Difficult Seasons

Yesterday was not normal, if there is such a thing in chaplaincy. I spent four hours making patient visits, only visiting with four people. In that time I might normally see three times that many folks.

That means I had several indepth conversations. They were each different — in substance, in emotional tone, in breadth. Each was driven by what that person wanted to talk about, though sometimes with gentle prompting.

I’ve learned that indepth conversations take me longer to post-process, and that’s true today. One in particular just keeps coming to mind. Partly it’s because he talked about the effects of his disease on so many different aspects of his life. And partly it’s because of the depth and at times rawness of his feelings.

It’s an honor to be entrusted with someone’s deepest thoughts and feelings. But sometimes they are also kind of heavy to carry around. I’m thankful for a God with infinite capacity to accept my burdens and those of the folks I minister to. Today there’s a lot to turn over.

This final “One Month Later” segment has some very practical things for us not to do in reaching out to the family of a suicide victim. Thanks again to our anonymous writer for her clear words that can be so helpful to us in wanting to help people like her.

Please be mindful of the things you say or ask, when my children are present. They don’t always need to hear all of the facts. If you want me to be honest, don’t ask sensitive questions in front of my children. I may have to give you a false answer for their sake.

Please don’t share your views concerning my spouse’s final destination. You are not God. It causes even more heartache for me when you imply that he will pay for eternity for his choices. I still care about him.

Please don’t tell me that the death of my spouse has somehow made your life better in some way – by causing a positive change to occur, for example. Not yet. I’m happy that it has worked out that way for you, but I’m not ready to hear it – my life is falling apart. As wrong as it sounds, it is too early for me to hear how his death has made things better for you.

Forgive me when I seem cold ,or angry, or indifferent. My emotions change quickly. I can’t always identify them myself or understand them either. All I know is that sometimes I feel hurt, anger, sadness, confusion or nothing at all.

I feel hurt that we weren’t enough to keep him here. I feel hurt because I can’t erase the pain that my children feel.

I don’t expect you to have the “right” words to say. I don’t know the right words to say either. I am thankful for your effort and your willingness to try. Try not to avoid us. It’s noticeable… even when you don’t realize it.

If you have a good memory or a funny story about something he did, share it with us. If you have a picture of him, we’d love to see it. We still talk about him. Add to our memory bank.

We are just trying to survive suicide. We are going through the motions right now. We are surviving day by day. Sometimes hour by hour, moment by moment. Be patient with us.

The third portion of information written by the wife of a man who took his own life one month ago appears below.  These paragraphs give some very practical, positive things we can do to help people who are grieving.  (Here are links to Part 1 and Part 2.)

Give me a hug. I need human touch. Tell me things will be okay someday in the distant future. I need to hear that there is hope. Remind me that God is near. Remind me that God does care about my family and me. I want to believe it.

Write me a letter to share your thoughts/experiences with me. I can read letters again and again until I understand. Don’t be offended if I screen my phone calls. I don’t always feel like talking. If you know I’m having a hard day, show up at my house. Just sit with me. We don’t have to talk. Just sit with me and remind me that you are there for support. Don’t ask me to tell you what I need you to do. Just find something, and do it. Take my children out for the day. Mow my yard. Help me clean out a closet or sort through his things.

Give me a call just to let me know you are still thinking about and praying for our family. Or send me an email. I think and can respond on my own time.

Send a card. At first, there were so many cards. Now, not so many. But…the cards I receive now mean that people still care. People are still praying for our family. I have a difficult time with prayer right now. It’s nice to know someone out there is praying for us.

Feel free to invite me to an activity. I will probably go – and be glad not to have to worry about planning/arranging it. It will allow me to forget for awhile. If I really don’t feel up to it, I’ll tell you.

Just be around. Be around, not to find out information – just to be a friend. If I share something personal, don’t share it with others. Don’t betray my trust or I will never share again.

