Six years ago today, life changed. Since September is Suicide Awareness Month, it seems fitting to share about the impact of suicide, the stigma that surrounds it, and some personal thoughts.
First of all, no one imagines it could happen to them. Even if there are signs, subtle or blatant, you never think you will end up being a survivor of suicide loss. You just don't know what you don't know. Until you know. And then, if you know, you know.
There is always both judgement and stigma around suicide. From the outside looking in people assume, make wild guesses, ask questions that can never be answered. I recall being asked why I didn't make my husband take his antidepressants, why didn't I hide them in his food? For one, drugging someone against their will is not kosher. And also, as if I had enough power to change another human by sheer will or subterfuge. Just not possible, nor was it my job.
Do I wish things were different. Of course, I do. Do I still struggle to wrap my head about how his choice and his actions unfolded. Every day. I can't know what his thought process was. I'm pretty sure he was incredibly angry and in severe mental anguish. I had someone say today people should just suck it up, that life is hard for everyone. Life is hard, and life is precious. Some days it doesn't seem like the hard will ever end. I took offense at those words, and I defended those whose struggle is beyond their capacity to deal with. I wish I'd said more. I wish life was different.
All I know is I'm different because of this experience. You don't forget, it walks with you wherever you go. Amid the stigma and speculation. And you remember the day life changed.