Shades of Grey
Although the events themselves took place many years ago, I
can remember the days following the suicides of my brother, and three years
later my father, as if they happened yesterday. My memories are what theorists Brown and Kulik
called “flashbulb” memories. Memories of
the scenes seem sharp and clear, as if a tiny little person residing in my
brain had taken snapshots in full living color.
Only the color wasn’t bright and clear in those
pictures. In fact, I remember feeling as
if all color had suddenly taken a leave of absence from life itself. Instead of seeing the beautiful shades of
red, orange, and gold those fall seasons, I just saw varying shades of grey. I watched as those around me carried on with
life, laughed at jokes, or chatted in line at the grocery store. It seemed absurd to me. How could life go on as if nothing had
happened? Life, as I knew it, was over. Period.
End of story. I could expect
nothing other than moving through days, breathing in and out, putting one foot
in front of the other. It was that or
take my own life as well and just get the whole horrifying business of living over
with.
Years later I was sitting in a class in my masters in mental
health counseling program. Thoughts of
my loved one’s suicides hardly ever entered my mind anymore. My professor was talking about assessing a
client for risk of suicide.
“I have nothing but contempt for anyone who kills himself,”
she said. “I’m sorry, but committing
suicide is the most thoughtless, selfish thing anyone could ever do.”
I fought against the urge to bend forward as if someone had
slugged me in the stomach. I felt as if
she were assaulting my brother and father, right there in front of the
class. My thoughts toward them since
their deaths had been full of love and longing, compassion, and empathy. Oh, there were other, more complicated
feelings, but I knew first-hand how unbidden those thoughts of wanting to end
life in order to end unbearable pain had been like for each of them. Thoughtless?
Selfish? It was hard to listen to
anything else she had to say for the rest of the semester.
But many do feel a deep sense of anger and betrayal after a
loved one commits suicide. In the book,
“Grieving a Suicide: A Loved-One’s Search for Comfort,” bereavement counselor
Laure Janus is quoted as saying, “Anger is normal…I see lots of people in
cemeteries yelling at gravestones.”
I just didn’t react that way. I wanted to honor my loved-ones. After my brother’s death, I took some potted
mums someone brought to the memorial service and brought them to the Parks and
Recreation Department in the small suburb of Los Angeles where we lived. “Can you plant these in one of the parks?” I
asked. “They are from my brother’s
funeral. He died a week ago.” I sensed his compassion for the broken,
sorrow-filled young woman standing before him; he took the mums I held out to
him. “Sure,” he said. A week later I tried to find them. I drove to every park in town. I pictured them languishing in the back of the
landscaper’s pick-up truck and my heart broke for those mums, experiencing
death all alone. A second death in two
weeks. My brother dying all over again.
After his death, I cried for my brother every morning as
soon as I woke up for two straight years.
I cried out to God during those dark, lonely days as well. When my
father killed himself three years later, I knew the drill. But eventually, step-by-step, day-by-day, I
healed. The colors of life not only
returned, they became brighter than they had ever been. Now, the beauty of the colors of fall make my
heart beat faster and I relish every day of the season.
I recently had the privilege of being interviewed by Lucinda
Bassett on the inaugural episode of her new radio show, Truth Be Told.” She said something that really resonated with
me. “It is our job as family members of
those who take their lives to keep the memory of the beautiful people they were
alive,” she said. My father and my
brother were so much more than “completed suicides.” They were men who loved their families,
served their country, and made a positive difference in the lives of many while
they were here with us. I have to think
that if they were here to witness my life now they would be proud. As Lucinda said on her show, “What [we] are
doing by living well is the best way to honor those who leave.”
Linda Hoenigsberg (Guest Caller on Truth Be Told with Lucinda Bassett)
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Thanks Linda for your sharing of such a painful part of your life. Reading your blog has been most insightful as well....even though we have known each other for such a long time there is still so much I am learning about you. Experiencing these losses has given you insight and compassion for others in similar circumstances that will reach more people that you can imagine. Blessings
ReplyDeleteOh my goodness. My eyes filled up at the chrysanthemums and the park-keeper; I so, so hope he planted those flowers somewhere.
ReplyDeleteThankyou for telling your story. Thankyou God for healing and the return of the colours. My Father died suddenly a few days before my eldest daughter was born and for months I thought the world was still spinning but I had been forced to get off. Terrible isolation of grief.
Thankyou. Wonderful writing.