5 Years Later - Notes from a Suicide Loss Survivor

It’s anniversary time. My wife killed herself five years ago. How am I still alive?

I am coming up on the anniversary of my beloved wife’s suicide. I took a break from grief writing for a while after a life changing mushroom trip. I wasn’t sure I had anything left to offer you. My strategies are a grab bag of tiny things that stitched each day together until I’d somehow produced a tapestry. It feels like magic. The first two years were touch and go. Things were dicey. It amazes me that I’ve survived.

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It Gets Different

New grievers often ask if it gets better and the answer is always that it gets different. As a new widow, that was infinitely frustrating. What does that even mean? It’s not reassuring and it’s conveyed with this air of wisdom and mystery. Alas. I can say now that it is indeed true.

You get used to it. I have a friend who hates the term acceptance. For him, it’s far too positive. I say, use it if it works but I’ll offer this alternative - accepting the reality of it. The first year for sure, you’re still in shock. You can’t wrap your head around this new existence. Is this what my life is now? I had the distinct feeling that I’d lost at some cosmic game show. I’d bet too much on one horse, my winnings had grown too large, and now I’d lost it all. In it’s place was a consolation prize - a life that had the same decorations on the walls, the same messy underwear drawer, the same chores that needed to be done but with one difference - my person was neatly cut out from the frame. I wanted to return it all, undo it somehow, but the door to my past was firmly shut behind me. I was forever cut off from the comfortable life I knew with my wife and boys, and shoved out into the cold.

Recovery felt like rehab. My brain stopped working correctly. I was foggy and tired all the time. I took a lot of naps. It felt like the territory of my mind had flooded and only the peaks remained. I could tell that I knew things but had no idea how to explain how I knew. I could think for short periods of time but was easily side tracked or flooded again and had to stop. But you can’t just stop thinking so I spent hours each day playing a puzzle game and listening to podcasts and music unassociated with my former life.

I had a strong desire to randomly blurt out in public MY WIFE KILLED HERSELF to see the horror of my experience reflected in their expressions. Trauma stuck to me like shellac and there was no pretending I wasn’t that person - a suicide widow. I decided I should accept all social invitations but if I didn’t cancel at the last minute, I’d go and feel like Debbie Downer. Small talk inevitably devolved into mentioning my tragedy - a real conversation killer. I put myself in MT - physical therapy for the mind. I pushed myself a little more each day to write, get out in the sunshine, and to eat something other than Mac and cheese.

After wandering around for a while, I’ve gotten to know this new territory. It’s different from what my mind used to be. A little less sharp. I experienced all the “firsts” - birthdays, holidays, anniversaries - and now sort of knew what to expect. I taught myself how to be social again without dominating conversations. I figured out how to talk about my wife, about suicide, without feeling invalidated because we didn’t. I accepted the reality that I wasn’t a married person anymore. Getting your head around all that you’ve lost takes a while. Grief is a blanket term that encompasses not just the loss of the person but all the secondary and tertiary losses like financial stability, household chore splitter, changing relationships, and the myriad of identity shifts.

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What Happened After

After a big loss, I hope your grieving process is simple and straightforward. However, it’s normal for grievers to develop health issues. The loss disrupts your biological processes including heartbeat including broken heart syndrome, immune system, sleep, and even accelerates aging. My version was a retinal hemorrhage and uterine cancer. For the first time in my life, I had high blood pressure. I told every doctor that it was due to trauma. I’ve could feel trauma settle in my bones. My body was tense all over; throat cinched tight with a lump - a cork holding in a scream. It sounds so dramatic. I felt dramatic. So unlike me.

My former life was your typical divorced co-parenting custody family. We had Patty’s two preteen boys with us half of the time. I was a fully engaged stepmom. They were my boys too. I saw it as my duty to Patty to keep going, keep parenting them. After she died, her ex-wife was a pill. A mean narcissist, the ex couldn’t handle the connection the boys and I shared. She alternated between using me for babysitting and erasing me from their lives. She ultimately succeeded (for now) of cutting me off from the younger one. At a time when the boys’ well-being should have taken precedence, she was selfish. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to forgive her. But that’s a project for another day.

