Next week is Mental Health Awareness Week. A little while ago this would barely have registered with me if I'm honest. If asked then I would have agreed that mental health was something that should be discussed openly, not kept hidden and seen as something shameful. Indeed I've tried to reassure online friends suffering with depression that they're not weak, bad parents or failures and have no more reason to feel guilty than somebody afflicted with cancer.
However, it wasn't something I thought affected me directly, and so I may have retweeted a link but doubt I'd have spared long thinking about what mental health actually means and how all of us need to look after our mental health and wellbeing.
Now though it's something I think about often. Simon never told me he was depressed and that probably makes me sadder than anything. I question why he never felt he could share that with me. Was he ashamed? Was I not approachable? He was a drug addict with a prison record and I'm a married mother of three daughters. Did he feel that in comparison to my socially acceptable lifestyle he was a failure and so I wouldn't want to know?
Last weekend was a difficult one for me. It started well, I went to see my middle daughter sing at the Albert Hall with her school choir and spent the day in London with my dad, step-mother, brother and his girlfriend. It was a really good day so I'm not sure why that night I had a vivid nightmare about my father being diagnosed with a terminal illness. And I'm not sure why that meant I was about as low as I have been for a long time for the next few days. For some reason thinking of Dad's mortality was enough to push me back down into that abyss of grief and for a while there it was really hard again. I retreated into myself and cried tears for myself, for Simon and for my family.
The cloud passed though and I could breathe again. It was a reminder that grieving isn't a linear process and the lows can strike without warning. I sometimes wonder if I should seek some sort of counselling? Is dealing with the unexpected suicide of a loved one something you can deal with on your own? I think I'm mostly doing ok but it's something I've become open to. If the lows become more frequent and last longer then I think it's something I would seriously consider.
Simon never spoke of his mental health issues until it was too late and then we only found out through his suicide note. I wish I could have told him that he had nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to fear from telling me. I would always have been there for him. I wasn't able to do that but perhaps this blog will just help raise awareness of how important it is that mental health is discussed openly.
More about Mental Health Awareness Week can be found here; http://www.mentalhealth.org.uk/our-work/mentalhealthawarenessweek/get-involved/ This year the theme is the importance of physical activity and how it can enhance our quality of life.
Sunday, 12 May 2013
Wednesday, 17 April 2013
Catching my breath
It's been a while since I last blogged but life hasn't been quiet here. In November my heart was ripped open again when my grandfather died. It wasn't a totally unexpected loss, he was 98, but up until a few months before his passing he was full of life still and I think we all dared to believe he would reach his century. He was and remains my inspiration in life, his wasn't a life untouched by tragedy; he fought a hard WW2, seeing action in North Africa and Italy (where he saw his best friend beheaded by machine gun fire), he lost both his wife and daughter (my mum) to breast cancer aged just 58 and 42 years respectively. Shortly after losing my mum I remember somebody asking him if he ever asked "why me?" to which he replied "no because that would imply I wished it on somebody else instead."
He was tolerant and non-judgmental, he believed few people were inherently bad and whilst he would never condone bad behaviour nor excuse it, he understood that a myriad of circumstances could lead people into making certain life decisions. A prime example being following the 2011 riots when he talked of a poverty of hope and aspirations.
He was fun too, so much fun. His jokes were awful but told with such relish, you couldn't help but laugh. Growing up all the children in our neighbourhood called him 'Grandad' and I remember feeling so proud. To know him was to love him.
He found Simon's suicide very hard. They had a bond when Simon was growing up, he loved us equally but they had a special understanding and I think it hurt him deeply that Simon didn't feel he could come to him. His cause of death was pneumonia secondary to lung cancer but I do wonder if Simon's death just made him that bit more tired of life. His decline was noticeable and rapid between August and November.
