September is Suicide Prevention and Awareness Month.
As a survivor of parental suicide, I have little to say on suicide prevention.
But I can share a few things about life afterward.
At 13, finding out Dad had taken his life changed how I remembered him. Instead of finding joy in happy memories, I felt a sadness I thought could kill me.
So, I never talked about him.
How he chose to leave the world took precedence over how he lived IN it.
Until…
Seven years ago, I contacted Dad’s long-lost siblings back in Louisville, Kentucky. I hadn’t seen them since I was eight years old.
They shared amazing stories about Dad. Once, after he moved to California, he drove clear across the country to buy shoes for 10 siblings still living at home. They shared stories of his devotion, sense of humor, and keen fashion sense.
Through stories, Dad was no longer ‘unmentionable.’ He became Dad the caring brother. Dad, the loving son. Dad, the amazing father.
Sharing these stories with my sister and brothers gave us a way to finally talk about Dad.
After decades of silence, shame, and sadness, I now speak of Dad with pride and happiness.
Learning to speak about Dad had a profound effect on my speaking style. I noticed the change immediately. Others did too. People mentioned that it was no longer ‘performative.’ I was able to easily bounce between a performance ‘bit’ and ‘Rebecca,’ and speak more forthrightly from my heart. More conversational. More vulnerable. More in the moment.
This transformation was not one I saw coming. But I welcomed it with open arms. It changed my career in profound ways.
Losing a loved one to suicide is unspeakable, but sharing stories of how a person lived IN the world is the way to keep the best parts of them alive. If you’ve lost someone to suicide, you know how it changes you from the inside out.
I’m not giving any advice. I’m simply telling you a story of going back to open Pandora’s box. For me, the pain was worth the prize of having stories of life replace the story of Dad’s loss. Since sharing it, I’ve heard from others who did the same thing…many years later.
The journey back in time didn’t remove the pain. It’s still there. As fresh as a daisy. But it did help me find my words to share the story with you.
