Thursday again. 17 weeks today.

My life is now split into two distinct parts – before Day 0 and after. There is a deep gorge between the two into which part of my life, my dreams, my hopes and me have disappeared irretrievably. Everything is now incomplete.

My mind goes back and forth trying to figure out what it must have been like for him to suffer silently for so long. It tries to make me feel bad about myself, an old habit that I am wise to by now and not easily caught by. So typical of him to keep his problems to himself and not bother anyone!

My body goes up and down the stairs to his room, washing his clothes, putting them away unsure of what to do with them. I go to the bank to close his account and they tell me no more bank statements will arrive for him by post. Wow! It hits me all over again. This is it!

‘I don’t know why.
I’ll never know why.
I don’t have to know why.
I don’t like it.
What I have to do is make a choice
About my living.’
 
These are the lines by another parent who has lost their child to suicide. I have to make choices about my living too, every moment of every day.

Don’t we all, in one way or another?

The big choices are easy, I will survive. The small ones are not.

This morning I made a trip to the bank to close his account. As I produced the Death Certificate for the lady at the desk and explained the situation to her, she started looking for the manager somewhere behind me while saying the words, ”Sorry to hear that.” There was no change in her facial expression at all. It did not touch her. It was a routine query.

I was reminded of the contrast of Day 0 when the two Transport Police officers visited our house with the news. One of them was fairly senior whereas the other was very young. They were so kind and sensitive. The senior gentleman admitted that he has done this (bringing bad news to families) many times but it never gets easier. His words and body language were coherent. I could see and feel his compassion despite the state I was in. They gave me all the time and space that I needed and waited with me till his father arrived. In the gentlest way possible they answered my disbelieving questions. I felt admiration for him for being such a good example for his junior colleague.

Empathy cannot be taught but having it makes a world of difference.

This talk by Dick Moore on BBC Radio 4 on mental health issues affecting young people echoed my feelings exactly. He is so honest in his account of his son’s struggle with his mental state and finally suicide. Speaking to him this morning, I saw hope. Thanks for encouraging me to look out for ‘silver linings’ Dick. This is a compassionate, educative and inspiring piece.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b02qm2s7

I hope one day I will be able to help in my own way.

Little victories: a visit to his room, putting some of his clothes away, opening letters addressed to him and smelling the still lingering ‘teenage’ smell off his t-shirt. There are no words to describe how it felt. I occupy a world of grief and gratitude and have this ethereal sensation as if nothing really matters.

We spent the evening with some more of his friends and remembered him for being so funny. All his friends that are now my friends are his gift to me. I may not get to have any new memories with him but I have many of his dear friends to have memories with.

On the way back we decided to take the train home. I had to steel myself as the station approached. I used my breath to stay in the present as much as possible and managed to get down on to the platform and walk home. While walking up I realised that I need to live for the living as much as for him.

Here are a few lines written for him by his aunt:

“You…
You were more…
More than the dreams you dreamed
More than the laughs you shared
The beats you kept of the music you played
The words you learned of the tongues you spoke
The love you sought and the hearts you won
More…
More than the questions we ask and the tears we shed
And more, much more than the demons you faced
And the battle you lost.
Hope you found your peace, and some day we find meaning…”

Rest in peace, my baby.

All day I planned it and put it off for one reason or another and in the end didn’t do it: visit his room. May be tomorrow.

The vegetable brush was his idea. Although he laughed at my ‘organic’ food preference, his actions supported it. Our bicycles stored together side by side, our cats hovering around the house, the chocolate soya milk cartons in the kitchen cabinet, the lawn that was last mowed by him, his cricket bag by the shoe rack, the shot glasses we bought together in Chicago, were all missing him along with me.

Today was a bright and sunny Sunday. I got dressed to go for a walk and as I was going downstairs, three steps short of the landing, I breathed in to say, ”Bye darling. See you later.”

The note he had left for me had been on the very same step.

My son was an atheist and I remember exactly when he became one. It was when he saw the coverage of the Tsunami on the news at the age of 10. He could not believe that God would allow such devastation at such a massive scale. Stephen Fry spoke his mind and used terms like capricious, maniac and stupid to describe God in an interview a week ago.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-suvkwNYSQo

When I listen to the news and the events taking place all over the world, I think of young kids and the negativity with which they are growing up. I wonder what effect that has on them. There is too much unjust and unnecessary suffering in this world to sustain my belief in the goodness of the nameless and formless God that I hope exists. Who is in charge? Anybody?