I was honoured to be able to help organise his funeral. My uncle (his son) has never married and lived with him, as my mum is dead and my other brother lives away it meant I was the person able to be there to support my uncle through those difficult days. It was obviously a hard time, perhaps particularly so coming so soon after helping organise another funeral and there were days where I didn't really want to wake up and face the reality of my losses. However, knowing I was there to support my uncle and that we gave Grandad the funeral he deserved was of some comfort and if anything good has come of these last few months it's the reminder of the importance of family and the need to spend time with our loved ones.
To add to my mental turmoil on the day Grandad passed away we found a buyer for our house so as well as registering a death and organising a funeral I was house hunting and making decisions affecting our future. There were many days where I felt my head would explode and I'm not really sure how much I truly remember of November and December, much of it feels a blur.
We moved at the end of January and it's only now I feel like I can catch my breath. I'm still not entirely sure I've grieved Simon's death properly, perhaps I never will. In some ways I would have liked life to stop a bit so I could take the time to come to terms with my loss, with Grandad's death and the house move coming so soon afterwards it feels as though I've been pushed to move on before I was ready.
I'm doing ok, I can look at photos of Simon now without crying and he's not my first thought when I wake up. The flashbacks have mostly stopped too. I still have moments when I lie in bed at night and silently weep when I think of my loss and of what he must have gone through and I guess that for as long as I live I'm going to have that aching sense of something missing. Mostly though I'm all right, life feels calmer and I'm going to take the opportunity to breathe and appreciate what I had and what I still have.
He was tolerant and non-judgmental, he believed few people were inherently bad and whilst he would never condone bad behaviour nor excuse it, he understood that a myriad of circumstances could lead people into making certain life decisions. A prime example being following the 2011 riots when he talked of a poverty of hope and aspirations.
He was fun too, so much fun. His jokes were awful but told with such relish, you couldn't help but laugh. Growing up all the children in our neighbourhood called him 'Grandad' and I remember feeling so proud. To know him was to love him.
He found Simon's suicide very hard. They had a bond when Simon was growing up, he loved us equally but they had a special understanding and I think it hurt him deeply that Simon didn't feel he could come to him. His cause of death was pneumonia secondary to lung cancer but I do wonder if Simon's death just made him that bit more tired of life. His decline was noticeable and rapid between August and November.
I was honoured to be able to help organise his funeral. My uncle (his son) has never married and lived with him, as my mum is dead and my other brother lives away it meant I was the person able to be there to support my uncle through those difficult days. It was obviously a hard time, perhaps particularly so coming so soon after helping organise another funeral and there were days where I didn't really want to wake up and face the reality of my losses. However, knowing I was there to support my uncle and that we gave Grandad the funeral he deserved was of some comfort and if anything good has come of these last few months it's the reminder of the importance of family and the need to spend time with our loved ones.
To add to my mental turmoil on the day Grandad passed away we found a buyer for our house so as well as registering a death and organising a funeral I was house hunting and making decisions affecting our future. There were many days where I felt my head would explode and I'm not really sure how much I truly remember of November and December, much of it feels a blur.
We moved at the end of January and it's only now I feel like I can catch my breath. I'm still not entirely sure I've grieved Simon's death properly, perhaps I never will. In some ways I would have liked life to stop a bit so I could take the time to come to terms with my loss, with Grandad's death and the house move coming so soon afterwards it feels as though I've been pushed to move on before I was ready.
I'm doing ok, I can look at photos of Simon now without crying and he's not my first thought when I wake up. The flashbacks have mostly stopped too. I still have moments when I lie in bed at night and silently weep when I think of my loss and of what he must have gone through and I guess that for as long as I live I'm going to have that aching sense of something missing. Mostly though I'm all right, life feels calmer and I'm going to take the opportunity to breathe and appreciate what I had and what I still have.
Friday, 19 October 2012
It's my party and I'll cry if I want to
Well not party as such, but it was my 40th birthday last week. It also happened to be exactly two months ago that Simon died. Special days following a death are always hard, I remember really struggling with New Year after Mum died and this was no different.
I spent the first part of the day in tears, I think with it being a milestone birthday I was particularly aware of the future we're not going to have with him now. He'll never celebrate his 40th birthday, I'll never go to his wedding or be an aunt to his children. I've lost him in the now but I'm also mourning what could have been.
