonder what our lives would look like with 4 children and an active 6 year old in our lives.

A few years ago, my mom was diagnosed with stage 4 metastatic breast cancer. She has already lived longer than 80% of those that receive this diagnosis, but she will never be cured.

I try to prepare myself for life without her, but it is just beyond my ability to imagine it.

While this month brings awareness to these issues, some of us live with them every day.

Grief and loss is not something that happens to you and then stops.  It changes who you are at your very core.  It colors every thing you do, how you think, and how you process the world around you.

Next time you encounter someone who seems distant or cold, ill-tempered or irritable, or sad or angry-think about what burdens they may be carrying and be kind.

Blessings,
Meri