The Blessing in Disguise

There are two topics I plan to write about that terrify me. In order to write this, I have to explore deep into the dark abyss of my heart. In the past, when I would go there, it was very difficult for me to find my way out. I would spend days or weeks in a depressed state. Today, when I decided that this was my next blog, I immediately felt nauseated. At the same time, I felt called by God to jump in and drag this out into the light. So here is my leap of faith.

In previous posts, I touched on the fact that I was raised by my single father. My mom took her own life when I was 5 years old. The details of the method are unimportant. What I am willing to share is that she suffered with depression during a time when it was considered taboo and when help was not readily available. Initially, the manner of my mom’s death was kept from me. My Aunt Marilyn took me aside on the morning of her death and explained to me that my mom was gone, just like my Grandma Isen had died a few months earlier. She was so tender and patient with me. She did all this in the midst of facing her own emotions about what her sister had just done. I was not allowed to attend the funeral. In those early days, my family went to great lengths to protect me. As I grew older, I questioned why they did that, but now I am grateful for the choices they made regarding the details and the circumstances of my mom’s suicide.

Growing up without a mom was a great struggle for me. I imagine it was much more difficult for my older sisters and brother because they knew the details and they had lived so much more of their lives knowing her. It would cause me so much pain and confusion when someone would ask about what happened to her. Sometimes I would lie and say she died of a disease. Other times I was honest and simply said I didn’t know and that I didn’t like to talk about it. I didn’t like to talk about it! Not with my dad, my siblings, or the counselors I was sent to go see. I held in all that pain and kept it for myself. I simply didn’t have the courage to let it out. It was safely packed away deep inside behind a huge wall. God had other plans for me. He constantly kept banging on the wall, causing cracks that would eventually bring the wall crashing down when I was a teenager.

I was 16 and my sister, Kim, had just moved to Colorado, gotten married, and had her first son, Sean. My dad and I were clashing constantly, and we needed some time apart. I hated him for not telling me how my mom had died, but I was too afraid to ask him about it. He and I were extremely close. He had raised me with so much love and always gave me attention. When it came time to make every decision in his life, from dating and recreating, to vacationing and working, I was his first consideration. So off to Colorado I went. During my time with Kim, I finally gathered the courage to start to talk about our mom. Slowly, tenderly and with great compassion, she revealed a lot of truth. She encouraged me to talk to Dad about it when I went home.

It took awhile, but eventually, I gathered the strength to have that conversation. We were watching TV together and I looked at him and said, “Dad, I want to talk to you about Mom.” He was so awesome! As difficult as it was for him, he must have known it was time for me to know the truth. He let me ask him all about it and answered every question with as much detail as I needed. He explained their relationship, her struggles, and how she couldn’t see any other way to fix her problems. He never blamed her, never said anything negative about her at all. A lot of healing occurred through that discussion, both in me and in him but mostly in our relationship. It must have lifted a great weight off of him to finally share it with me.

As I have grown older, I have found more courage to talk to Kim and Shari about our mom, Jerry not so much. Each of my sisters has told me things about her that confirms her love for us. There are stories of abuse too, but mostly of how much she enjoyed living. It sounds contradictory doesn’t it? She loved life yet she took it from herself. She took our mother from my sisters, brother and me. She took my Dad’s wife. She left us with each other though.  

My experiences, along with a book written by my friend’s mom have inspired me to lead a group on grieving. The name of the book is The Other Side of Grief, A Personal Faith Journey from Grief to Gratitude. I have come to find the gratitude in my mom’s suicide. I am grateful that I didn’t have to grow up with a mom and dad in the midst of a dysfunctional relationship. I didn’t have to see how sick she was. I didn’t have to live with the reality that even though she loved us, she needed to leave us. All I knew was the love of my two sisters, my brother and a father who made tough choices to protect me. When the right time came, they revealed the truth and did it in such a way that we now have a bond way stronger than most families. Many people would say my story is a tragedy, but I would say it was a blessing in disguise.