Where to Find Support and Hope after the Stripping Away of a Child to Suicide

Where to Find Support and Hope after the Stripping Away of a Child to Suicide

Parents of Suicides http://www.pos-ffos.com/

Friends and Families of Suicides http://www.pos-ffos.com/

These two online groups offer support, hope, and healing for parents, friends, and families of those bereaved by the suicide of a child.

Articles about POS & FFOS
 

POS and FFOS groups are open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. They are both online Yahoo support groups, and they are free. I joined POS, Parents of Suicides, early in my grief journey, about a month after Dylan, my son, died by suicide. These support groups for suicide survivors consist of other bereaved parents (for POS) and family and friends (for FFOS). PoS has been instrumental in providing me hope after losing my 20-year-old son to suicide, especially in the agony of acute grieving, especially in my first two years of grappling with even wanting to keep on keeping on. 

"In the Midst of winter. . .an  invincible summer "(Albert Camus)

The Stripping Away of A Child to Suicide: Where and How I Found Hope in Early Grieving

Have you ever felt the rain coming--smelled the wetness coming, the watering of the earth and the growth of life? Or felt the impending storm, clouds dark and swirling, all life tucking away into shelter, if it can, to bear out the heavy rain and threatening weather?

Have you ever felt its cold sting against your skin, or been drenched in its sudden downpour? And have you ever just listened to the rain--pelting loudly on a rooftop or gentle and steady against a window pane?

When it's gentle, I sleep well and peacefully listening to the rain. And a sky rumbling with thunder and sharp lightening in the distance brings a certain edge, but I still find peace and safety when I am under shelter.

When Dylan died by suicide 2 years and 9 months ago at age 20, I found myself not just caught in the viciousness of a storm beating down on me, around me, flooding me, winds violent and strong, shoving me down, beating me down, taking away life and substance and hearth and home--no, when my son was stripped away by suicide--by such personal pain that exceeded his will to live, I found myself in a dark, black as night sky ocean--no light whatsoever, no stars, no light, no one around me, only rushing waters, turbulent throes of enormous waves, one upon another, incessant, drowning--desperate, frantic, unable to breathe, and oh dear God, I couldn't find my son.

No shelter, no boat, no ship, nothing of life, only the depths of the Black Sea, drowning, screaming, gasping, wailing in the storm, the storm screaming and wailing, all of me dying.

I still do not know how it is I lived through the storm and my child did not. I do not know how I got there in the great vastness of the middle of the ocean in the middle of timeless dark and infinite pain. But when I could take a breath and came up from the murky waters, I could not find my son.

Down I went--up I came, tossing, churning, helpless, nothing to hold onto, and what couldn't be--that I could not find my child.

I do not know how I found Parents of Suicides (an online yahoo closed support group for bereaved parents), save to say I was frantically searching the Internet for anything that might offer insight—hope, an answer to the why of what seems a senseless death. I searched “suicide,” “suicide survivor,” “mother of a suicide,” “losing a child to suicide,” and numerous other combinations. I had no words at this early point in my grief, no ability to listen, to speak, to comprehend, to stay present, to live.

But at some point, somehow, I stumbled upon Parents of Suicide and found myself in and amongst other parents the world over who had lost their son or daughter to suicide. I found something in this private online support group to keep me afloat in that storm and I was too tired and too in shock to do anything save ride out the waves of my life's greatest storm. Parents of Suicides came alongside me and offered me refuge, albeit it in amongst my gasps and screams in the midst of the rolling tidal waves, wave after wave after wave, drowning me in the sorrow of the ocean of grieving.

My Cat, Lily, Who Always Brings Me Hope

I was at sea for a very long time. And so it is I read more on Parents of Suicides than I than talked, rarely writing or responding, but slowly, slowly, edging--drifting, floating, no grounding beneath me but the promise on the wing of those parents come before me, towards something in the distance. In the middle of great darkness, I saw light, heard voices, heard language other than my own screams and wails and sobs.

I had lived in my community, grief stricken, horror stricken, paralyzed, hopeless, burdened, where no one understood the depth of my sorrow. To this day, my only interaction with another mother who lost a child to suicide is when I drive two hours from my home once a month for an hour to a local support group for survivors of suicide.

Parents of Suicides offers grief support calls, hosted by a moderator, where parents across the United States in all time zones call in at an appointed time. I was terrified of calling. I didn’t want to belong to a group whose common denominator was losing a son or daughter to suicide. When I called in, finally, on a Parents of Suicide grief call, I was grateful and overwhelmed, finding such release because the first thing I heard a woman say was “Hi, I'm Sarah, Justin’s Mom.” (Names have been changed because this is a closed online support group). Oh how wonderful to be able to say not just my name, but my child's name along with my own: I am Beth, Dylan's mom. Today, this is my strongest identity and the core of who I am--Beth, Dylan's mom.

There was no pressure to speak on this grief support call, no expectations. They were there to listen to my heart. And I am so grateful, too, that two or three other parents called in that night, all of us scattered across the U.S.--different time zones, different regional dialects, different climates and landscapes, but all existing at the same point in time and sharing what only those of us who are parents to suicides know--the pain, expressions, and heartache of losing our beloved children to death by their own hand.

I found those newly bereaved, and as I continued to call in, those further along this grief journey who offered hope and light and promise-not elusive, vague, trite clichés that “time heals” or any of the other absolutely ridiculous things those who do not live with loss say, but sharing their hope, strength, and experience.

