SUICIDE'S IMPACT: A Mother's Perspective

by Ethel Bucek, R.N., B.A.

I didn't have a choice about it. Following the phone call that Tuesday in early June, I had an added identity-survivor of suicide. I was on duty that morning in the nursing home where I was then employed. Breakfast trays had been served. As I rounded the corner of the unit, I met the Director of Nursing. She appeared distressed as she handed me a message. "Call Officer____________in Glencoe, Illinois," it read. A phone number followed. "I want you to know that I think you're a good person," she said as I continued down the hall to use her office phone in privacy.

Brian, our second son, had been in Glencoe since late March on a work-study program before completing his second year at Kalamazoo College. We were aware he had become increasingly depressed during that year. Earlier in March, he'd been withdrawn and experienced difficulty concentrating on his studies. He had spent hours in the library working on a term paper and had yet to write a complete sentence. I contacted his school counselor and later the school psychiatrist. He suggested the possibility that Brian might have to be hospitalized. However, following a weekend at home and much time spent with his brother, Jeff, in concentrated conversation, Brian was able to return to school the following week to write his term paper and complete his exams.

Out of concern that Brian was scheduled to go on the work-study program, we sought a second opinion and were assured he was going through some normal adolescent phases. Yet, as a mother, I had my doubts. The way he had been acting was far from normal. There were long periods of silence when we spoke with him by phone. He seemed restless and ill-at-ease with people. He expressed fears of "not knowing what I'll be doing and where I'll be going. I was all set to go through four years and be an anthropologist." Now he had doubts as to whether this was the course he wished to continue. Peer relationships and family dynamics were involved, and Brian's self-esteem seemed at an all-time low. Nonetheless, he'd gone off to work as a clerk for the Village of Glencoe and this was to be his last week there. He was looking forward to a flight to California that Friday to visit school buddies. They would travel back across the country together before beginning the summer session.

I don't remember the officer's exact words. His tone was kind and gentle as he informed me that Brian had been found on the floor of the Village Service garage early that morning, a victim of carbon monoxide asphyxia. A crumpled note found in a nearby wastebasket simply said, "I'm sorry. I didn't want to live with these feelings."

It all seemed so unreal-so unbelievable. "Are you sure there's no chance he's still alive?" I asked hopefully. Brian-the child who earlier in life had always seemed so content, the one who seemed self-sufficient, the one I thought I'd never have to worry about. "If only" I'd called him the night before. Instead, knowing we'd just seen him and would see him again on Friday, I'd written him a letter. "Your letters have picked up many a morning for me here in Glencoe," he'd written.

Oh, yes, I remembered reading somewhere that suicide among college-age-students was rising. We'd casually mentioned it in a church discussion group once. Even so, I never imagined it would happen in my family. As I walked back to the nursing station, I noticed no feeling in my legs-it was as if I were walking on two stick of ice. A shock reaction had set in. Yet God gives strength when it's needed, and I was able to maintain calm as I made necessary phone calls and prepared to return home and tell the tragic news to my husband and children.

The days and months that followed were like a nightmare. I awakened each morning with thoughts of the horrible event that had irrevocably changed my life. Although Brian's death had occurred away from home, I woke up one night smelling exhaust fumes. I rushed through the house to our attached garage, afraid another family member had made the same senseless decision, only to find everything peaceful and silent. I felt guilty; I must be a "bad" mother or this wouldn't have happened. What had I said or done to cause this? The times I'd been upset with Brian stood out in my mind. How difficult it seemed to remember the good times! My competency and credibility as a parent was on the line. Anger often surfaced, and in my mind, I directed that anger in many different directions-at myself, my husband, mental health professionals, Brian, God, and society in general. I felt rejected. Brian had been home that weekend for the first time since he went to Glencoe. As he left, I'd hugged him and said, "I love you, Brian." Then knowing his father had more difficulty expressing his sentiments, I'd added, "We both love you. Don't ever forget that." Now I saw his impulsive decision as a rejection of our love.

I continued to work at the nursing home, but had difficulty concentrating and often found myself in tears. Believing this to be unfair to my patients and co-workers, I resigned. Each person must deal with grief in his/her own way. For many, it seems helpful to keep busy. For me, resigning allowed me to work through my grief more effectively.

What helped me the most in the days and months that followed Brian's suicide? First and foremost, the love of God I experienced through the loving concern and support of people-church, family, friends, and neighbors. My pastor arrived at our house that morning with a hug and words that didn't sink in immediately but are imprinted on my memory to this day: "May Jesus be with you as he was with Brian at the hour of his death." My first impulse had been to blame God. What comfort those words afforded me as I more fully realized God's omniscience and omnipresence-that God cares for each individual and felt sorrow, too, at Brian's impulsive act. After the funeral, Pastor continue to phone or visit on occasion with encouraging words. "I'm glad to see you're not isolating yourself," he said. Students and faculty at K College held a service-not condoning Brian's final act, but to memorialize his life. It helped them deal with the loss they also felt. In addition to the immediate expressions of sympathy and kindness, neighbors and friends visited frequently or took us out for picnics and other outings. Our extended family lived out-of-state, but continued to express their caring in frequent phone calls.

