Go To Counseling

Suicide Survivor's Top Ten Things To Do (or NOT Do):

GO TO COUNSELING

Brad and I had only been married seven weeks when my Dad's suicide occurred. Talk about being unprepared! No one is ever prepared for a loved one's death, much less a suicide; and way less when you're honeymooners. We couldn't even navigate through the "which sink is mine?" in the master bathroom conversation.To say that we were horribly ill-equiped to deal with working through the tragic death of my Dad is a gross understatement. Like super gross. 

Nine months into our rocky marriage, I was laying in bed one morning or afternoon, sad and depressed, when my handsome husband put his hand on my hand and said, "I don't know that I can make you happy. Maybe we should get a divorce."  Translation: "You've gone freaking nuts and I don't know how to help you." We began marriage counseling three days later. (Don't be hard on Brad! He loved/loves me crazy madly! You have no idea what he had to deal with.)

We didn't just go to counseling. We did the work. Whatever the counselor told us to do, we did it. We put in the time. We put in the tears. We worked through the anger, frustration and confusion. We were both willing to hear difficult things about ourselves; not just from each other, but also from the counselor. We were willing to apply what we learned. We say in our house that we're not interested in behavior modification, we're interested in life transformation. We both learned to cling more dearly to Jesus, because life transformation only comes through Him. We each went to counseling by ourselves. A little one-on-one tune-up was needed for each of us. 

It was all crazy hard. Was it worth it? You bet your sweet bippy it was. Brad can still make my blood boil b/c I'm human and flawed to perfection. But I love him so much. I know how to talk to him better because of counseling. He knows how to express love to me better because of counseling. And we know how to fight fair because of counseling. 

I also attended group grief counseling. A girlfriend from church had lost her husband and she knew of a church that offered free group grief counseling. So each week for about 12 weeks she would drive to my house and pick me up. We would drive to the nearby community where the church was located and we would be each other's grief counseling accountability.  It was unspeakably helpful. The group was made up of around 15 people raging in ages from 26 to 86. Everyone went around the room and shared their story of loss the first week. I was nervous and didn't want to utter the words out loud, "My Dad killed himself." But I did. I sobbed the entire time and so did everyone else. God gave me such sweet healing in that group. 

When I read back through this, it sounds like I was in counseling 20 hours a week! ha! I probably should have been. The group grief counseling was an hour each week for around 12 weeks. And it was FREE. Our marriage counseling was an hour each week for about three months. The weeks that we saw the counselor one-on-one, we didn't meet together. The marriage counseling cost us about $45 a session. Yes, that seems like a lot of money for 12 weeks, but not when you think about what we could have lost. And PS - most people spend crazy stupid money on their wedding but don't want to spend a dime on marriage counseling (the thing that may help keep your marriage together)...I'm gonna call that one on the carpet and say: COP OUT! Spend the money on counseling. Biblically-based counseling. Many churches offer free counseling, so check with your church. 

Get help. 

Seek wise counsel.

Keep going. 

Honor Them, Honor Yourself

(so I didn't make it through 10 posts in 10 days. Epic fail. Today I'm trying again. Note to self: Keep going!)

Suicide Survivor's Top Ten Things To Do (or NOT Do):

HONOR THEM, HONOR YOURSELF

Your traditions don't have to die with your loved one. My Dad killed himself three days before Father's Day. I had already bought a Father's Day card for him. I came home and buried that card in the bottom of my card box (I'm a "card person". It's my own personal "tradition" to give or make great cards. Yes, I have a box-o-cards for every occasion. Drives my OCD husband crazy!). Every time I'd reach to the bottom of the box and see that father's day card, my heart would leap into my throat and I would crumble. Until I decided to conquer that card by writing in it. My fear of that card was tied to my false belief that all my emotions and feelings for my Dad had to die and be buried with the memory of him. Wrong. I decided to brave it. I decided to work through it. That card is stained with my ink and my tears (and probably my snot). It is full of words that are held intimately private between me and my Dad and my Savior. I'm not going to lie and say it wasn't incredibly painful to write in that card. It was. But it was my tradition and it didn't have to die with Dad. 

I've bought my Dad a Father's Day card every year since he died. Some years I write in it. Some years I just file it in my box with the other cards marked: Dad, Daddy, J.D., Dragon Slayer, Jerry Don, Gary Don - all the names we had for him. 

