Twisted bit of irony complicates grief
I recently began research on a paper dealing with suicides in the older population.
I realize now that subconsciously I chose this topic because I was looking for a way to deal with my feelings. You see, it was in the fall nine years ago that my own father took his life.
Although the suicide was painful to me, I have never been ashamed of the manner in which he died. What was difficult for me was dealing with my own feelings in the grieving and recovery process. After counseling many people about suicide deaths and doing extensive research, I’ve concluded that the process is different and harder than in other causes of death.
In my case, a twisted bit of irony further complicated my feelings. It was during a counseling session with a young man who was contemplating suicide that I received the call from my uncle telling me that my father had just shot himself.
Immediately I was flooded with not only shock and disbelief, but a strong sense of unreality. There I was trying to superimpose the news of my father’s suicide upon my own intense involvement with a client who was contemplating the same act. My father had multiple medical problems and at age 76 had struggled with health issues for some time. Even though I knew suicide was a risk factor in the elderly, I didn’t believe he was bothered by his health as much as he probably was. Another risk factor I believe contributed to my father’s death was that he was never happy after his retirement. He was an entrepreneur, starting and successfully building several enterprises during his life.
The zest he displayed in building something was never transferred successfully to any area of his retirement. During his last two years, he gradually withdrew more and more from life.
He had a history of depression and had been treated by several mental health professionals. But like many depressed people of his generation, he believed that only he could solve his problems.
In spite of knowing intellectually that I had done all I could have done, I still felt that, as a psychologist, I should have been able to do more. This is quite common in the early stages of grief and loss. The anger I felt toward him because he left us without accepting our help was also an expected but nevertheless difficult task of grieving. The bewilderment and confusion I experienced, particularly in trying to establish more exactly his motive for his decision, was also a usual part of dealing with a tragedy of this nature.
About two years after his death I finally accepted that I would never know why he did what he did. It was a big step to admit that I would never find a satisfactory explanation. It helped me move along through the grieving process in a healthier fashion. More importantly, I realized that even if I could find an explanation, nothing would change. He would still be dead.
Once I reached this point, I began to heal. I was then able to begin to grieve for him, miss him and experience the necessary pain for recovery and to move on with my life.