That aching hole is always going to be there, I'm always going to feel desperately sad that I'm not going to be able reminisce with him or share a future. He stopped while the rest of us go on and whilst I know that's the way it has to be there are some days when it just feels that bit more difficult to comprehend.
Mostly though I get on with the day to day, I smile and laugh and life is generally pretty good but on my birthday it was hard...
I spent the first part of the day in tears, I think with it being a milestone birthday I was particularly aware of the future we're not going to have with him now. He'll never celebrate his 40th birthday, I'll never go to his wedding or be an aunt to his children. I've lost him in the now but I'm also mourning what could have been.
That aching hole is always going to be there, I'm always going to feel desperately sad that I'm not going to be able reminisce with him or share a future. He stopped while the rest of us go on and whilst I know that's the way it has to be there are some days when it just feels that bit more difficult to comprehend.
Mostly though I get on with the day to day, I smile and laugh and life is generally pretty good but on my birthday it was hard...
Monday, 8 October 2012
After suicide. After Simon.
On August 13th my life changed in a way I had never imagined. It had been an ordinary day and when my husband's mobile rang shortly after he arrived home from work I thought nothing of it. It quickly became obvious it was my stepmother calling, and then I was concerned as she hadn't rang the home phone. I immediately assumed it was about my father who has a heart condition but my husband mouthed my brother's name to me. I started to fume and was convinced he'd been arrested in connection with drugs. He'd been addicted to heroin in the past and sentenced to a spell in prison and whilst he'd got himself clean I'd been concerned in recent months that he was withdrawing from us.
My husband came off the phone and uttered the words that shattered my world,
"They've found a body."
I remember saying no over and over, not able to process the thought that he wasn't in trouble with the law but was dead. I asked my husband to phone back for more information and after that came the second crushing blow - he'd taken his own life. My poor children had to listen to me crying "not my brother, no, no, no" repeatedly. I couldn't take it in.
The rest of that night is a blur, we took the girls to my in-laws and went to Dad's house. My husband spoke to my other brother and broke the news to him. I didn't want to accept it was real, I couldn't allow myself to believe he'd killed himself. He'd been mugged and his car stolen, the body wasn't his. It took all of my strength not to ring his mobile but I think in truth I knew there wouldn't be an answer.
The following day we had to go to the hospital to identify his body. That's something I never thought I'd have to do. It happens in films and to other people, doesn't it? We were taken to the mortuary and my dad and I stepped into the room where his body was lying.
People say the dead look at peace. Well he didn't. He looked stiff and ashen and so small. He looked like a dead junkie too. The tears came and for a while I didn't know that they would stop, but they did and somehow I was able to speak rationally to the policeman dealing with the case. What a horrible job that must be at times. We discovered that yes he was using heroin again but also he'd been depressed for years. He was never good at sharing emotions and eventually made the decision that he didn't want to live. His note to us was very clear on that. He knew he was loved and he loved us but life was intolerably hard for him. He just didn't want to live with that pain any more.
I won't go on at great length about the next few days, suffice to say I barely slept and barely ate. My other brother came down from London and we spent a lot of time clinging to each other. We shared the same loss, we felt that seismic shift that meant we'd gone from three to two.
The funeral was beyond anything I'd ever experienced, perhaps best summed up by our choice of songs to be played. In his note he'd requested Under the Bridge at his funeral but we needed another song. He'd loved The Doors and in our mixed up state we'd decided Riders on the Storm would be a good choice. It was only as the vicar led the coffin into the crematorium speaking over the lyrics "There's a killer on the road, his brain is squirmin' like a toad" that we realised our choice was a little odd. It felt very surreal as I clung to my brother and we laughed whilst sobbing.
