#chooselife;
TW: Suicide
Welcome to the “shittiest club” of all. That is what I was told after my husband Ted completed suicide in July, 2020.
I described Ted as the “perfect storm”. He was depressed and filled with anxiety which was only exacerbated with the onset of Covid 19. He was a cancer survivor twice. He was not afraid of dying, he was a peace with his life. What Ted was afraid of was suffering, not being able to breathe, not being in control of his body. What made this worse for Ted was my job as a home care physical therapist, going into patients’ homes daily, not knowing what I had come in contact with or was exposed to. In essence, he created his own cycle of suffering which he acknowledged and eventually succumbed to.
The day Ted died was typical for us, except for what he had said to me, that he felt alone and that he was losing his faith in G-d. I assured him he was not alone and that we could go see our Rabbi regarding his concerns over his faith. He was a deeply religious person, a son of two holocaust survivors. But that day my brutally honest husband lied to me when I asked him if he was going to harm himself. The answer was always no and not ten minutes later, he had died by suicide and changed my life forever.
The events are clear as the day it happened, knowing what happened, calling 911, going to the hospital, knowing he had died. I was by myself the whole time. We lived in the country and had no family nearby. I called his family, my family and my close girlfriends who insisted on coming over the house. The people that could come were on their way, damn Covid. There were so many emotions all jumbled together—shock, anger, shame, sadness, love, and a deep, deep heart ache like I had never experienced in my life. I was so angry with Ted for “doing this to me.”
Because of Covid the funeral and shiva were all limited and controlled. Only twelve people at the funeral; and shiva was scheduled outside, masked and distant. It was a cold and unfeeling experience. I missed the hugs most of all.
Shock was my friend during this time, it helped my survive. I was sad, I cried, but I could not feel the grief that was on its way. I started that journey by reading every book I could on suicide. I did Zoom services daily to be able to say Kaddish. I listened to podcasts on the subject, hearing how others survived and thrived. I also talked to others—my rabbis, family and friends. I did not hold anything back about what happened; I did not complete suicide, Ted did. Understanding the stigma related to this, I was not going allow it to brand me. I was honest when I needed to be, an open book about what happened. During this time, I also returned to work and decided that a move closer to my daughter would be the right thing to do. It was our home, not my home and I needed to leave. I was so conflicted because typically you are told not to do anything for a year after a loss, and here I am planning to sell, buy and move to another state. And it happened as it was to happen. Four months later, I am in a new home, new state, just a few minutes’ walk from my daughter and her family.
I was very fortunate to have a therapist who I called immediately for support and guidance. I started sessions on a weekly basis soon after the funeral. I also found a wonderful organization call Cornerstone of Hope, which deals with grief at all levels and for all different scenarios. I was fortunate to find out that there was a group for suicide survivors that would be starting soon, in person and I would be able to complete this prior to leaving Ohio. This group has been a lifeline for me—knowing others who have walked my path, knowing that what I am going through and feeling is normal. It was the hug I had been looking for… at a distance. I have been lucky to continue weekly meetings with this group, growing, learning, and supporting one another.
It has been nine months, and so much has changed and evolved. I have learned so much about myself, suicide and grief. I learned that I am so much stronger than I could ever have imagined, that I have family and friends that are gems on earth. Suicide comes with unanswered questions that will never, ever be answered and not to focus on the way Ted died but how he lived. I was told by my brother soon after Ted’s death that “this was not my fault.” This message was powerful and continues to give me strength when I need it. Grief and flashbacks have become familiar occurrences, often visiting in waves, sometimes will stay away for a while and then revisit me, uninvited of course. I do not fight the grief any more, I understand that this is a process. Death is something that you never get over or recover from, you just learn to live with it at different levels. Sometimes feelings of grief will flare up and sometimes it is quiet and leaves me alone. I truly take one day at a time because all I have is today.
Lastly, as a survivor, your therapist or doctors always ask you if you have feeling of wanting to hurt yourself. It’s a common question as well as a common feeling to not want to be here anymore. Of all the lessons I learned through this experience is to choose life. Knowing the hurt and pain that a suicide causes to family and friends, how could I do that to my loved ones? Today I choose life, with gratitude, grace and joy.
Mimi Aron is a mom, grandma, and survivor of suicide. She lives in Madison, WI after relocating from the Cleveland, OH area with her mini poodle puppy, Gracie Joy. She is currently working part time as a physical therapist, rewriting her bucket list, and learning what it means to live her authentic self.