At first I was obsessed with knowing everything I possibly could about suicide. I searched bookstores and libraries for reading material in hope of finding some clues or answers to the question uppermost in my mind: " Why did he do it?" I found there were many possible causes. Any behavior is multi-faceted.

A continuing education seminar for nurses on depression and suicide was scheduled nearby. Of course, I attended. One of the instructors was Harold D. Esler, Ph.D., of Bloomfield Hills. Of note to me was his teaching on narcissism as it pertains to suicide survivors. He said, "To take on the responsibility for the death of somebody we love who has taken their life is pure narcissism. You cannot control their death any more than you can control their life. You can only help in its growth or retardation. If we believe that we're responsible, that's something we're trying to hold on to, to show our power....We're putting ourselves almost in the same state as God. The difficulty we have in forgiving ourselves is sometimes almost unbelievable. God forgives, but we put ourselves above God....Part of us wants to believe that we caused the suicidal person's death. The desire to feel responsible and the desire to reduce our guilt are both present. Sometimes we can't give up one without giving up the other."

Listening to this lecture was a turning point for me. Brian alone had made that final decision. If I were responsible for Brian, he'd still be alive.

Although friends and family were supportive, not one of them had experienced a suicide in their lives. My husband and my children were each grieving in their way. We didn't discuss Brian's death much with each other. I longed to talk with someone who would understand. Since I had benefited by some personal growth counseling a few years earlier, I chose once more to obtain private counseling. Over the next two years, the pain gradually diminshed to the degree that I was able to feel and express my emotions. Life began to come back into focus for me with the support of my therapist.

Compassionate Friends, a support group for parents whose child has died, began meeting in Grand Rapids in early 1979. It was there I met Norma White and Lois Steury, two mothers whose sons had also died by suicide. As we shared our experiences with other parents, we found we had many feelings in common. Yet when we compared notes, we realized some of our feelings were more extreme. We had an exaggerated sense of guilt and responsibility for our sons' suicides and a greater degree of anger. We looked at each other and said, "If we're feeling this way, what about those who have had parents or spouses or brothers or sisters die by suicide?"

Thus began our search of the mental health community for support in starting a suicide survivor group. We soon found it in Fred Platte, then Director of South Kent Mental Health, and Susan Stauffer, a counselor at the Advisory Center for Teens. West Michigan Survivors of Suicide began meeting in July 1981 at Park Congregational Church in downtown Grand Rapids. The late seventies and early eighties saw the forming of many survivor groups. A book, Suicide and Its Aftermath, lists nearly 150 survivor groups in the U.S. and Canada.

How difficult it is to take a risk and walk into that first meeting! Once those steps are taken, however, what a relief to hear we are not alone in our feelings! If we had a choice, not a one of us would have wanted to belong to this group. What we do have, though, is a choice in how we deal with the devastating blow with which we've been hit. We may find the rest of the world unwilling to discuss the tragedy, but here we find a safe place to talk freely of that person whom we so loved. Many come with the need to talk. For others, it may be helpful to just listen. People sometimes come to the meeting even though the suicide has occurred ten to twenty years in the past. They've never had the opportunity to express their feelings about it. In sharing with each other, we acknowledge the pain and loss of death by suicide, yet offer necessary reinforcement and understanding for the healing process to happen. It is not intended to prolong our mourning, but rather to support each other in the acute stages of grief and to work that grief through. Some people stop coming when they feel their pain is lessened. Others remain active to help other survivors. In helping others, we help ourselves.

Nearly 750,000 people a year are left to grieve the completed suicide of a family member or loved one, and they are not only left with a sense of loss, they are left with a legacy of shame, fear rejection, anger, and guilt. Suicide survivors are vulnerable-at high risk in terms of their own health and survival. In Suicide and Its Aftermath, Edward J. Dunne lists six clinical themes that may surface in therapy:

1. Surviving suicide establishes in the survivor a perpetual need to search for both physical and psychological clues as to the reason for the suicide.
2. Whether irrational or appropriate, surviving suicide leaves a legacy of inexorable guilt.
3. Surviving suicide profoundly alters one's social relationships as a consequence of real or imagined stigma.
4. Grief following a suicide is always complex and likely to be incomplete.
5. The idea of suicide as a solution to a problem becomes implanted in the mind of the survivor.
6. Suicide erodes the capacity to trust others.

Each survivor will react in her/his own individual way. Not every survivor will need psychotherapy or the support of a suicide survivor group. Many years have gone by. The hurt surfaces yet in sudden stabs of sorrow that strike when least expected. In a sense, Brian is still a very real part of my life. By that I mean my memories of him and all that happened continue to influence my decisions and feelings. I believe I have a better understanding of who and what I'm responsible for in this world. I've discovered some of my weaknesses, but I've also found strengths I didn't know God had given me. God continues to touch my life through many persons, just as God once touched it very significantly through Brian.