Honor them. Our family has kept some of our old traditions. Every year on Dad's birthday we eat his favorite meal: beans, cornbread and carrot cake. We even sing "Happy Birthday" to him. We sometimes go to the Harley-Davidson shop...Dad's favorite place. We usually exchange some sort of Harley memorabilia - that quintessential black & orange shield will forever be a reminder of Dad.  We pray and cry and laugh. We remember.  

Honor yourself. Our family has created new traditions. Every year on the anniversary of Dad's death, we celebrate another year that God has brought us through. We call it Dead Dad Day. We take turns buying each other a meaningful gift. We eat, shop, travel. It doesn't matter what we do, all that matters is that we're together. We survived! We didn't think we could or would, but we did. We pray and cry and laugh on Dead Dad Day. And we make new memories. 

Sunday was Dead Dad Day and, BONUS, it was Father's Day. I woke up and celebrated what a great Daddy my husband is to our daughter. And then we went to church and worshipped. I cried, of course, especially when we belted out my favorite David Crowder song, "Oh How He Loves Us." After worship, I jumped in the van and ran across town to my friend's church where a member of my church family was sharing his story of alcoholism and sobriety. And I cried. I cried for the hope that God gives a young man that he can rise out of the "pit of despair", out of the "mud & mire" and come out different, better. To be present to witness this young man be poured out and used to point others to the forgiveness and transformation of Jesus, what a privilege. Wow. Thanks, Ty (and Tonya). Many have seen what He has done in your life and they are amazed! Sunday was a great day. Yesterday my Mom, Sister and I celebrated Dead Dad Day. We ate, shopped, laughed, cried a little and shared a few memories. 

Mostly, we celebrated how good God is. How faithful He is. How much He loves us. 
We're so thankful. We're so blessed. He's brought us so far in eight years! 

Where ever you find yourself today, don't stop. Don't bury your feelings and emotions in the bottom of your box-o-cards. Pull out the card (or journal or blog) and write it all out. Go through it. You can do it...and when you think you really can't do it anymore, then remember and renew your belief in the healing, transforming and resurrecting power of Jesus. The place where we cease to exist is the place where God is just beginning to do something spectacular in our life. Let Him dazzle you...and keep going. 

Ty shared his life verses with us on Sunday (Psalm 40:1-3). These are some of my favorite words from scripture. 

Psalm 40:1-3 (NLT)
"I waited patiently for the Lord to help me,
    and he turned to me and heard my cry.
² He lifted me out of the pit of despair,
    out of the mud and the mire.
He set my feet on solid ground
    and steadied me as I walked along.
³ He has given me a new song to sing,
    a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see what he has done and be amazed.
    They will put their trust in the Lord."

Don't Tell Them Their Loved One Went to Hell

Yes. Someone said that to us. And we survived that, too. Here's what happened:

Word traveled fast after Dad's body was found. Family and friends came from far and wide to attend Dad's funeral. My parents' house was full of people bringing food and paying their respects. It was a revolving door sending people into our arms to hold us, cry with us, pray with us, grieve with us, and some were sent to teach us. Some taught us what we wanted to be like. Others taught us that 'hand, foot, mouth' isn't just a virus that toddlers catch in the church nursery - it's something we're all capable of having if we open mouth, insert foot, then frantically throw our hand over our mouth in disbelief that our mouth just said that. My Mom's beloved family member (who I will not name in order to save this person from being tarred & feathered at our next family reunion) caught 'hand, foot, mouth' a couple of days before the funeral. Poor thing. Seriously, you shoulda seen it. It would have been sad & tragic had it not been so stinking funny. (DISCLAIMER: We have a warped sense of humor.)  

Mom was standing in the living room with a crowd of people hugging her as they left food on the table and headed back out. Mom says to the people around her, who are crying and sharing sweet, kind stories about Jerry Don, "I'm just so thankful that we'll see him again. I know he's finally well. He's healed. This isn't what we wanted when we prayed for God to heal him, but this is God's healing. And today Jerry is healed. And he's with his Heavenly Father." At this moment everything went into slow motion as the said family member jumped into the circle of people, grabbed Mom by the shoulders and yelled into her face, "No, Linda! You won't see him again. He killed himself! He's in hell!" 

My Mom's colorless face drained more color and then it turned red. In. An. Instant. I mean, red. 

