Facing the New Normal: One Difficulty Two Years after the loss

One difficulty with grieving the loss of a son after two years comes down to this: Most people I know, well, they know of my loss, but they don’t want to talk about it. Or they don’t know how to talk about it. There are many reasons why they might feel this way; for many, I suspect, they want to be available, but they don’t know what is normal. They want to do what is appropriate and healthy in every given case. But this? What is normal, healthy, and appropriate?

At the Survivors of Suicide support group I attend every other Monday night, we’ve gained a group identity as “the last group you will want to join. But you’re welcome to be here.” At the meeting, when the word “normal” comes up, usually mentioned by newcomers, it gets a laugh. Or it is met with a look of sympathy and an encouragement not to hold what used to be normal over the present. What is normal about this life we are leading since our son/daughter/wife/husband/brother/sister/fiancee/ friend took his/her/their life? What will ever be normal again? We are living some new something that may never be close to what used to be normal for us.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about my son. Some of my friends probably think this is not normal. But it is for me now. I think about how I let him down. I think about how I failed to listen. I think about all of the walls he put up around him–and I let him. I think about how much I miss him, how the back bedroom is empty with his stuff.

And I am around people who, after two years, aren’t sure it is their place to bring this loss up. With some, I get that they don’t want to. They think that by talking about it again, they are allowing me to be unhealthy, and I should get over it.

I know that most people are well-meaning and just don’t know what to say or do. So they assume that if I have a problem, as with all normal things, then I will bring it up.

So life goes on in the silence. This is part of my new normal. 

I will say it here: I am grateful for the chance to grieve. I am grateful for the chance to not grieve (I assume that this is what these friends are allowing for). I am also grateful for the chance to acknowledge that this has happened to me and that I miss my son.

I hope the following rough draft of a poem helps with understanding this a little.
_____________________

Garage Grief

I have learned to leave my grief in the garage
like downhill ski equipment,
like I’m not carrying it now along this Southern
California beach, overheated, odd, clunky,
while gulls and peers help them as they
talk about
grandchildren or
their son’s
new position.

I have learned to leave it there
instead of lugging it
through this Arctic Circle of
meanings, of other lives not
fit or sized for our calamity.

It’s in the garage.
I’ll just leave it there.
And we’ll meet here as they
again meet to talk about
grandchildren or
their daughter’s
new outlook.