Forever Young: The Truth About Suicide Loss

Today is my brothers’ birthday. Today, just as she has done for the past 43 years, my mother will bake a banana cake, smother it in vanilla icing, and place a few candles on top; which my 6 year old niece will vie to blow out. There will be singing and laughter, maybe even a few balloons, but my brother will be noticeably absent from the celebrations. You see, two and a half years ago my dependable, loyal, loving brother died by suicide.

Two and a half years ago my life changed forever. I had just celebrated my own birthday, and had gone to bed happy and grateful for a special day. I was oblivious to the nightmare that was about to unfold. At 2am my phone rang, and exasperated, I thought that a birthday well-wisher had confused the time difference between Nicaragua and the UK. How I wish that had been the case. Instead it was my sister who relayed the terrible news. As the details emerged I felt the darkness envelope me. Somehow I found myself outside lying in the damp grass groaning like a wounded animal. I could hear the roar of the ocean near by and with each crashing wave the reality of the situation came hammering down on me, tearing at the deepest parts of my being ….. my brother was gone.

But I am not alone, in the UK, suicide is the single biggest cause of death among men under the age of 45. On average, one person dies by suicide every 40 seconds and this is predicted to increase to one every 20 seconds by 2020. This means that there are over a million families, like ours, living with the aftershocks of suicide each year.

I did not want to write this post. As I type, I feel my chest tightening, my stomach knotting, and a slight tremor is visible in my hands. I wish above all else that none of this was true. But there are a few things that I feel compelled to share, a few lessons that I have reluctantly learnt. Some of you who have lost a loved one may identify with what I have to say, some of these observations are unique to a suicide loss. I hope that shining a light on this darkness brings an opportunity for understanding.

1. There is no formula for how to grieve: Let’s be frank, it is a total shit show! We would like to fit an individuals’ grief journey into a framework, where one progresses through specific stages, over a certain timeline, culminating in acceptance. And yes, while there are specific characteristics, behaviours, and emotions that are associated with bereavement; how, when, where and if you experience them is unique to the individual. For me the ocean is a perfect analogy for how I experience my grief …. Some days it is calm, you can tread water and bob through the waves but suddenly a big wave comes from nowhere and you’re tumbling underwater, like in a washing machine, not knowing which way is up. Eventually you make it to the surface spluttering, just in time for a set of three smaller waves to come, which you dive through headfirst only to realize that you’ve been knocked off course and into a rip tide. Here the undertow is strong and despite swimming and swimming the pull is just too much. Just as you give up, the current guides you to calmer water and you’re back treading water. Like the ocean, grief is a raw force and unpredictable. You can only feel what you feel, and whatever that emotion is, it is totally valid for you in that time and place.

2. No training or experience prepares you for this: As a health professional, I thought I was an empathetic person but it turns out that I was pretty naïve. I had no idea of the intensity of the suffering being experienced by my clients and their families. I also believed that I was ‘in touch’ with my emotions. I knew that in stressful situations I benefited from ‘talking it through’ with my husband, family and friends as it helped me ‘process’ the situation and gain perspective. I sought information from books and the internet, believing this knowledge was empowering. I generally ‘wore my emotions on my sleeve’ rather than ‘bottling them up’. But in the shadow of my brothers’ death I couldn’t tap in to any of my usual coping strategies. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t cry, and there was no way I could bring myself to read about suicide loss. It was like rehearsing for a play but on the day of the performance not remembering your lines or realizing that you had learnt the wrong script! I was bereft. I felt untethered. I looked in the mirror and didn’t know who I was anymore. There is no reset or resume button, you just have to slowly learn to live in a world that is different and that you are a different person in it.

3. Suicide is the ultimate conversation stopper: In health care, and society in general, our drive to save lives eclipses care around the dying process and consequently we are uncomfortable talking about death. In the same way, our focus on the health and treatment of the physical body trumps that of our mental wellbeing, so as a result mental health conditions are poorly understood and stigmatized. So when death and mental health collide in the perfect storm of a completed suicide we have the ultimate conversation stopper. For decades we have swept these taboo topics under the carpet, and because of that we are ill equipped to deal with it. I am not sure if there is a ‘right’ thing to say. It is important to acknowledge the bereavement whether it be a simple “sorry for your loss” or a note in the mail. And even if you are curious, do not ask if there was any warning signs, or how it happened, or who found them, or if there was a note. Suicide is traumatic and if someone wants to share these details, let them, but on their own terms. To be honest, in the haze of the initial days and weeks after my brothers’ death, I do not remember the exact words that were spoken to me but I do remember the feeling of being supported, not only by my immediate circle of friends and family but by our entire community. So just be there without judgment or expectation. If a friend or family member has suffered a suicide loss, they might be more aloof or more needy or more erratic than before, but do not take these behaviours personally. Try not to expect that they will be back to their jolly old self in a month or year. This is not something that they will snap out of or get over. After reading my previous points, I hope that you can appreciate that they are figuring a lot out … I will say it again, there is no reset or resume button, they have to start anew and that takes time, but also requires patient and supportive friends.

4. We are complex emotional beings: A month or so after my brothers death, I was washing the dishes and my daughter, then 2, pulled at my shirt and asked “Mummy, when will you be happy again?” I looked at her beautiful expectant face and wished that I had an answer for her. What I have discovered since, is that happiness and sadness are not opposite emotions on either end of a spectrum, but they can co-exist together in the same moment. As does joy and sorrow, loss and fulfillment, pain and vitality. Some days, one dominates over the other, but for the most part they are both there appearing in everyday moments like when my daughter hugs her brother, or when a certain song plays on the radio; and of course these emotions are stronger on special days like today.

Yes, I lost my brother to suicide, I lost my brother on a night that the darkness was so opaque that he was swallowed by the blackness. There is so much about that night that I will never understand, so much that will never be reconciled, but it cannot rob me of my memories. I have chosen that happiness will dominate. Tonight, I will pop some bubbles, I will raise my glass in gratitude to my family and friends, who I am indebted to and love deeply. I will raise my glass in support of others who have experienced suicide loss and are surviving the best they can. I will raise my glass in celebration to my brother on his birthday and when I do, I will see him smiling …. yes, that was my brother always smiling!

Love You Bro xx