In February 2001 my aunt committed suicide. She froze herself to death. It’s been 16 years, but every time I revisit this event it is painful. I’m sitting here crying right now as I begin to write. I haven’t really thought of this for a few years now. No more than if the subject comes up acknowledging that I have had suicide hit close to home. It’s easier if you keep it at arms length.
A recent post by @scooter77 brought this topic back to the forefront for me. His post can be found here @scooter77/losing-a-friend-male-suicide-the-silent-killer-what-signs-to-look-for He’s right, people do need to be aware of the warning signs of suicide. And those close to someone who committed suicide may need help dealing with the loss.
It’s more than loss really. A death of someone close is always painful, whether it was a sudden accident or a drawn out illness.But with suicide there is something indescribably more. The looming question why? The question of could you have done something. The questions.
A little background, my Aunt lived out of state, and growing up I had only seen her on a handful of occasions. But have you ever had any people in your life that you may not see often, or even know very well, but there is something about them that draws you to them, something that you might not be able to explain, but they hold a special place in your heart? My Aunt was one of those people for me. She’d had a hard life, was a victim of sexual abuse as well as verbal and physical abuse, but she always had a smile for me. We connected in some inexplicable way.
I can remember talking to her on the phone probably 4-5 months before she died, killed herself. I was telling her about something important to me and she was encouraging me. I don’t know why but she called me princess that day, no one has called me that either before or since, but when she did, somehow it was genuine and felt awesome. It gave ma pause even on the phone in the moment. It was her that made sure I got my grandmothers guitar I mentioned in this post @aboutyourbiz/you-can-do-a-lot-if-your-want-to-is-big-enough
My Aunt had made one attempt at suicide in January, before she was successful in February. She had gone outside, they lived on a few acres, and she was drunk and passed out. She had hoped to die then, but woke up and dragged herself back into the house. My mom, her sister, was planning a trip up to stay with her for a while, but she didn’t get there in time.
The second time, she had apparently put more thought in to it. She drove a few miles up the road one evening, they were in a rural area, and pulled off to the side of the road. She laid out a blanket on the snow, there at the side of the road, and laid down. She took some sleeping pills, took off all of her clothes, folded them neatly beside her, and laid down. She wasn’t found until the next day.
She struggled with insecurity and many other issues, but she, as I understood it, had been in counseling and was seeking God for answers and peace in her life. I had trouble deciphering what may have happened to her after her death. I grew up in church so on the one hand I believed she was a Christian and had Jesus in her life, and on the other she gave up and murdered (so to speak) herself. We always hear that suicide is an unpardonable sin and there is obviously no chance for repentance from that sin once you’re gone, so I was distraught as to what to think.
A day or two after she had passed, in a time of deep sorrow, I put pen to paper and the following belched out of me:
FLOWER IN THE SNOW
Broken Flower in the snow,
out of place, now out of time.
Heaven weeps for the fallen.
Wounded spirit never healing,
yearning, longing unfulfilled.
Elusive happiness stands waiting,
love all around unseen.
Lies swarming inside your head,
stinging your soul, blinding your eyes.
Muffled cries escape your core, indistinguishable.
Nocturnal groans swallowed.
Hopelessness invades, suffocating,
anger and bitterness rage.
The storm inside does not abate,
freedom never comes.
Feeling used and discarded you throw yourself away,
but promised black nothingness does not exist.
Fragile Flower fading softly, silence falling in the frosty forest,
remnant of life left behind.
Pangs of sorrow overwhelming,
questions left unanswered.
Pain caused by a chasm created,
broken hearts left scattered.
Beam of light breaks through the clouds,
reaching through the darkness.
Creator of life lovingly, gently,
lifts the crushed Flower from the snow.
While writing this helped me heal and grieve her loss, it would be better if she were still here.
This has not been easy for me to write. I have shared more than I ever have before. I was hesitant to do this because it’s a lot of pain to open up for no one to read. If you have read this far, thank you, really.
I hope this can help at least one person. I’ve been told the poem above, or what ever you would call it might help others. I don’t know. My mom was asked if I would let a suicide survivor group use it, I did, but that’s all I know. Hopefully it has helped some in that group.
(Courtesty of @son-of-satire)
Photos from https://www.pexels.com