This week has been filled with unsolicited advice on how to deal with our grief on our daughters suicide.
- time heals all wounds
- how are you doing
- suicide is selfish and you should be mad about it
- Mali wouldn’t want you to be sad
- you’re going to have to get over it soon
- You need to go back to work to take your mind off it
- she’s never coming back, take care of the kids you do have
I realize that those statements were made from a place of sincerity, not malice but unless you have walked in our bloody shoes, kindly fuck off.
I don’t need to go into how much losing Mali hurts or the pain we are in. It’s public knowledge if you are reading this blog.
I probably would have tried to find some sound advice to pass on or say something I though would be comforting had we not lost a child to suicide. Something probably on the irritating list of shit above.
What I really want is your presence. For you not to say anything you may think is wise or good advice. I want a hug. I want silence. I want distraction from the pain and suffering of this life sentence we didn’t ask for. I want you to listen when I babble and go on about how much I miss my little girl and not get sick of it. Or, listen to me be angry at the whole world.
Losing a child is so hard on marriage. You spend days in zombie mode. Going through the motions. You follow the routine of work, fixing lunch for your husband (yes, I do that), making dinner, doing chores, going to the store for months on end. The kiss out the door. The hug when someone comes home. The space between keeps getting wider and wider and no matter how hard you try you just can’t seem to bridge the divide
Any armour I had before this, is worn out. I cannot defend myself from the onslaught of life just going on. The merry go round of life, in our hand built microclimates of family.
Frankly I just want to run away. I want to say fuck it all and go back to my beloved San Francisco and just start over.
I have recently been flirting with that idea and would like to make a relationship with it but, something holds me here.
I don’t even want to consider what that something is because it would wreck the one piece of possible happiness I hold in my head.
So I daydream about Ocean Beach off the great highway. Surfing. My relatives there. The irritating sand that always collects in your car because I spend too much time on the water. My sand dollars.
When I am not daydreaming about that fantasy I am present here in South Dakota trying to hold on to something that resembles what was my life.
I want to scream and hit and cry all at the same time. Like a two year old.
Since I digress from the subject at hand, here’s a helpful hint for having a relationship with someone who has lost a loved one to suicide. Be present and patient and stop with the fucking Zen comments about how life is. I already get it. Now kindly piss off.
Thank you to those who are patient and loving with us. You know who you are. I love you guys for letting me grieve in my own way.