I say my son’s full name every morning out loud. I also say, “Another day starts without you, but it is another day closer until I see you again.” The reason I say this is because it is true. It is a fact. I can hold onto that. It is real. This I know.
I also understand the terrible pain of the knowledge of permanent disappointment—the permanent loss. I know I will never have a conversation with Ben. I will never hug him. I will never see his gorgeous smile again. I will not see his wedding. I will never see him buy his first home. We will never go to a ball game or dinner together again. He loved going to dinner with us, and we loved it when he came along. He will never come over, jump out of his car, and run over to me. This I know.
I struggle, cry, and miss him. This I know.
This is the message I wanted to post tonight, and maybe it will convince me, or perhaps I feel compelled because of some of the posts I have read here lately. The pain we all share is real, and though different, we are very much kin of sorts.
Ben loved me, and he still loves me. However, Ben made a decision that did not involve me, and I honestly do not think he even thought of me when he left. Ben’s mind was not thinking rationally. This I know. I spent many hours thinking of the scenario of his passing, over and over through the situation. I’m pretty sure I narrowed it down to maybe three likely scenarios.
I went through the facts and used all my skills as a trained investigator of sorts, and realized that most likely, one of the three is what occurred. Then I understood something. I understood this did not matter, because all three scenarios end the same. Ben leaves. This I know.
I cannot save Ben by finding out what happened exactly. And I will never know exactly what happened or why he chose to leave at that moment. This I know.
The guilt is real. Many of us face guilt … If I had done this or that, said this or that, or not said this or that … the big hamster wheel of guilt.
After many more hours of thought, I understood something. I did everything I could with the information I had. I was his dad, and he was my son. I loved him and love him now, no different than before. I was projecting guilt onto myself. Ben never wanted me to feel this enormous, misplaced guilt. This horrible guilt resides in me because of me. It is my projection, not his. This I know.
Grief is here for me. It will always be here. Without love, there is no grief because of the grief I know I loved. This I know.
My grief is my grief; it belongs to me. It has nothing to do with Ben now. My life is my responsibility, not his. He cannot be responsible for my sadness, nor can he be accountable for my happiness. These belong to me. This I know.
I know I will cry again. This I know.
I will miss him forever. This I know.
We walk this road together as suicide loss survivors. This I know.
I will love you forever, Benjamin, and count the days till I see you again. This I know.
