Most of the time, if I write a grief post, it is because something has been swirling around in my head for too long. If I write it down, it is out of my head. If I see it in plain view, it makes more sense. The curse of being a suicide survivor is that you deal with lots of questions, images, what if scenarios. As part of my healing process, I write down everything. It is a tremendous help.
No matter how many times I write about it, I don’t think your death will ever make sense. Why did you have to go? Anytime anyone says maybe it was a part of God’s plan or that God needed you, I want to slap them! God didn’t want you to take your own life. It doesn’t help to hear that. At all. In fact, it hurts. It feels like God punished me with your death, which He would never do. I didn’t do anything to deserve this pain. None of us did. You didn’t deserve your pain either. I saw so many opportunities for you to get better and for your healing, but you didn’t see them. You only saw one way out.
I tried so hard to make you happy and to show you the life you wanted. Your depression filled “glasses” fogged up reality. I always knew ways to make you smile or to help you find more joy in life. You did the same for me. I tried everything. I had to get pretty creative, but nothing worked. Nothing. Nothing anyone did could penetrate your illness. Every time I think about blaming myself, I remember what your Uncle Brian said to me the day before your funeral. He said, “Jess, you did more than could have ever been expected of you. This is not your fault”.
It’s not my fault. It’s nobody’s fault, really. Sometimes, I like to blame you for it. You did it. You planned it. You got what you wanted. You are happy and left those who truly loved you sad and lonely. Then I realize blaming you is like blaming a cancer patient for getting cancer. In most cases, it just happens. You didn’t ask for your illness. You didn’t do anything to get it. It’s just tragic that you couldn’t be helped. But, I did all I could do and I think you knew that. In the end, you showed you cared for me. Only you knew it was the end. Had I known maybe I could have done one more thing, but eating one more apple doesn’t cure a person of cancer. It was much the same for you.
Now, we are two weeks away from the anniversary of your death. You know me, I am anticipating it. The heart ache has returned. The sadness. The confusion – all stronger than it has been in awhile. But, you also know that I have to have some sort of bright side. I will be on the beach for the anniversary of your death. The ocean and sand and sunshine might ease the pain, even if just temporarily. And, I will come back with a tan. I always feel pretty with a tan. And, I am working with your mom and brothers to plan something special in your memory. I can’t wait until I get the go-ahead to unveil it. I wish you were still here. I wish I didn’t have to do any of this. I wish April 3rd was not a significant date for me. I wish you had been healed and life went on as planned.
I’m sure God has a plan for me, but this….
THIS will never make sense.