Sometimes, and especially in the early days, weeks, and months, a parent further along their grief journey would remind me to “just breathe.” Losing a child to suicide takes your breath away. Not everybody knows this, but parents of suicides always do. Breath, this simple act of inhale after the exhale, sustained me through the minutia of milliseconds that seemed to drag forever my first year of grieving.

I have learned, grown, awakened, and come back to life through these grief calls--all of them, and I have been--and continue to take--as many as I can. When the dates and times of the calls are posted on Parents of Suicides, I immediately add them as reminders on my phone, and rarely does anything supersede my settling into my blue comfy chair, candle lit for Dylan and all Parents of Suicides’ children, to talk with those who get me--totally get me, with or without words, bright-eyed and hopeful or grief-ridden and laden with despair. No expectations. No one saying get over it--time to move on--no what I should be doing or could be doing--just listening ears with huge hearts because ours is a grief that fills us with compassion for other parents who lose children to suicide.

I love these calls--look forward to them, have gained great friendships, love absolutely love that I get to talk about Dylan, love that the other parents I'm talking to already know me and Dylan. I always find great release during and after these calls. No matter where I am in my grief journey, the calls are always timed perfectly for me to speak out about what's going on in my heart, my life, my world. I find compassion and sympathy and understanding. I love our sharing, and I always gain insight into more about where I am.

I like hearing how other parents of suicides further along--4 years, 8 years, 10 years, 20 years out after losing their child, are embracing and coping with finding meaning and even joy in their lives. I am relieved to hear that they have not forgotten their child when they learn to laugh again and/or distract themselves with books, movies, work, or life, I like to hear how they honor and remember their children, and these parents of suicides offer hope and strength but never advice.

I do not want to always feel sorrowful and downtrodden, wishing I had died too with Dylan or that I were dead now. I hated living like this in early grief (it takes as long as it takes to move past this sorrow). I came to Parents of Suicides to read, to write, to participate in phone calls and in the Parents of Suicides chat room, to work it out. Posting helps, reading posts helps, writing to others helps, but talking to parents all over the U.S., all over the world, who are walking this journey? It's amazing to feel not so alone, to find hope, even if only in small increments, especially in the beginning when, as parents of suicides, we are feeling so utterly alone and hopeless.

There is nothing to lose in a Parents of Suicides’ grief call, and there is simply nothing available like this for supportive listening and being fully understood. I attend private counseling, I belong to a survivors of suicide group, I read all the time, equip myself with what I need for this journey--all of these help bring light--like the newly found warmth and sunshine after a winter’s dark and cold slumber, but I have found nothing like the power of talking to other parents of suicides on these calls. I know parents by name, I know much about their child, and I share others’ journeys as they continue to call back in.

I find it remarkable what Parents of Suicides offers. This is a community to be reckoned with, and it is in my belonging here—united with others through the most devastating and tragic loss a parent can experience—the death of a child, that I have found enormous support. I love and cherish that there are moderators on Parents of Suicides who volunteer their time to bring together parents of suicides as collective voices. I feel at home when I come to this community. After having been lost at sea for so long, I have finally come ashore--not totally yet of this world, but learning to live again in this Parents of Suicides’ community of survivors.

Parents of Suicides have now published 3 books available as e-books on Amazon. “Faces of Suicide: Volume One,” where I have written and published Dylan’s story, then two other volumes, “Faces of Suicides, Volume 2,” and “Faces of Suicides, Volume 3.”

Parents of Suicides always hosts a compendium group, an online Yahoo support group “Friends and Families of Suicides.” (FFOS). Both Parent of Suicides and Friends and Families of Suicides have a Facebook presence as well. In addition, annual retreats are hosted in Columbia, Tennessee where those of us left behind after losing a child, friend, and/or family member to suicide can gather for a 3-day weekend, where talk, tears, memories, and hope are shared, where, perhaps most importantly, we come to understand that we are not alone.

I am Beth, Dylan's Mom (March 19, 1992-June 25, 2012)

A drop of water does not a river make, but many drops of water the Parents of Suicides the world over make a river flowing with life energy. Alone, I am bereaved, desperate, depressed, and sad. On Parents of Suicides, I find strength, power, and hope. I find what I need to get me through, whether for the moment, the day, the week, the month, or yet another year of living now, as is, as now. In Parents of Suicides, I find food for the journey. A place to rest. Much needed understanding. Possibility. Hope. hat life matters. That my child mattered. That my son, Dylan Andrew Brown, lived and loved, and that by keeping on keeping on, I live for him now too. We come bereaved and heartbroken, sad beyond means. Hope is found here. Help is found here. Possibility for keeping on keeping on is found here. Love is found here. And most importantly, other parents know that I am Beth, Dylan’s Mom. Always was, always will be. Here, I get to share about my son, the good, the difficult, the silly, funny memories, the precious, God, the so precious few memories of a lifetime’s worth of love.

If love could have saved him, Dylan would have lived forever.

I am Beth, Dylan's mom

March 19, 1992-June 25, 2012

Forever my heart, my wings, my love

Crisis & Support Numbers (US)

 1-800-273-TALK
(1-800-273-8255)

1-800-SUICIDE
(1-800-784-2433)

Texting to a Counselor
#741741

For Deaf, Hard of Hearing, and People with Speech Disabilities who use a TTY, call
1-800-799-4TTY
1-800-799-4889

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