I realized that I’ve grown to “normalize” dad’s suicide. Not like, it’s totally a normal thing that happens, but like, I don’t think it’s an important thing that happened. And I realized that because I’ve been noticing lately, when I tell someone about it and they respond “i’m so sorry that happened” I’ve just been replying “yeah…” and then continuing my story or sentence without acknowledging that it was a painful thing, or even giving my dad’s pain a second thought. It’s like I’ve become so dead to the idea that losing him to suicide at such a young age, or even any age for that matter, was infact a tremendously bad thing that happened in my life. I used to use it as a way to get out of stuff or to get pity from people, but something changed at some point and now i’m just brushing past it as if i’m telling someone about a casual, everyday event or experience.
Once I realized this and sat with it all day, it opened some doors in my mind on why this could have happened. One reason is that there are many many people who, in the past couple of years have said things to me, or about me like “jeez, it’s been so long now. Do you still have to cry over it?” Or “god, move on already”. Now I get that people think that grief is a step by step process in which theres so kind of end, but I believe that the idea that “time heals all wounds” and “just get over it” have played a huge part in my inability to recognize our remember how horrible of a thing losing my Dad to suicide actually was. It’s been drilled into my head that I should have strong feelings about it because it’s been 16 years now and I should be over it. Another reason why this has happened is because no one in my family talks about it much. Especially not when it happened. And definitely not without also bringing up that he also was a very flawed person. This created the narrative that he was to blame for his demise and not the system and people around him that failed him. Over the years I’ve heard multiple people tell me that they knew that he was suicidal. They knew he was always talking about dying young. They sat with him countless times while he cried and talked about suicide. But not one of these people took him to the hospital. Not one of these people took him to a doctor. But all of these people have said “you can’t help people who don’t want to be helped” because I think that’s what they need to tell themselves so they can sleep at night.
Most people who have mental illnesses dont ask for, or want help because they don’t think they deserve it. They don’t even think that they deserve to eat, or be with their kids, or be awake. That’s why the world is failing people like my father. Like myself. Because we constantly reinforce the idea that people cant be helped if they dont want it. But they can be helped. And we need to start talking about it and teaching eachother that sometimes the thing that can help someone is persistence, unconditional love, support, and a hand on the back, gently pushing them forward when they are pushing back.
This is the last thing I realized.
I don’t want to not acknowledge his death anymore. I don’t want to brush past it. When someone offers me their condolences, i’m going to take it and sit in it for a minute. I’m going to give my dad the space he deserved in life. I’m going to use it to speak up for the ones that are deemed “unhelpable”. I want to do everything in my power to give space to people who have never been given the space they deserve.
I think I’ve finally realized what I’m going to do with this life I’ve been given. I want to leave the world a bit better than I found it.
