My second ever visit to a grief group

Photo by Sandy Millar on Unsplash

Tonight, I went to a grief group for the first time since 2020.

The first time I went, it was not long after Jeremie died and it felt so strange.

I went to a suicide support group. I thought I would be among my peers, the ones that would ‘get it’, but then they looked at me bugged-eyes because I had two.

It made me feel even more alone, somehow; I felt like the odd one out - having two in a family - not just one.

I went looking for solidarity and support, but instead, there, I also felt separate, like an anomaly. An outlier.

This grief group was offered with the church that I attend.

There were mostly older folks there - widows and widowers.

It felt both good to be among those who know loss, that understands that death of a loved one and grief changes you.

There is a common heaviness of human love and human suffering, that tends to make people recognize the humanity in another a bit more, a bit more slowly, than normal people do - in my opinion.

But, also, I have to be real - it felt lonely - because they could talk about the fond memories they had with their spouses.

I was also the only one middle-aged, under 60 - probably under 70.

And they all died of and had other deaths that were natural causes -

Or so, I assumed.

I was wrong.

I shared that I lost my parents and brother, and babies - but I didn’t share that they were suicides.

I justified it -I didn’t want to, because it takes up too much air - people don’t know how to respond -

I’ve done this enough to know that then there are many people who shut down then - it’s too horrific to imagine or they compare their own - or they get awkward and worry about my mental state, etc. -

So, I stayed silent on the causes.

When we left, a woman I had spoken to in church, she mentioned that she was glad I had come and she didn’t know, she was sorry about my losses.

I said, I hesitate to share because I don’t want to take up too much space -

She says that’s what it’s here for.

I mentioned the suicides.

She got teary-eyed, and nodded, she said - her daughter had recently shot herself.

She clearly was bereaved, it seemed more recent.

I never stand to be surprised by just how many of us there are.

I wonder if she talks about it at all. She didn’t tonight - not the specifics.

I can’t imagine the loss of a child by suicide.

Or, a partner, really.

She said you aren’t alone, you’re not the only one.

I know I am not - but in that room, I had not considered there would be any other suicide losses.

It made me check myself, humble myself, and my initial assumptions that others had lost loved ones only due to natural causes.

And I am trying to hold space for the suicide loss that she faced - that I can’t possibly understand.

And also giving myself the grace and understanding - that we are the same, but not - because I had two of them.

My heart went out to her though - she was elderly; she had mentioned losing her husband recently.

And now she had to carry this -

We’re not supposed to bury our children.

And I feel for her that now she is also grieving the loss of her daughter too.

The experiences of grief and suicide loss are all so complex and nuanced, yet overlapping and similar.

It reshapes our hearts and how we show up in and view the world.

If we allow it, it also can make us to become better people.