Wear Out All My Questions

My niece Lisa is the team captain for the Out of the Darkness Walk for suicide prevention that we are doing for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. These walks are done all over America and this one will be done in Myrtle Beach, SC. Our team is Team Kaitlyn.

My sister Judy (her mother) dropped off a packet of materials for me to look at and one of the things in there was a pamphlet entitled “Surviving a Suicide Loss.” Now I can’t tell you just how many books, pamphlets and articles I have read on this subject since Kaitlyn’s death, I have lost count. I do extensive reading and research. But for some reason I was taken by a particular line in the section entitled, “What do I do now?” It said, “Wear out all your questions, anger, guilt or other feelings until you can let them go. Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting.” These two sentences glared out at me with particular importance to me. This is what I am doing. I am wearing out all these questions of why, how could this be, and the anger I feel at the injustice of feeling you can’t get help without being ostracized, the guilt of not seeing my daughter’s depression she so expertly hid and perhaps missing the subtle clues that totally went over my head. I’m writing about my daughter, putting up pictures, cards, videos, asking questions, posting articles and naming helpful books and howling out loud the total grief and devastation that I feel for her loss. I am doing this until I just feel I can’t do it anymore. I don’t really know when the “I can’t do it anymore” will kick in, but I will do it.

I hope to always be an advocate for suicide prevention. I do not know in what capacity it will be, only time will tell. I am too early in my grief to even know where I will go from this couch from the hell I live in from losing my daughter. I will forever not know the answers, but I will continue to search until I finally realize I will never know. Funny, I realize now I will never know all the answers, yet I still search.

There have been people that have told me (not here and not my family) that I simply must quit asking why anymore as I will never know the answers. Some I can sense in them the concern that maybe I am going too far in my questions and posting and may be in need of professional help. Well, I’m here to tell them, I already receive professional help and am told that venting about all this is therapeutic, which I already knew anyway. Even if I was told it was harmful, I would not believe it because I know what helps and what does not for me.

I honestly cannot tell you why the death of my daughter has not put me into my own suicidal ideation or wound me up in the mental hospital. I suffer from severe depression that is managed ok right now. I am amazed that is not where I am now. I’m actually amazed, as I’ve said before, that I did not die the very moment I learned of my daughter’s death. I honestly feel, as strange as it may sound, is that I cannot leave this world because I am too busy grieving. I had too much to do in her honor. Something is keeping me here.

So I will grieve, and I will talk, and I will research, and I will post, and I will post 5 times a day or skip a day or two, but I simply must do this. The grief of losing Kaitlyn is equal to the love I have for her, and the love I have for her is “bigger than the universe.” Such is the size of my grief.

People say, “get out more, you need to be with people.” I do get out, I do things, but I don’t do many of the things I once did because I just don’t want to do them anymore. Why suffer through things that will torture me? “You need to go back to work.” I quit my job and feel totally unfit to learn a new job at this time. I tried it a few weeks ago and I almost went into a panic attack just at the thought. I don’t go to church anymore. No, I’ve not lost my faith, but I just can’t go. I love all those people, but I just can’t go. I can’t say the prayers I once said, because they were to protect my children. I am scared to pray that anymore. It’s a beautiful day here in NC. You can feel the cooler air coming in and the sun is shining. I know I should be sitting out there, but all I do when I sit out there is see Kaitlyn in the far distance, knowing it’s not her, but seeing her all the same. I’m tortured in this house; I’m tortured outside this house.

So I guess I will do things as I’m doing now until I just exhaust myself from the whole thing. I will get bored or feel I’m really going insane if I stay in this house any longer and I may try to get a job again. I may start worrying about my own self and force myself back to my old life, even though it will never be the same again. But until I get to that point, I just can’t do it. I can’t do it until I wear all this out.


About gatito2

My name is Rhonda. I'm a registered nurse, for the last 20 years, that has not been able to work since the day I learned of my daughter's death by suicide 4-12-13. (She actually died 4-11-13 and her body was not found until the 12th) Me and my husband have been married for 32 years and he's a wonderful man. We grieve in different ways. He works, I write. This is my journey through this horrible land of losing a child..
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4 Responses to Wear Out All My Questions

  1. jmgoyder says:

    Good on you! If anyone uses the word ‘should’ to you, tell them to get lost.


  2. You just keep right on what you are doing, Rhonda. You are handling your unspeakable grief appropriately and in very healthy fashion. Although it may not seem like it now, I can see tiny rays of hope and improvement in you. You are getting better even if it doesn’t feel like you will ever get well. You are slowly healing. It has been an extraordinary privilege to vicariously walk with you in your grief journey. Through you, I am healing and recovering from my own grief.


  3. gatito2 says:

    Thank you Randall. I don’t feel like I’m getting any better at all though.


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