Dear Reader,

After my father’s suicide, I searched for books to help me through my grief process, but there weren’t many available, especially not one page meditations. The nature of recovery from a loved one’s suicide, for me, was silent. The people that knew about my loss did not know how to console, and I rarely spoke about my father’s suicide. I was afraid of what others may think of my father or me. Unearned shame kept me quiet. I needed words and feelings from someone who had walked down the same path. I did not need graphic descriptions of a person’s suicide. I couldn’t deal with words that brought home the horrible scene of finding my father. But still, I needed to know that the churning feelings inside me were normal. With the thought that possibly another person could relate to my feelings, writing them has been a catharsis.

For me writing has always been a release. There was an old game I used to play as a child called pick-up-sticks. The object was to remove one stick at a time without moving the others. That’s what writing these meditations has been like for me; I picked up one thread of a thought at a time to look at and express. Singling out just one thought and developing it into concise words was difficult and frustrating. Yet, it left me with a clear heart and the ability to get on with my life. Writing these one-page thoughts were both my own cathartic attempt to make some sense of what happened to me after my father’s death, and my attempt to help others cope with their sorrow.

Writing was just one tool in my efforts to heal from the grief of losing my father. Professional direction from a psychologist helped me to understand, also, that once I was able to see my father as no longer in pain then I could begin my own healing. Joining a support group gave me confidence to stop isolating and helped me to talk about my father’s suicide.

Efforts at good writing ask the writer to always speak their truth. It was the truth that I adhered to in these reflections. I did not whitewash the pain. If you have lost someone to suicide, I hope my truth will not cut sharply into your agony. And painful though they are, I believe these reflections have a healing grace. I hope that you will find something in them that will help.

Sincerely,

Karen Phillips





Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Spirituality—Thanks

                        I’m not sure when portions of my journal turned into a daily thank-you-list to a Higher Power.  I wrote these the first month after Daddy died.
Thank You for
·         the bird songs when the sun comes up.  (They took me to a non-thinking place.)
·         for the smell of the woods during my walk. 
(The honeysuckle and wild roses penetrated my thoughts.)
·         for the people at work.  (They kept their distance last week)
·         for giving me a few quiet moments from the emotional waves of grief.
·         for my husband’s friendship. (How could anyone have been my friend today?)
·         for Kleenex and friendly ears.
·         for the right to my anger.
·         for helping me dial the wrong number.  (I needed to talk to that person.)
·         for the love of my dogs. (They were more tuned in to me than I was.)
·         for the sleeping-late days. (I was so tired.)
·         for letting me be a cranky child today.
·         for a chance to see an old friend.
·         for the ease of looking at the sun through the haze.
·         for helping me not to argue with my sister yesterday.
·         for the tools to clean: a dishwasher, a broom, a washer-and-dryer, a vacuum.
·         for sex and being held afterward. (I didn’t feel worth the effort.)
·         for the time that’s past since Daddy died.  (Each day will take me a step out of this hell).
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