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Continued tomorrow

The words below come from the wife of a man who took his own life, and who is sharing her thoughts and feelings to help others of us understand what her grief journey is like.  I’m thankful to her for sharing.  I know that many of you join me in praying for God’s blessings in her journey, and for the healing that only He can provide.  (Here’s part 1 if you missed it.)

I feel guilty all the time. I think about what I should have done differently all. the. time. It’s like a movie that plays again and again. I keep trying to re-write the ending. Don’t add to my guilt and ask me why I didn’t (fill in the blank)? I don’t know why I didn’t do things differently. I wish I had done things differently. I wish I had been able to. I wish I could have stopped him. I think about the what ifs all the time. I constantly wish for a do-over. But wishes don’t bring him back. I can’t have a do-over. Don’t add to my guilt please. Hindsight is 20/20.

I know my husband wasn’t perfect. I know you may have heard about some of the things that happened before he died. I am torn. You can tell me how it makes you feel, that’s fine. I’ve felt just as angry, believe me. But, he was a human being, with a life, a soul. I loved him. I plan to emphasize the positive aspects of my husband’s life to my children. It does them no good to hear the negative. They are a part of him too. I don’t want them to think that a part of each one of them is “bad”. So keep the comments about my deceased spouse positive in front of my children. They only have memories now. Let’s make the memories good ones. (Sometimes, I might want to share some of the difficult memories with you privately. Don’t act shocked. Don’t judge me for the things I say or the way I feel.)

I am fearful about the future. Can I do it alone? What if I try and I fall on my face? Who will help me then? My whole future changed in one instant. I mourn the life I once imagined. The advice that I need to “get on with my life” usually comes from people who are still married to their spouse of 30+ years. I resent that advice. Don’t tell me to “move on” or “get over it”. Don’t tell me how I should feel. Tell me that you will be willing to listen to me when things are tough. Make no judgements.

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Continued tomorrow.

Last week, a wife whose husband had taken his own life wrote a comment here, and to insure wider readership, I put it in a post. By private correspondence, she has written about her thoughts and feelings one month after her husband’s death.  She does a wonderful job helping all of us understand her grief.  She has given permission to publish her thoughts in the hope they will benefit others, both those who are going through what she is, as well as those of us who are wanting to minister thoughtfully to those who are in her position.  Because of it’s length, I’ll break it up into several posts this week.

It has been one month now. Most people expect me to be “over” it. I’m not sure that ever really happens, but I’m finding that right now, a month later, I’m just starting to feel that this is real. The hurt is starting to overwhelm me at times. In the first few weeks, I was angry. Angry at my husband, angry at God, angry at myself, angry at the world. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. A month later, I’m just sad… and beginning to want to talk (I think.) and yet…it’s old news. Nobody wants to hear about it now. Nobody wants me to cry now. A month ago, I couldn’t and everyone said I should. Now, people act like I shouldn’t. Everyone has moved on with their lives. My life is stuck right here.

Sometimes I look around and realize that the sun is still shining, people are still enjoying their normal everyday lives, and I am surprised that the world still turns and functions as usual. Some days I want the whole world just to stop, so I can catch up (or at least catch my breath). Sometimes I just want the whole world to feel as sad as I do, or at least validate the sadness I feel.

Speaking about breathing…I have to remind myself to breathe sometimes. It’s as if I must will myself to inhale and exhale. A heaviness settles in my chest and simply breathing takes extra effort. It’s also difficult to speak at times. The words are in my head but refuse to exit my mouth.

People told me to call if I needed something or needed to talk. It won’t happen. I will never call you. If you call me though, I will feel that you are interested and concerned. Ask me questions. I will answer the best I can. I might even share my struggles. But don’t feel offended if I don’t. I don’t always know how I am feeling. It changes from day to day, hour to hour, situation to situation. I have to feel that you really want to know before I will share my thoughts with you. If I sense you really don’t have the time, (when you continually glance at your watch), I know you feel obligated to ask me how things are going but you’d really rather not ask.

…Continued tomorrow