We were dealing with such intense grief and shock but also Simon's friends were drug users living on traveller's sites and it felt like two worlds colliding.The mobile phones ringing during the service was a new experience for me, as was the audience participation "hear hear" I was rather touched when as his body was committed and the coffin sank from view his friends called out, "Bye Simon," "See you mate" and I've certainly never been to a funeral where a can of Special Brew was opened during the Lord's Prayer! I felt uneasy at first but then realised that his friends loved him too and whilst they mourned differently we shared the loss. I'm proud now that his funeral was an occasion where his family and friends came together, accepted our differences and consoled each other.
My husband came off the phone and uttered the words that shattered my world,
"They've found a body."
I remember saying no over and over, not able to process the thought that he wasn't in trouble with the law but was dead. I asked my husband to phone back for more information and after that came the second crushing blow - he'd taken his own life. My poor children had to listen to me crying "not my brother, no, no, no" repeatedly. I couldn't take it in.
The rest of that night is a blur, we took the girls to my in-laws and went to Dad's house. My husband spoke to my other brother and broke the news to him. I didn't want to accept it was real, I couldn't allow myself to believe he'd killed himself. He'd been mugged and his car stolen, the body wasn't his. It took all of my strength not to ring his mobile but I think in truth I knew there wouldn't be an answer.
The following day we had to go to the hospital to identify his body. That's something I never thought I'd have to do. It happens in films and to other people, doesn't it? We were taken to the mortuary and my dad and I stepped into the room where his body was lying.
People say the dead look at peace. Well he didn't. He looked stiff and ashen and so small. He looked like a dead junkie too. The tears came and for a while I didn't know that they would stop, but they did and somehow I was able to speak rationally to the policeman dealing with the case. What a horrible job that must be at times. We discovered that yes he was using heroin again but also he'd been depressed for years. He was never good at sharing emotions and eventually made the decision that he didn't want to live. His note to us was very clear on that. He knew he was loved and he loved us but life was intolerably hard for him. He just didn't want to live with that pain any more.
I won't go on at great length about the next few days, suffice to say I barely slept and barely ate. My other brother came down from London and we spent a lot of time clinging to each other. We shared the same loss, we felt that seismic shift that meant we'd gone from three to two.
The funeral was beyond anything I'd ever experienced, perhaps best summed up by our choice of songs to be played. In his note he'd requested Under the Bridge at his funeral but we needed another song. He'd loved The Doors and in our mixed up state we'd decided Riders on the Storm would be a good choice. It was only as the vicar led the coffin into the crematorium speaking over the lyrics "There's a killer on the road, his brain is squirmin' like a toad" that we realised our choice was a little odd. It felt very surreal as I clung to my brother and we laughed whilst sobbing.
We were dealing with such intense grief and shock but also Simon's friends were drug users living on traveller's sites and it felt like two worlds colliding.The mobile phones ringing during the service was a new experience for me, as was the audience participation "hear hear" I was rather touched when as his body was committed and the coffin sank from view his friends called out, "Bye Simon," "See you mate" and I've certainly never been to a funeral where a can of Special Brew was opened during the Lord's Prayer! I felt uneasy at first but then realised that his friends loved him too and whilst they mourned differently we shared the loss. I'm proud now that his funeral was an occasion where his family and friends came together, accepted our differences and consoled each other.
Since then it's been harder even than when I lost my mum to breast cancer, I've felt like I've been living somebody else's life. I go through each day and I laugh and smile. We've been on holiday and my youngest daughter has started school. Still though there's a part of my brain that's constantly screaming, "he's dead, my brother is dead." Sometimes I'm tempted to interrupt a conversation, I want the world to know how my life has been ripped apart. That's not fair though is it? Other people suffer loss and grief, we're not unique. There are times though when I just want to tell somebody, even a stranger, I just need to say it out loud to confirm it's real and I'm not experiencing a recurrent nightmare. .
So I thought I'd write it down. This won't be a diary but I am going to write down my thoughts as I process this and learn to live as the sister of somebody who committed suicide. It's not the life I would have chosen but it's the life I have and I know the rawness will ease in time. I'm not sure it's of interest to anybody else but you are more than welcome to read my thoughts as they spill out, whether they make any sense is a different matter. At the moment I feel like two people...
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