Lawsuits. I sued Patty’s employer and the hospital who believed her over me and discharged her in a psychotic state. Our oldest had a lot of problems after he lost his mother. He ended up living with me. The evil ex had legal custody and downplayed the growing troubles he had. When she wouldn’t take him to the pediatrician, I sued her in family court to get medical permission. That spun off such a reaction in her, leaving me $10k in debt and shaking my head at why I ever thought suing a narcissist was the smart thing to do. My heart was in the right place and at least it got her to take him to the doctor.

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All the Crazy Things that Helped

Surviving any loss requires a patchwork of strategies. I didn’t judge myself - especially if some tactic actually worked. At first, all you can do is put one foot in front of the other. Your job in the first year is just to survive each day. I broke each day into three parts - morning, afternoon and evening - and chose what to do based on whether it helped or hurt. Watching television in the morning or afternoon made me feel worse so I tried not to do that. Getting outside and doing some sort of physical labor helped. In honor of surviving the last five years, I made some notes on the strategies that worked for me. I’m hoping there’s something that can inspire or help you.

Rituals. When your life spins out of control, rituals help bring it back. They should be temporary and you’ll outgrow them eventually. They are a fake sort of control - wishful thinking - but helpful when you’ve got nothing else. The best ritual I came up with was for getting myself to sleep. Sleep can be tricky and you may need pharmaceutical help (see below). First, I set up a little shrine to Patty on my headboard - a framed photo, her wedding rings on a chain, and probably some crystals (more on that later). Then I’d take meds and read or listen to a sleep meditation until I got sleepy enough. When I was ready, I’d say a little something to her photo about my day and tell her I how much I missed her and loved her. Finally, I’d kiss her wedding ring and settle into a sleeping position, curled around a body pillow effigy, and petted it until I fell asleep. If that didn’t work, I’d focus on taking long deep breaths with long exhales.

Therapy. I was in twice weekly therapy for two years then once weekly until now. Looking for a therapist, the fear of rejection because my issues were too big almost paralyzed me. I finally reached out and found a good one. We did EMDR to get me through the worst trauma symptoms. I had flashbacks of finding her dead. In photos, I saw a skull superimposed on her face. Later, I did a six week course of TMS, - Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation - and dragged myself to the 45-minute appointment five times a week. It all sort of helped.

Meditation. Early on, I discovered Sacred Acoustics meditations from a book. I couldn’t yet read - my eyes couldn’t focus on words - so I tried audiobooks. The first one was Proof of Heaven by Eben Alexander. He was a neurosurgeon who fell into a coma and had a near death experience. As he recovered, he set about trying to disprove his spiritual odyssey. Spoiler alert - he found no neuroscientific explanation for his trip to the other side. Anyway, he, Karen Newell and Kevin Kossi started making meditations with binaural beats and brainwave entrainment. They’re a phenomenal distraction. I could meditate for hours, filling the empty hours of my day as I healed.

Writing. I’d kept a sporadic journal over the years and it turned into long letters to Patty. I knew memories would fade and I wanted to capture all the small things - a time capsule for me and the boys. As I wrote, I asked myself questions then answered them. I poured out my heart to her. As the flood receded and my mind began to clear, I started writing sarcastic essays to entertain my fellow widows. Writing relaxes the knots and tangles in your head. You can more easily draw out and deal with individual threads. The whole process creates a greater sense of order.

Support. Even if you wish it so, you can’t survive something big all by yourself. I am lucky to have a great circle of friends. More than 700 people came to Patty’s wake and everyone wanted to talk to me. My friends followed me around like secret service. Just when I thought I’d collapse from introvert overload, there they were, offering water, snacks, a tissue. Lona dropped everything and drove straight to Chicago as soon as she heard. After the funeral, I sat on the bed as she packed and confessed my worries. I just knew I’d be a burden to everyone and they’d get sick of me. Lona is very wise and insightful. She said losing Patty is heavy and my head is a mess. It’s dark for me but from the outside, my friends only get a glimpse. What feels so big was a mere sliver and they could handle it. I reminded myself so many times after that. Even if it feels like I’m bleeding out, they only see a few drops.

I asked my friends to have “normal conversations” - ones that did not include talking about grief. It felt better to get out of my head. I know it’s tricky trying to figure out what a griever needs. You don’t want to intrude or mess up. For me, just shooting the shit is what I needed a lot of the time.

