Tripping over kids...while mourning...

TRIPPING OVER KIDS

(while mourning the loss of someone to suicide).

There are four of them, and only one of me. I am outnumbered on a regular basis. I am speaking of my four children under the age of ten years old. Anyone who is raising kids on their own knows you feel alone even though your children are with you, but like the weight of the world is on your shoulders as the responsibility for those little people rests upon you. It can be overwhelming and sometimes even unbearable to cope with the stress of it all.

Now I am a single mother of four children trying to cope with the loss of my father who took his own life on May 3rd, 2009. Yes, “SUICIDE” and the stigma that goes along with it. Something that I never thought I would have to deal with, and certainly not involving my dad. I have come head to head with my biggest challenge yet. Funny, I always thought my challenge is to raise my four active children!

My dad had Bipolar Disorder (manic depressive illness) is a mood disorder with extreme mood swings. Only a few family members including myself were aware of his illness. He had been struggling for the last 4 ½ years with the illness.

He chose to hide his struggles as best he could. He wasn’t honest with his doctors, therapists, or my mom for that matter about what was really going on with him. He often changed his medication without telling my mom. When she would find out he claimed he changed it because he was feeling better and didn’t need the meds anymore.

He didn’t make the connection that it was the medication that was making him feel better and that he should continue to take it. Feeling more like himself, he opted to not take them until mom told the doctors and they urged him to continue. This was an ongoing battle for years.

I knew of this struggle, and dad would usually call me to confide in me what was going on, although I know he did not share everything.

In May my mom came to visit my grandparents on the Sunshine Coast for a couple weeks. Her and my dad discussed it, and it was decided he was going to stay in Regina to continue work while mom took the time off to visit her parents who were ill. My parents worked side by side for years doing drywall. Mom was to spend a week on the coast, then visit the kids and I for the remainder of her time in BC. Only I got a call on the fourth day she was on the coast.

She called Sunday night asking if I could pick her up at the ferry the next morning. Despite mom saying everything was ok when I asked her what was going on, I knew it wasn’t. I thought about my grandparents, had something happened? I prepared myself for the worst and set off the next morning to the Horseshoe Bay ferry terminal with my 18 month old daughter in tow. My three older kids were at school.

Mom didn’t really say anything, so I assumed maybe my grandparents needed a break from company as I had been warned they sometimes do. Upon arriving back home we had lunch, and afterwards I sat down on the living room floor to play with my baby. Mom sat on the couch across the room and watched us quietly. Something was wrong. I could now feel it in the pit of my stomach that was now filled with knots. She was quiet, and watching us intently. Something was clearly on her mind.

My mom suddenly sat down on the chair close to me grabbing my arm moving me closer towards her saying “I have something to tell you.” My stomach went into my throat and I swallowed hard as if to push down the lump that was forming there. My mom’s eyes filled with tears, and she whispered “Dad passed away yesterday.” My dad…as I’m typing this, my stomach goes into that familiar knot and suddenly the words on my screen are no longer eligible.

Mom did not have all the information at that time, including how he died. We didn’t say the words in that moment, but deep down, we both knew he had died by suicide. Our worst fear was confirmed later that evening.

Some of the memories of that day are clear, most are not. I remember after she told me, I remained on the floor sobbing uncontrollably into my hands. My 18 month old baby walking over unsteadily to see what was wrong with her mommy. I hugged her, I hugged her hard. I thought of my other children. Someone needed to get them from school. They were to be picked up in 45 minutes. I knew there was no way I would or should even attempt to drive to get them, so I called their dad. I’m not sure how I managed to get the words out but I did. Sobbing, I told him I just found out my dad died and he needed to take the other kids. I called my boyfriend (my youngest daughters dad) telling him my dad was gone and he needed to come to the house to help with the baby.

