Grief is all the things you said and more. I plan to write more on the subject in the future. Until then, thank you for taking the time to read my words and leaving your kind message. ❤️
I know we’re not supposed to compare griefs, but this is so much worse than my own experience with it; my parents were old, and as mistaken as their decisions may have appeared to me, they were not entirely irrational, I was often suicidal at 14, and before, and it was entirely irrational: a mistake, a confusion on my part about what was real and what was temporary, about what I “knew” as opposed to what I “felt.” Because I now have two children who may like me be mentally ill (as your father was, as my mother and her mother were; as many of my wife’s family were, including her father who also committed suicide, but younger and to tremendous anguish on the parts of his loved ones), I think often of what I might try and tell them should they get into these states. I’m sure you do too, and I’m sure we’ll do our best. It’s not an easy life, for the one fighting despair (or delusion) or the one who watches. Above all, I hope I convey to them that these are chapters only, that you cannot make a “clear eyed” decision until sometime in your twenties, if then, and that endurance is important, and is rewarded.
I’m very sorry about your loss, and of course about Preston’s too. At least he knew love when he was here, thanks in part to you. It’s the only real good in life, and it’s not nothing that you have it to him, even if he lost himself later.
Thank you for reading my words and your comment here, Mills.
You’re spot on about everything, including the bit about comparing grief. I, too, had suicidal thoughts at 14, and I think about that pain more than I’d like to admit now as a mother. I remember how lonely and insurmountable that pain felt back then for myself and must have felt for my brother, and this is what brings tears to my eyes, this is what keeps me awake at night on occasion. I still struggle with anxiety and depression but am grateful that I somehow got through that chapter (as you refer to it), and I hope that I can convey that hope, fortitude, whatever you want to call it, to my kids, too. I know we will try the best we can.
I also want to add to your point about passing on mental illness to my kids because I almost chose not to have kids for this very reason. Of course, I’m glad that I chose this wonderful, wild, and weary parenting journey, but I still fear for my daughters—tremendously. Of course, I’ll continue to navigate all that is, just as you, and write about the complexities in the meantime.
Words, both read and written, have afforded me so much: catharsis, a sense of belonging, validation, and more than anything, love. I’m grateful for them, and I’m grateful for your visit today.
Katrina, there are no words for this kind of pain. My own little brother has been struggling with suicidal ideation for years, and I'm in constant fear I'll get the news one day that he's finally followed through. Grief is such a mix of emotions and unpredictable, made more complicated by motherhood, as you wrote so well. Thank you for sharing this vulnerable piece.
I'm so sorry to hear about your brother's struggle. We had no clue. I'm not sure which is worse: knowing or not knowing. Both options are awful. Thinking of you and your brother today. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment, Tiffany. I always appreciate your support. 💕
Beautiful and painful. Grief is sneaky and complicated and I love what you said about managing it in motherhood. Thanks for sharing your story ❤️
Grief is all the things you said and more. I plan to write more on the subject in the future. Until then, thank you for taking the time to read my words and leaving your kind message. ❤️
You are amazing and strong for sharing this story. I’m teary eyed. Truly Sorry for all the pain and sadness associated with your brothers loss.
Thank you, Kristen ❤️ I appreciate you reading my work and your condolences.
Beautiful writing Katrina, heartbreaking and bittersweet 💛
Thank you for taking the time to read, Emily!
I know we’re not supposed to compare griefs, but this is so much worse than my own experience with it; my parents were old, and as mistaken as their decisions may have appeared to me, they were not entirely irrational, I was often suicidal at 14, and before, and it was entirely irrational: a mistake, a confusion on my part about what was real and what was temporary, about what I “knew” as opposed to what I “felt.” Because I now have two children who may like me be mentally ill (as your father was, as my mother and her mother were; as many of my wife’s family were, including her father who also committed suicide, but younger and to tremendous anguish on the parts of his loved ones), I think often of what I might try and tell them should they get into these states. I’m sure you do too, and I’m sure we’ll do our best. It’s not an easy life, for the one fighting despair (or delusion) or the one who watches. Above all, I hope I convey to them that these are chapters only, that you cannot make a “clear eyed” decision until sometime in your twenties, if then, and that endurance is important, and is rewarded.
I’m very sorry about your loss, and of course about Preston’s too. At least he knew love when he was here, thanks in part to you. It’s the only real good in life, and it’s not nothing that you have it to him, even if he lost himself later.
Thank you for reading my words and your comment here, Mills.
You’re spot on about everything, including the bit about comparing grief. I, too, had suicidal thoughts at 14, and I think about that pain more than I’d like to admit now as a mother. I remember how lonely and insurmountable that pain felt back then for myself and must have felt for my brother, and this is what brings tears to my eyes, this is what keeps me awake at night on occasion. I still struggle with anxiety and depression but am grateful that I somehow got through that chapter (as you refer to it), and I hope that I can convey that hope, fortitude, whatever you want to call it, to my kids, too. I know we will try the best we can.
I also want to add to your point about passing on mental illness to my kids because I almost chose not to have kids for this very reason. Of course, I’m glad that I chose this wonderful, wild, and weary parenting journey, but I still fear for my daughters—tremendously. Of course, I’ll continue to navigate all that is, just as you, and write about the complexities in the meantime.
Words, both read and written, have afforded me so much: catharsis, a sense of belonging, validation, and more than anything, love. I’m grateful for them, and I’m grateful for your visit today.
Katrina, there are no words for this kind of pain. My own little brother has been struggling with suicidal ideation for years, and I'm in constant fear I'll get the news one day that he's finally followed through. Grief is such a mix of emotions and unpredictable, made more complicated by motherhood, as you wrote so well. Thank you for sharing this vulnerable piece.
I'm so sorry to hear about your brother's struggle. We had no clue. I'm not sure which is worse: knowing or not knowing. Both options are awful. Thinking of you and your brother today. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment, Tiffany. I always appreciate your support. 💕
Oh this made me cry so much. Thank you for all this vulnerability
Wow. Thank you, Micah, for reading and taking in this essay that I hold so dear to my heart ❤️
Thank you
Thank you for reading, Jeannie ❤️