my father's suicide Archives - So About What I Said

Tuesday, May 7, 2019

My Essay on Glamour: “To Cope with My Father’s Suicide, I Had to Learn to Love My Grief”

Please forgive me, friends!! I’ve been remiss in sharing my new bylines on the blog, but as we get closer to the slow-down of summer, I’m planning on sharing ALL THE BYLINES. Translation: Get ready for a heavy dose of relationships, disability and pop culture — you know, my classic wheelhouse! First up: My November piece on Glamour about losing a parent and grief.

Survivors of Suicide Loss Day was in mid-November and my piece was timed perfectly. As I remember my father, I’m glad I was able to write about grief for one of my favorite publications. I wanted to look at what it’s like to lose a parent to suicide in your early 20s, which is something that isn’t talked about very much. There aren’t books about it like there are for widows or children, and there’s really no label for losing a parent at that age. I felt like I was in limbo — no longer a child, but at the same time, not a full-fledged adult.

So I tried to give voice to that — to be the resource and reassurance for someone today that I didn’t have back then. This one was one of the toughest to write (I started writing it in March 2018), and I hope it helps someone.

Anyway, here’s an excerpt of the piece, which, even after 16 years, was still incredibly therapeutic to write. It helped me continue to heal, process and, of course, honor the relationship I had with my father…

No grief book could tell me what it would feel like to see reminders of my father: birthdays, holidays, little girls holding their dad’s hand. Even worse, there was no way to prepare myself for what it would feel like to graduate from college and not pick out my dad’s smiling face from the crowd as I accepted my diploma. When a loved one commits suicide, they’re both everywhere and nowhere.
The most distressing and concerning thing about being left in the aftermath of a loved one’s suicide, I came to realize, is that it decimates your sense of identity. I was no stranger to feeling different—growing up with a physical disability, I was used to feeling different from my peers—but my father’s death brought with it an entirely new sense of isolation. I suddenly felt like a stranger in my own life, isolated from the person I used to be.

You can read the full piece here and I’d love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to email me anytime at mellow1422@aol.com and let’s chat! And of course, feel free to share my essay on Facebook, Twitter or even your local refrigerator. If you share on Twitter, be sure to tag me @melissablake so we can connect! I can’t wait to hear from you! And here’s to us going home for the holidays, wherever that may be! Love you all… xoxo

Friday, March 15, 2019

My Father’s Suicide: On Revisiting Our Carefree Highway

On Tuesday, my mom shared her wisdom on being a suicide survivor and everything she’s learned over the last 16 years. I still can’t believe that this week, March 10th, marked SIXTEEN YEARS since my father’s death. When I was thinking what to say about it on social media, one clear image immediately came to mind: Our carefree highway.

Let me explain.

I’ve shared this photo before, but it’s a really symbolic one. Here’s my dad on our last carefree family vacation, just 7 months before he died. So many of my favorite family memories were spent driving down the highway on those vacations, listening to oldies or Broadway soundtracks. On the anniversary of his death, I’m humming Gordon Lightfoot‘s “Carefree Highway” and thinking of him…

Carefree highway, let me slip away on you
Carefree highway, you seen better days

We had so many good days together in our little car, watching the landscape and scenery change outside the window, stopping at rest stops and enjoying lunches my mom packed. Life was good in that car. Everything was safe and I knew that as long as we were together, nothing could ever be bad or sad. For that moment in time, everything was right with the world.

Maybe that’s why I was thinking a lot about time this week. Time. It’s a strange, strange thing, isn’t it? March 9th was the night before my life changed forever 16 years ago. I went to bed excited to be on spring break from college. I woke up the next morning and my father was gone. No other moment splits my life into “before” and “after” as sharply; it will always be the dividing line by which I measure things

What I’ve learned over the last 16 years is this: Grief is like a river. Sometimes, it’s still waters. Other times, it’s a raging rapid. Part of the process, I’ve discovered, is learning to swim in both. It can be hard sometimes, trust me, but it is possible. And while my grief may ebb and flow over the years, the memory and love of my father will always be a constant. Maybe somewhere in some alternate universe, we’re traveling down that carefree highway, laughing and singing along to Broadway tunes… xoxo

