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

Thursday, March 12, 2020

My Father’s Suicide: 17 Years Ago

My father died from suicide 17 years ago this week — forever making March 10th my least favorite day of the year. And, just like clockwork, I find myself asking the same question again this year: How has it been so long?

But that sort of question is only natural any time you lose someone you love, isn’t it? And it’s especially true when you lose that loved one to suicide — one of the most sudden and cruel of deaths. After all, the world you’d known for so long (in my case, 21 years) is rocked and abruptly shifts forever; it’s a swift and painful jolt to everything around you that was once the bedrock of your life. What was once familiar and comforting is now foreign and confusing. What was once light and airy is now dark and heavy.

My father’s suicide is the demarcation of my two lives: Life with my dad and life without him. I feel like I’m looking at someone else’s life when I look at old childhood photos. There were times I was so angry with the world, but looking at these family photos just makes me miss him right now. For so long, I resisted feeling those conflicting emotions. How could I feel something like love and anger at the same time? I mean, I had to choose one, didn’t I?

Thanks to my wonderful therapist, I’ve come to embrace ALL the emotions, especially the conflicting ones. She helped me see that it’s OK to feel seemingly two opposite emotions together at once. All those feelings are part of the grieving process and we all know that grief takes as long as it takes.

Life with my dad was always an adventure — full of seeing, doing, exploring and discovering. He made sure that my disability didn’t stop me from experiencing everything this world had to offer, whether that involved carrying me to the water’s edge, holding me up so I could play a video game in the hospital or holding me on the merry-go-round.

I wasn’t always so open about my father’s suicide, but I’ve realized that silence only contributes to stigma. It’s important to say it and to talk about it. Thanks for always letting me talk (err, write) about it…

I’m grateful for those memories every day. I love you so much, Dad. You were the greatest…thank you for everything you taught me!!! xoxo

Wednesday, September 25, 2019

My Essay on The Fix: “Let’s Talk About Suicide”

My newest byline was such an important one for me to write, so I’ll just get right to it today, friends! September is Suicide Prevention Awareness Month. I knew I wanted to write something, but I wasn’t quite sure what. After I thought about it for a bit, the idea seemed so obvious and it became my fourth piece for The Fix…

In 2019, it seems like we already know so much about suicide. It’s easy to look up statistics and, unfortunately, it’s rare that a day goes by without at least one headline or mention on the news. We know all the facts, don’t we? Despite all that, though, what we rarely do is talk about suicide. We don’t have open conversations about the people we’ve lost and what the suicide of a loved one leaves in its wake. Maybe we’re scared. Maybe the topic just makes us too uncomfortable altogether.

For whatever reason, we just don’t talk about it.

As you already know, I’ve never been like that. I’ve talked about losing my father and I’ve written openly about it. A lot. Some people say that I shouldn’t talk about suicide and while that may be the right choice for them, it’s never been the right choice for me.

Here’s an excerpt of the piece, which I hope will help us all to start a conversation about this hard-to-talk-about topic…

There’s a catch-22 when it comes to suicide: People are reluctant to talk about it because it’s a sensitive and deeply personal topic, but it remains a sensitive topic because people don’t talk about it. So we find ourselves tip-toeing around suicide altogether, which doesn’t help anyone. For years, I’d find myself at a loss for words whenever someone would mention suicide, so I’ve been there.
That’s why I’ve been trying to change suicide’s shameful stigma. For the last 16 years, I’ve been vocal, unafraid to talk about the very things people don’t want to talk about. In the beginning, I talked about my father as a way to process my grief. I saw it as a way to keep my father’s memory alive, but as the years went on, I began to realize that my talking about his suicide wasn’t just for me. Sure, it may have started out that way, but the more statistics I read and the more stories I heard, the more I learned how many people are affected by suicide. I began to feel a responsibility to share my story.

And, it looks like my story might actually be starting a conversation — or, at the very least, getting people to think about suicide in a different way. Today, my piece is among the most popular articles on The Fix! That, friends, makes me incredibly hopeful for a future with less suicides stigmas and more compassion and understanding. Are you with me??

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! Love you all… xoxo

[Top photo via Unsplash]

Tuesday, June 25, 2019

My Essay on The Fix: “Please Don’t Tell Me How to Grieve”

I published my second piece on The Fix last week about something that has always baffled me — this notion that there’s a “right” and “wrong” way to grieve. Grief is such a personal journey, so why do people think it’s OK to tell others how to do it? These are the words I wish someone would have said to me 16 years ago.

As I’ve mentioned countless times on this very blog, I never understood this whole idea of grief-shaming until my father died. While his death was traumatic, hearing people tell me how I should grieve was just as traumatic. Please, please, don’t be that person!

Here’s an excerpt of the piece, in which I also talked to a therapist who specializes in grief to get an expert’s take and advice…

I learned pretty quickly that talking about death on places like Facebook makes some people uncomfortable. We may be a society that lives our life online, but for all the sharing we do on social media, there’s still this stigma associated with posting about our grief and the loved ones we’ve lost. It feels like an unspoken rule of sorts: grieve in silence. Don’t talk about it.
But here’s the thing about grieving: You’re never going to please everyone. You’re never going to grieve the “right” way because there is no right way to grieve. That’s something that took me a while to learn and understand. At first, I was afraid of what people would think or how they would view my grieving process, which included writing about my father’s suicide regularly on my blog. I even began to feel as though I needed to hold myself back and not talk about it, but you know what? That wasn’t good for me. In fact, it stalled my grieving process, and that wasn’t healthy.

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.

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