As my children and I begin to settle into our new house – if not into our skins – I was able to begin to process the very deep grief of my children. My daughter, at only 20 months of age, is a bright, sunny relief for both my son and I, who are contained and shadowed by mourning. My son, now 3½ years old, is keenly missing his father, his best friend, his idol. It took him weeks to begin asking questions as to where his father was, and when he was coming back, and having to answer them shatters my heart every time. He often speaks of what Daddy is doing, up in heaven with the stars, and no helium balloon passes his or his sister’s hands without being ceremoniously released to his father in the sky. My son often falls asleep on his bedroom floor, light on, head on his father’s pillow, listening to Tony’s favourite CD. And as for me, I’m surviving. I think about dying, about death, less and less every day. I mourn my husband, deeply, all the sweetest parts of our lives, the laughter and companionship and love that we shared so freely between us. I wonder, continually, if this suicide attempt was a legitimate one, or just a violent attempt to scare me.
What next, now my soulmate is dead?
I have written about this blogger before. Her husband committed suicide earlier this year, and she continued to blog during the emotional trauma of his death and funeral. She wrote a feature article in Sydney’s The Daily Telegraph on Saturday, after having won an award a couple of weeks ago for her blogging. The article, a small portion of which is quoted above, is beautiful.
What the article doesn’t cover is her struggle with God, which she wrote about on her blog and on Twitter. After her husband died she blamed God, asking “Why the **** did you do this to me”, asking many times. After some time she said that God and her “were ok”, she no longer blamed God, and I believe she has grown closer to God. Pray that in the aftemath of suicide that she really finds joy, comfort and love in the aftermath of the Lord Jesus Christ.