Monday, March 11, 2019

Motivational Quotes Monday: On Keeping Memories Alive

Happy Monday, friends!! Is it just me or was this weekend’s time change particularly brutal?? I mean, I didn’t even make it to the library today! Maybe I’m also a bit drained from yesterday being the 16th anniversary of my father’s death. While it was a naturally emotional day, we got through it better than we have in the past, so that’s something to be thankful for, isn’t it? My mom and I will each be writing separate posts about it this week, but for today’s motivational quotes, I’d like to chat about the importance of keeping memories alive. I’m always so scared that I’ll forget my father, especially all the little things I loved about him, but having those moments to cling to has been such a comfort over the years. They’re a way to keep him with me, to remember the good times and to remind myself that the future is still full of good memories to be made. To that end, here are five memory-themed quotes to keep those memories flowing…

Thursday, August 30, 2018

What to Remember on National Grief Awareness Day

Do you ever get the feeling that the universe is playing some cruel joke on you? Today is National Grief Awareness Day and I’m just a giant puddle of mixed emotions about the whole thing…

Part of me is raising my hand in solidarity and shouting “YES, AWARENESS!” because, honestly, awareness is such an important and valuable thing. Yet on the other hand, my cynical side is just sitting here saying “Well, I’m aware of my grief every day, so…”

When I say that I’m aware of my grief every day, I’m not saying that I’m grief-stricken to the point of being unable to get out of bed or crying all the time. And I’m not saying that I’m unhappy or that I’m unable to enjoy life.

Nope, I’m not saying any of that. At all.

What I am saying is that a piece of my grief and a piece of my loss is always with me. It’s not overpowering and overwhelming all the time, but it’s always there. Like a paper cut. There are times that you feel it more acutely than others — you know, like when you get salt in said paper cut and it stings like no other? Yes, that sort of acute.

That’s something I never truly understood about grief until I lost my father — how two diametrically opposing emotions like happiness and grief can — and do — exist simultaneously. But they do, and this is something I’ve talked about in therapy in recent years. It doesn’t have to be one or the other and you aren’t forced to choose one over the other, either.

And, honestly, I sort of appreciate that ever-present grief too. Because I feel like it keeps me tied to my father just as much as my happy childhood memories do. It’s an interesting dichotomy, for sure, and one I’m sure I’ll continue to explore in the future.

Here is a really great article on how grief never really goes away and it’s so important to recognize this in other people’s grief and be empathetic and compassionate in where they are in their journey. It might not be where you are and that’s OK. No two people walk the same grief path and it’s a very individual journey. Be a love and light for them on their journey, just as you’d expect the same from them while on your journey. And, here are some tips on grief that people on Twitter had to share — such amazing and helpful advice!

If you’re grieving, friends, I hope you know that I see you and I love you. What do you wish people understood about grief? What ways do you think people can help those who are grieving?? Here’s to getting through National Grief Awareness Day together… xoxo

[Photos via We Heart It]

Friday, August 3, 2018

My Essay on The Week: “The Priceless Nostalgia of Childhood Family Road Trips”

I’ve written a lot about family over the years, but my newest essay is definitely one of my favorites! It’s my first for The Week and it’s all about the family road trips that marked my childhood in such a powerful and profound way! I originally wrote it back in March and I’d been trying to place it for the last couple months. Summer was coming to an end! I was worried I’d have to save it for next year and then…BAM!!

Summer is a season that evokes such incredible sense memories, you know? When I was writing this, even all the way back in the cold days of March, I could just feel summer with every word I typed. That summer vibe, complete with its warm sun and fresh-cut grass smell, just filled my soul with childhood nostalgia. It actually made me yearn for a bygone era and those classic days of yore.

In fact, after I wrote the intro paragraph, I remember thinking, “Wow, I’ve certainly seen America, haven’t I…” I say this to my mom a lot, but I am so grateful to my parents for the childhood they gave me — a childhood full of life and adventures. That’s a gift that I will carry with me forever! Those family road trips were so magical!

Here’s an excerpt of the piece, in which I namedrop my love for a certain late ’90s teen pop queen whose music I still bop to all the time — music that, to this day, still reminds me of those family road trips…

It was quintessential America — a snapshot of the United States. Wrapped up in these vacations was the perfect history lesson. My parents saw it as a way to bring history to life for my sister and me. But these trips are also our family’s history. It’s the story of our journey and our past and the story of our family.
It’s those summer memories that bring me comfort as I continue to mourn the loss of my father, 15 years after his death. It’s those memories I’m keeping alive. Those days of sitting in the backseat, pillow over my lap, just watching the world go by through the car window. In the sticky Southern heat of summer, the kind of heat that sticks to your back and sends beads of sweat rolling across your forehead, we were making our own history and planting the historical markers of our lives.