I went to a American Foundation for Suicide Prevention Leadership conference a few weeks ago. It was surreal to be around 400 other people that have had suicide affect their life in one way or another. We are all passionate about helping others so they don't have to go through what we have, but also wondering if what we are doing is making a difference. I hope so. It was nice to be around so many other's that knew what I was feeling. Everyone goes through it differently and at their own pace but we know the general feeling of loss.
I will once again chair the Denver Metro walk this year on September 19, 2020 at Coors Field. I have done it for two years and said that was my limit but here I am again. I was hoping someone would step up and co-chair this year to take over the event next year but so far no one has come forward. It is a huge commitment. One that shouldn't be taken lightly. I am glad that I can do it. I know that it helps so many people to come to the walk and support each other. It is a heart wrenching day but also a healing day. Some people come with a recent loss and are still working to get out of bed every day. Some people have been years since their loss or attempt but can share that experience with those that are new to the club. I am grateful that I can get out of bed and be the walk chair. I am grateful that I can give hugs to those that need them.
Everyone is struggling with something in their lives. I just read a good book by Jane Clayson Johnson called Silent Souls Weeping. She interviews people with depression, survivors of suicide, etc. She herself has battled depression for years. I found the chapter on suicide survivors hit so close to home. A couple of mothers shared their stories of the different emotions that you go through, the loss, the pain, the anger, the guilt, the feelings of hopelessness as you watch your child suffer. The feeling that you should have been able to save them, after all that was your child. You are their protector. You held their hand when they crossed the street, you taught them to look both ways as they got older. You sat with white knuckles in the car gripping whatever you could find as you taught them how to drive. You took pictures of her when she went to school dances, you cried with them when their hears were broken, you celebrated with them when they were happy. What you couldn't do is save them. It doesn't matter if it has been 1,995 days. I still feel like that. I miss her. I wish I could hold grand kids from her. I wish she could call me with questions about her babies. I wish she would have had one "just like her" so that I could smile as they got older. I can't. Never will.
I hope that I can help people by volunteering to bring awareness and sharing my story. If I can, then it is a good day.