I also joined the Hot Young Widows club. In it’s heyday, it was a moderated, online support group for widows. Sadly, moderation was turned over to the users and the glory has faded. It was the only place I felt understood. It had separate sections for aspects of widowhood like Wids with Kids, Cancer Wids, and my lifeline - the Suicide Wids. I grew close to a cohort of other suicide loss widows and we stumbled through it together.

Woowoo, Psychics and the Afterlife. After Patty died, I found myself newly engrossed with all things woowoo. I watched every documentary on the after life - even all the one-star, self produced wacky ones. My fav was Life to Afterlife; Tragedy by Design because, duh. I wanted her back. I wanted contact with her. I wanted explanations. Over the course of three years, I saw six psychic mediums. Some were okay, some were spot on, some were off the wall. I recorded all of them. I should probably go back and listen but I can’t yet bear to hear my desperate tone of the past me who just wanted to believe. I got crystals to ward off the bad stuff (namely the ex) and pull in the light. I read a great book on signs by a psychic and saw signs from Patty EVERYWHERE. I won’t name the author because she later did a reading for one of Patty’s friends that was so off, so damaging, that I’m now pissed at her. I still take screenshots of the clock at particular times like our anniversary date. It makes me think she’s still around somewhere. Maybe it’s all crap but the deep dive kept my afloat.

TV Shows. Patty died in February 2020 and lock down started a month after. Television became another lifeline. Mostly, I’d settle for long running shows that I knew I could sit down in the evenings with and be distracted. A couple shorter ones stood out - Surviving Death and After Life. Surviving Death is a doc series on all things woowoo (see above) and After Life is a fictional show following a guy after the loss of his wife to cancer. I loved After Life but each episode, I’d tense up, afraid he’d find new love. I wasn’t ready for that.

Crafts, Lawn work and Home Repairs. Remember, this was the Covid years so it wasn’t weird to try a bunch of new hobbies. I taught myself how to knit again (my mother had shown me as a teen) and knitted blanket after blanket. I didn’t care if I actually finished a pattern and often took it apart and started something else. I called this hobby Knitting to Knowhere. I also experimented with making small cement pots to house my ever expanding plant collection. I wanted to surround myself with green life and it felt meaningful to grow something from seed. I knew every inch of my lawn and flower beds. Heavy labor to install pavers and edging around new flowers felt detoxifying. I painted the whole house, inside and out. I dallied in cross stitch and embroidery. If there was a craft one could start with a trip to Lowes or off Amazon, I probably tried it.

Idiosyncratic Weird Stuff. There was a lot of little things I did specific to Patty and I. Or just me being weird. I sprinkled wild flower seeds on her grave. Cemetery caretakers would mow the grass but just in case, I wanted to show to the world that this one, this grave, was special. I made little charms and buried them in the dirt around her headstone. I thought - maybe someday an archeologist would find them and know she was loved. Patty and I took selfies whenever we went to a concert. People would offer to take a pic for us but we’d say no, that selfies were our thing. So it didn’t seem all that weird to take a selfie of me and her headstone. During a widow support zoom meeting, I changed my background to a picture of Patty on the beach. I leaned over so it looked like we were kissing. I know, silly AND weird. But each act stitched together the days.

Medication. I tried a couple different antidepressants but none really worked and made my daily nausea even worse. I stumbled upon Gabapentin after having nerve pain from the hysterectomy. Suddenly, I was able to get things done. All the stuff that seemed to big to tackle (i.e. getting the house ready to sell, closing her estate, etc etc.) became accessible and I began chipping away at it. I also used Trazadone and Melatonin for sleep. Sleep is so important and underlies everything else. I wasn’t going to mess that up if I could help it.

Psychedelic Mushrooms. I had a transformative experience with a guided therapeutic mushroom trip (read more here). I had tried everything I could think of to relieve the grief but was stuck. The mushrooms wedged a crowbar under my broken heart and pried me free. It’s not for everyone but I’ve become a believer in plant medicine.

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The Struggle Continues

Five years in, it is definitely different now. My mind is calmer, more settled. I’m rarely triggered and the intensity has subsided. All the big things are mostly done. Relationships have found a new rhythm and I’m figuring out who I still am. Right after, my life felt like a nuclear bomb. I was at ground zero. My world was littered with the concrete, dust, and debris of my former life. I connected the boulders with scotch tape. Now, the field is tidy and I concentrate for longer stretches of time. I got here by doing little things as I could each day. It all adds up.

