Long path to overcoming grief

How does one cope with tragic loss? To wake up one morning and hear news that shatters the very fabric of one’s existence. And when you learn the cause of death is suicide, it does something to you. It alters something inside that’s indefinable.
It’s been about 15 years since I woke one morning to be told my friend took his own life.
That moment replays over and over in my head, because for the next few days after, I remember little else. But the memory of hearing that news is as clear today as it was then.
Even as I slept, I heard my aunt’s footsteps as she approached my room. I heard the creak of the door as it opened – the sound awoke me. And I can still hear her words, telling me the news. My reality changed forever. I realized life is fragile. And that life could be taken away in an instant.
After the news, I withdrew. Life became a blur. I didn’t know how to cope. I became numb.
Other friends surrounded me, but we all seemed to be dealing with our own guilt in whatever role we thought we played in his death.
For myself, I was grappling with how my friend and I had drifted apart. We had seemed at odds with each other before he died. We hadn’t talked to each other in weeks.
And in my anger and confusion, I failed to see the signs. I failed to see his pain. I failed to see that he wasn’t mad at me. He had been looking for a way out. I thought I failed to be a friend when he needed one the most.
I’ve never talked about this experience. I never knew how. It’s been 15 years since that time and I still have difficulty doing so.
For a year after my friend’s death, I wore nothing but black. I wasn’t even aware I was doing it, but I was mourning. And I didn’t know how to deal with it. Prior to his death I had been slowly sinking into my own depression, his death solidified my state of mind.
But despite the pain, confusion and sorrow, I knew one thing: I could never harm myself. I could not cause that kind of pain to the ones I love.
You see … there was a time when I wanted to take my own life, when thoughts of suicide were all I could think of.
But a beautiful thing happened. A few short months after the death of my friend, my family was blessed with new life. My brother had his first baby boy. That child saved my life. And in time, I was able to find clarity in my life.
I chose life. I began a healing process that included finding my identity, my purpose. And I’ve succeeded.
While prescription drug abuse problems in the region have dominated headlines as of late, suicide still lurks in the shadows. And every so often, suicide still rears its ugly head, altering the lives of those affected.
It’s why every year in early May, Norma Kejick continues to organize events such as the Yellow Ribbon Walk for Life.
The annual event is meant to tell people to ask for help when considering suicide. To let people know they are not alone.
Norma is a principal at Wahsa Distance Education Centre in Sioux Lookout. She knows what it’s like to lose a loved one. Her nephew committed suicide seven years ago.
But rather than dwell on the pain, she chose to confront the problem.
For the last six years, she has organized the walk. And for the last six years, she and her family sought healing.
“It’s been a long healing journey for all of us,” Norma told an assembled crowd after the walk.
That journey is ongoing. It’s why Norma walks ever year – to take a stand against suicide. To find hope.
Reta Beardy has also lost a loved one to suicide. Six years ago, she lost her daughter. She’s compared the experience to a bomb exploding in her house the day it happened.
Since then, Reta said life has been about picking up the pieces from the aftermath of that ‘explosion.’
She and her husband Morley have taken part in the Walk for Life every year.
While the couple says life has been difficult to live without their daughter, they are honoured to take part in the walk, to break the silence and speak out, to tell others to find help when thinking of suicide. And to tell others to reach out and help those who are suffering.
“We need to live,” Reta said. “One life lost to suicide is too many.”
Speaking out. It was a common message and perhaps, as suicide seemingly tends to be forgotten as an issue, a message that needs to be heard.
Fortunately, someone heard me as I sought help.
I yearned to know more about my culture, to know what it meant to be Cree. I needed that foundation to build my life upon. And someone heard that message.
I found healing in ceremony, but more importantly, I learned to be human again. To feel, to love life.
I’ve never shared my experience. But listening to people like Norma, Reta and Morley, it’s important to talk. It’s important for our own healing. But, perhaps more importantly, it’s imperative that we break that silence in the hopes of saving at least one life.
It’s OK to ask for help.