I have been going back and forth, pondering the realities of grief, as well as the concept of healing from grief after the traumatic loss of my son to suicide. Is healing really possible?
In the beginning, I remember saying, “This will be with me for the rest of my life,” and no one disagreed. Not one person challenged the assumption that this grief would always be with me, sometimes unbearably so. What I did hear—understandably—was that, over time, the pain might soften or lessen. But no one told me the famous line, “time heals all wounds.”
Does it? Or is that just something the unsure say to the grieving—or what we tell ourselves? No one said it to me. No one disagreed with me either. And I don’t blame them. I’d probably have done the same.
I have been on more than a few walks, and during those walks, I think of my pain, feelings of guilt, anger, and Benjamin’s life snuffed away in the matter of a second. Twenty-two years of life gone, just like that. I’m not naive to the concept of the loss I’m discussing here. I have been to the heart of the battlefield of grief. The endless crying. The physical ache in my chest and gut. The sleepless nights, or the nights of waking up and knowing exactly why I had woken. Waking up to the cold reality that Ben is gone. After forgetting for a millisecond in the restless sleep, I wake to understand that the cold, hard truth is that he is gone again—the thoughts of Ben’s last moments, what was he feeling and thinking? I was wondering if he had thought of me before that last moment. I could go on, but most of you know the same battlefield of grief. The feeling of loneliness that no matter what we do, we cannot change what happened.
We cannot change what happened, but I propose we can heal from it.
I have said that my life is my own, and I cannot hold Ben responsible for my happiness or sadness. These are my choices. The decisions I make are my own. Ben decided on his life and death. I disagree with it, and I know in his mind, there was suffering and illness. I have to decide. I have to choose. If I say this grief will be with me for the rest of my life, every day, then so it shall be. I will not and cannot do that. I will treat this as a wound. A deep wound. A wound this deep needs stitches, so let me wash this wound.
Let me place ointment of healing on this wound, and let me stitch this wound slowly and carefully. I will use the tools I have learned from my group therapy. The words written in this forum are from all of you. You are all my doctors and first responders. My wife is my chief surgeon. We are all part of the healing. I also firmly believe a wound not treated will become infected. The infection can become life-consuming. An infection that gets bad enough can kill a body and soul. None of us would ever leave a gaping wound untreated or uncared for, so how is grief different?
I don’t want to write these words solely as theory; I want to attempt to test the theory and use a concept or concepts to bring this to life for me and see if I can heal. I mean real healing, where their memory and love exist. A wound that becomes a well-developed scar. That is the goal.
What say you?
~ Ben’s Dad