I wonder if I grieved properly. Did I pay attention to enough stuff? Will something come back to bite me in the butt? Sue Klebold, in her book A Mother’s Reckoning: Living in the Aftermath of Tragedy, says it took her seven years to get back to any sense of feeling normal. Some research I’d read said ten years. I couldn’t look at it like the next ten years of my life would be hell. That sort of thinking could push me over the edge. So I put the thought aside and trudged on.

I was suicidal - continually - for the first two years at least. It was a coping mechanism; if it got too hard, I could peace out. Even though I had a duty to the kids, my mom and besties, and my clients, none of that matters when you’re in the deep, dark thick of it. Despair was my shadow. She followed me around and showed up anytime I felt overwhelmed (which was a lot). Her main question to me was “What’s The Point?” Why keep doing hard stuff if nothing matters? I’d lost my sense of meaning and purpose and was un-moored. It was valid of her to ask where to go from here. I couldn’t answer that for a very long time and so, despair was a seductive sensemaker.

Despair. About three years in, I made a decision about despair. I could no longer host her in my mind. Generally, shutting down emotions isn’t recommended but I’d had it. Despair liked to settle on my mind like a warm, heavy blanket in the evenings. The more time I spent spiraling down that rabbit hole, the closer I got to giving up. We had to part. I promised myself I’d deal with her later when I had more mental resources. I shut out those thoughts. Every time I felt the siren whisper at my ear, I’d cut it off - mentally shushing it and telling myself NOT TODAY! I turned away from it over and over. Luckily that worked (probably with the help of Gabapentin) and even though I’d feel numb, I was able to move forward.

Mushrooms. After the mushrooms, I saw the world differently. I realized I didn’t have to carry the banner of suicide loss widow as the first thing people learn about me. I could hold a conversation with someone without mentioning suicide. I wasn’t as obsessed and angry at the world. I had decided to live. To engage with the living. Make the best of it. I opened up to trying new experiences. I met new friends with different traumas from my own. By midlife, we’ve all been through some sort of shit. They did make me aware of the iceberg inside me. I would need to work on melting it. But even that felt possible.

These days, I feel….bullet proof. I have a steel backbone. Nothing compares to what I’ve already survived. I don’t pay attention to petty nonsense. Clawing my way up from the bottom, I feel certain in my ability to care for myself. I’m confident to a whole new level than ever before. Life can try to knock me down but I can figure out how to get my feet under me again. A sadness remains but it’s different - it’s less about missing Patty and more compassion for my past self. I’m sad for me, my demolished life, and how difficult the last five years have been. I’m still grieving the ghost of myself.

I recently did a talk for the Colorado Office of Suicide Prevention (scroll to the bottom to watch) on non-disclosure of suicidal ideation in emergency settings. I rocked it. I couldn’t have done that before the mushrooms - I was too consumed with bitterness. I’ve also written the first draft of a novel and a complete outline of a non-fiction book. I’ve been sitting on these projects for years. Publishing now feel accessible, chippable. Be on the lookout for my next project.

Love. Right after Patty died, I’d get a strong feeling that I’d find love again. At the time, it felt like some loveless, arranged marriage. The mushrooms excavated my broken heart, cleaned it up and installed it in a museum somewhere else. The notion of new love filling my heart space felt possible. Like a click into place, as soon as I opened up to it, I found new love. She’s wonderful and giving - a great match to me and the cares I have in the world. We’re compatible in some of the same ways I had with Patty but it’s also different. She only knows the new version of me but she wants to know it all. Patty isn’t a specter, haunting the new relationship - she’s taken on a sort of wife emeritus title. My new love respects the place Patty holds without feeling threatened by a dead person.

I’m on the cusp of embracing all that can still be. I want to fill up the time that remains. I want this relationship to be the healthiest of my life so far. That means leaving Patty behind in some ways. Patty can’t evolve with me anymore. I’ve become so much more than the person she knew. My new love and I are growing and this is how it should be. Five years later and everything that came after, I’m ready to reengage with life. I know there will be more hardships to come. I accept that this is what it means to exist. One foot in front of the other, I keep surrounding myself with deep love, good people, and above all, my centered self. Keep the faith, different can be better.

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