Even in 2005, the word "suicide" was surrounded by taboo. Mom, Jenni and I had to rethink everything our culture (in the South) had taught us about suicide versus what we knew and believed to be true, based on God's Word. Thankfully, there were tons of friends and family whispering the truth of God's love into our ears. And they were lovingly reminding us of Dad's faith. Because when someone kills himself, you not only question God, you question who the person was and you question what they believed.  I knew that despite my Dad's choices at the end of his life, he was a man who loved God. He was a man who had a relationship with Jesus. He was the man who taught me how to read my Bible, how to teach it and how to pray. He taught me to go to church and serve the body of Christ faithfully. I knew that I knew that my Dad was a believer. But the questions that rise following a suicide are in some ways fair. Survivors need to wrestle with what they believe and why they believe it. And though the questions might be fair, they are nonetheless difficult. 

Questions like:

"Would a believer who loved and knew of Christ's forgiveness/love/the cross, could that person plummet to the depths of despair so profoundly that they felt like the only way 'out' was death?" Uh, heavens yes. 

"If you love God and you have the Holy Spirit inside your being, can you ignore Him and run away to the lengths of alcoholism and pointing a gun at yourself?" Uh, heavens yes. 

"If you kill yourself, are you doomed to eternity in hell?" Uh, hell no. 

But some people believe that your fate is sealed eternally if you 'commit suicide.' Some people are taught this in their religion, in their churches or in their families. And some people get 'hand, foot, mouth' and decide to share their beliefs. 

So what did my Mom do?

Well, she didn't throw the family member out of our house. She didn't cuss out the family member, shaming him/her in front of other people throwing them out on the front lawn (like the true hillbillies that we are). She didn't slap him/her across the face with Daytime-Emmy-Award-Winning-Susan Lucci-drama. Instead, my godly, sweet, forgiving Mama, used the moment to teach someone old something new. She told the well-intentioned family member that God's forgiveness is not based on human performance. She explained that the only "unpardonable" sin is not receiving Christ. She told her that Jerry, her beloved husband of 25 years, was indeed a believer in Christ. And she assured the family member that he was in heaven and we would see him again. 

And what did the family member do?

The person looked shocked and said, "No one ever told me that before. I didn't know!"

Use moments, even difficult, painful moments, to teach others. Maybe the person who has offended you has 'hand, foot, mouth' because they really don't know any different. 

Teach them. In Truth. In Love. 

The world offers enough hell. Give 'em heaven. 

Keep going. 

Keep a Journal

Suicide Survivor's Top Ten Things To Do (or NOT Do):

KEEP A JOURNAL

WRITE EVERYTHING. WRITE EVERYDAY. 

Just write. Even if you're "not a writer", write. You'll wish you had if you don't. 

You think you'll remember ever lesson, every great thing God does and shows you. But you won't. You'll forget. 

So write it down. Keep a journal. Get a fancy leather one with your name engraved on it (like I did cuz I'm a total nerd, uh, I mean, I'm a boss, baby. Or is it, "I'm boss." Clearly I'm both.). Or buy a $1.99 black & white composition notebook. It doesn't matter. 

Write the day and the date (i.e. Tuesday, June 11, 2013) and then write what you're feeling that day. Here's an example:

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Today I'm doing really good, especially considering we lost _________________ two months ago today. Oh gosh, I didn't realize today was the 11th...two months. Wow. God is good. Wow. Now I feel like my heart is breaking. It's a little hard to breathe when I realize I haven't heard her voice in two months. Oh great I'm crying in this composition notebook...again.

Just write. 

Recently (on April 11th), one of my dearest friends' older sister went to Heaven. She was only 37. She left behind her husband and two little girls. So before I boarded the plane to go to the funeral, I bought my friend, her sister and their mama journals. I had their names engraved on the journals. And I wrote their instructions inside the front cover of each journal: "Write in this journal. Let it be the chronicle of your journey through your loss. Write down every memory you have of your sister/daughter. And one day, when it's right and when it's special, give this journal to her daughters. It will be the best gift you can give those sweet little girls." 

Write. Remember. Look back and see what God has done and where He has brought you. And praise Him that you're here and you're no longer there. Thank Him for getting you through each second of each minute of each day. He is good. 

Remember His faithfulness. Write it down. 

"Many people have set out to write accounts about the events that have been fulfilled among us." Luke 1:1  The beginning of the gospel according to Luke. He wrote down the account of Jesus to share with us. Aren't we thankful and blessed that he did?

Write it if not for yourself for someone else. One day you'll need to share your story and the lessons you've learned to help someone else through their journey. 

It's not too late to start writing! If your loss was yesterday or 10 years ago, begin writing now. Write what you remember. Write who you've become in light of what you've gone through. 

Start writing. Don't give up. Keep going!