If this helps…
By Ginny Sparrow
I was often told, after the suicide of my mother, that there is a gift in every tragedy. A silver lining. Such bs to most of us.
Fifteen long years later, I do have to admit I have found gifts. Gifts of courage, of strength, of sense of humor about things simply out of my control. Here are a few things that I know I handle completely differently than “before”:
- When I hear of a tragedy, a death, a diagnosis, I have no fear about picking up the phone, sending a card or grief book. Where I used to fool myself into believing the bereaved “needed space” I now know even in their self- imposed hermitude, they need to know people are with them. A simple card, email, or phone message is a lot more than most know how to do.
- When I have a medical “scare,” or loss of my own, my mind’s grief muscle memory goes straight through Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’s stages at warp speed. I know I’ll get through it. Of course, I don’t skip stages and I am not automatically “through” it, but there always is that end of the tunnel light keeping me plodding along. That light was impossible to see during the first year after my mother’s death. Now I know it’s there, like a beacon. I can find it
- I take life’s setbacks in stride. My poor mother didn’t have the strength to get through one more rough patch and ended her life. I know I don’t have that option because now that I know first hand what it does to those left behind, I could never do it myself. I know that no matter how sad and rough the times might be, there always is hope. I healed from my own mother’s suicide– I can get through most anything!
- I treat people better. I can’t say I never make an inappropriate comment towards a bad driver (just ask my daughter), but boy do I feel differently now. When someone spaces out at a stop light, rather than honking my horn, I imagine that person might have had a horrible day. Perhaps he even lost someone today and is traveling in a fog. Goodness knows I drove like a moron for several months after my horrible day.
- I don’t take things personally. Iris Bolton (famed author and my support group leader– lucky me!) tried to teach me that for years, but I really didn’t get it. Now, I finally do. When someone hurts me, it often does say more about them than it does me. If only my mother could have had thicker skin. But because of her, I now do. Hey, a gift.
So, yes, I am strong like a bull, my skin like rubber, what you throw at me bounces off me back onto you. I can’t say it still isn’t hard. I can’t say it still doesn’t suck. But it’s not the predominant thought in my mind when I think of my mother. Instead, the thought that comes to mind is me at age four. The family dog has had a litter of puppies, and my mother and I are playing with them literally for hours. Cereal for dinner that night; we had more important things to rejoice! Life, youth, playfulness, worry free afternoons. THAT helps.
About the Author
Ginny Sparrow, B.A., lost her mother by suicide in 1993. She feels privileged to have worked directly under the tutelage of Iris Bolton in Atlanta, Georgia. For five years she served as the Program Manager of the Link’s National Resource Center for Suicide Prevention and Aftercare. She is editor of the American Association of Suicidology’s Surviving Suicide and lives in San Diego, California. Her email address is ginnysparrow@yahoo.com.