Once I knew they were on their way for the children, I gave myself permission to feel everything I was feeling. I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

I remember sitting in my baby’s room at some point between the rocking chair and her crib, but I have no memory of how I got there. There, my youngest daughter hugged me, clutching her little arm around my neck. She tried to maneuver her way onto my lap. I remember holding her and crying so hard I thought I might scare her. She held on to me, as if her own life depended on it.

I know my mom was in the room. I remember hearing her voice, but I do not recall everything she was saying. Something about calling an ambulance for help, and telling someone “she’s in here.”

I remember my boyfriend showing up and pulling our daughter away from me in an attempt to give me space thinking it would be better for both of us. That she shouldn’t see her mommy in such a state. That couldn’t have been further from the truth. I heard my baby’s howling and crying for me in the hallway after they pulled her from me. He and my mom immediately realized she needed to be with me, and boy did I need her. As soon as she was taken from my grasp I started to hyperventilate. When they returned her to me still wedged between the chair and the crib, she calmed down and so did I. I will never forget the power of that moment with her. How much we needed each other. I don’t think I can even put into words how those precious moments were during such an excruciating painful time. It is indescribable.

It has been five months since my dad made the decision to end his life. Since that first week of his passing, I have gone back to Regina to see him one last time. I drove the long, narrow road in La Fleche, SK he took when he decided to take his life in a baseball field there where he used to play ball as a child.

I stood in the middle of the field, my dad only gone for five days. I closed my eyes, felt the cold wind on my face. I could hear birds singing, it was peaceful there though my heart was broken. There was nothing in sight but an old battered concession stand and bathroom if you can call it that. As the sun set, the sky lit up with pink, yellow and red I thought to myself "This is it. This is where my dad took his last breath." I felt calm whereas I thought I would be a complete wreck being there. It just wasn't the horrific picture I had in my mind when I thought of my dad all alone that day. I have no regrets going there, because somehow I managed to find temporary peace with what I saw. I will not wonder where he was, or what he saw in those last moments because I gave myself permission to see it too.

We buried him on Mothers Day in a little cemetery next to his parents who passed away long ago in La Fleche, SK. I brought back some of his ashes with me as I knew I wanted to have him here in BC with me, where he raised me. I buried him again on July 27th, 2009.

I took care of the paperwork regarding his death for the first week after his passing. I wrote his obituary that would be placed in several different newspapers, rifling thru pictures of him that would be suitable for the newspaper. I wrote his eulogy that I was to read at his funeral in Regina an exact week to the day he passed. Through all this I was trying to maintain my composure in front of my kids, trying to portray like I was ok, when in fact I was not.

I have attended an eight week Suicide Support Bereavement Program, two alumni meetings for the group, and a dove release on Father’s Day.

I have planned and arranged two balloon releases. First one was with my children, for my children. They did not go with me to Regina, so they had no opportunity to say goodbye to Grandpa and I had not yet made the arrangements for him to be buried in BC.

I had the kids draw pictures and write Grandpa little notes and attached them to the string of the balloons. We released them on the beach in White Rock on Father’s Day. I remember it was cold and windy that day, similar to the cold windy day on the baseball field in La Fleche where I stood remembering my dad. Now here I was with my kids on Fathers Day, they knew and understood why we were there. I am blessed.

My 8 year old son asked me as we watched the balloons being carried swiftly to the skies above “what happens if Grandpa doesn’t catch the balloons because they’ve flown to space?” I told him “that won’t happen, Grandpa will catch them before they get there.” It was one of those rare moments that my pain was slightly eased. I looked at my son, and he wasn’t sad watching his balloon being carried away by the wind, he was smiling, thinking of Grandpa up in the heavens waiting to catch his balloon note. I gathered up my kids once the balloons were out of sight, and we drove to where the dove release was being held. It was a long and emotional day, but worth it. My kids were able to say their goodbyes to Grandpa in two different and special ways.

I planned and arranged a Celebration of Life for my dad in August. It turned out better than I could have hoped for. Thirty family and friends gathered. That was the day for the second balloon release. We stood in a circle gathered in my aunt and uncles backyard. Each person had their own brightly colored balloon. I asked that everyone say something about dad and when they were done they let go of their balloon. It was my second balloon release for him and it was beautiful. It was a lot more powerful than the first, perhaps because I was surrounded by so many other people who love him. At the same time though, I remember being extremely angry that day.

The only time I was somewhat civil was when my children asked me something. I had to constantly remind myself to keep my emotions in check so that the Celebration of Life was a day to actually celebrate him, rather than be angry at him. It was difficult beyond words, and when it came time for me to release my balloon for my dad, I was sad again, remembering him and just how much I love and miss him.

On September 10th, I attended the Suicide Prevention Day event held at the facility I went to for the support group. I was frustrated and disappointed to learn that night, there is no National Suicide Prevention Strategy for Canada in place. There is such a "stigma" about suicide it's overwhelming.

I have spent countless hours researching suicide, signing petitions, reading books, attending meetings and events, just trying to make sense of it all. I simply can't. Nothing works, however some of it has helped. I know I am not alone. I am grateful for the support group I found and the friendships that developed there. So many people have and continue to go thru the exact same thing I am. I remain frustrated that my dad is gone no matter how many venues or things I try to get thru this.

Where I once wore a silver bracelet on my wrist, I am now sporting an orange rubber suicide prevention and awareness one that I picked up at the suicide prevention event last month. I’ve dyed my hair from blonde to brunette because that’s the color my dad always preferred as it is my natural color.

It amazes me the things I am doing to try to feel connected to him. I am forever changed by his decision. I am everyday painfully aware he is gone, and the knots in my stomach linger, some days more than others. I know that for some people they look to their faith for support and guidance. I’ve learned that I don’t have to look far as I look into the faces of my four innocent children. With them, I can get thru anything.

A friend of mine gave me a refrigerator magnet a couple years ago that reads “I can survive any crisis, I have kids.” I’ve always chuckled reading it from time to time as it has remained on my refrigerator door, and it is meant to humor people. Now I look at it in a different light. I still chuckle, but now I give a knowing nod and remind myself “yes, I really can survive any crisis.” Thank goodness I do have kids, without them, I would be grieving differently.

I’ve chosen to be open and honest about my dads' death. What I’m feeling and what I’m going thru with whoever asks as it is vital to talk about your feelings. When I’m crying or just down, my kids now have a better understanding as to why. I often say my dad took my happy, but my children bring it back simply by being them.

I hope and pray this has taught them to be open about their feelings as they know Grandpa wasn’t about his. I hope and pray they will remember seeing me in this kind of pain so later in life if they ever have the feelings my dad did, they remember the pain that was inflicted on those who loved him by his decision, and to always know to ask for help, and there is nothing wrong in doing so. These lessons I feel I have already taught my children, but maybe, just maybe this particular subject will hit home even more for them when they are old enough to really understand it all.

They say suicide is a selfish decision, a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I feel like it is a lifetime sentence to those who are left behind. Thru this, I have met dozens of people who are still attending support groups after losing someone to suicide up to over 40 years ago. It changes you. You do not fully recover, you just learn to deal with it better over time.

I sincerely encourage others to look within your selves for strength. We are all stronger than we realize. I especially learned just how strong I can be for my children, and that the answers I seek to make sense of what has happened is an attempt for closure – it is a journey, not a destination. It will take time to walk the path toward healing…there is no timeline, it will happen as it is meant to as we all grieve in our own time and in our own way.

So each day as I’m literally tripping over kids, in their attempt to get my attention, I am reminded that they need me to. I am still here. It is my dad that is gone. I cannot let my dad’s decision to take his life consume mine, take over and affect the people I love that need me healthy and happy as I continue to live my life. I believe in the power to choose…I choose to live, no matter what crisis is thrown my way.

Written by Tera Williams in loving memory of my Dad, John S. Moore.

Please visit www.nspscnd.epetitions.net to support A National Suicide Prevention Strategy for Canada.