When Friends Aren't in Your Corner

Someone asked me recently besides missing him, what is the hardest part about Dan's death.  There are so many ways I could have responded to this and, realistically, the answer probably changes depending on the kind of day I'm having.  

It's hard not having that person in your corner, your partner, that first one you'd always call to share happy news or to save you when you needed help.

It's hard accepting that our future together was taken from us. The children I will never hold.  That first wedding anniversary.  Growing old and sharing the life I thought we'd have.  

But if I have to identify the most difficult, it would probably be the way that he died.  Suicide. Dealing with the stigma and judgement around the fact that he took his life makes an impossible challenge just that bit worse. 

Recently, a seven-year friendship with a friend ended because of that stigma.  

Most people in my life understand that depression isn't a personality flaw or weakness - mental illness doesn't discriminate any more than cancer or heart disease. The happiest, most confident, loving, rational and stable person can lose their life to depression, nothing proved this to us more than Dan's death. 

Through counselling and research I have been able to accept that Dan's suicide wasn't his 'choice'. He loved life and adored me and would never have wanted this pain for those of us whom he cared about so much. He lost his life to a disease, I don't question that anymore*. 

It took a while to get to that place of peace.  Hell, when he died, I questioned which way was up.  I questioned if the sun would rise and of course I questioned how he could have done this.  I couldn't begin to understand how, six weeks after our wedding, my darling reached such a state of despair that he could take his life. 

So when I heard that in the weeks following his death, this friend was asking someone close to me very pointed questions around whether he could have been having an affair, or even if he may have been gay (?!), I tried to be open minded about the process of understanding that she was going through.  

It was hard, I wanted to tear her apart for questioning his character and casting dispersion on our relationship. But I chose to give her the benefit of the doubt and have faith that she was only trying to come to terms with such a terrible tragedy and would also find her way to the answer that suicide doesn't have to mean there's anything wrong in a marriage.

When I saw her at social functions or dinner parties, I focused on her kind words of comfort and support and tried not be put off by all the personal questions she would ask (about whether I was dating again, or thinking of trying IVF to have a child on my own). It was difficult, I couldn't be as open with her as I would have been before.  I didn't trust her.  But I couldn't confront her about her comments and clear the air without exposing that the person she'd spoken to had passed it on to me.  

Then, in July, around the time of his one year anniversary, I heard she was still doing it.  This time, asking the same close friend if we may have been having problems in the bedroom.  

And that was it.  The line was well and truly crossed.  I mean, SERIOUSLY!  The guy's been dead for a year now, just let him rest in peace. Enough was enough. This friend obviously couldn't let go of her need to find some kind of scandalous personal problem to rationalise his death. In a year she still hadn't learnt that suicide can happen to even the happiest people with everything to live for.  

Ever since the day he died I have spoken about Dan's death openly, choosing to raise awareness about suicide rather than buy into the notion that it's something to be ashamed about. And I can't have people in my life who can't accept that he died because he was sick - not because of a fault in his personality or our relationship. 



* In the interest of 100% honestly, I have to clarify that of course I still have the occasional slide back to day one where my brain goes right back in to shock and I forget everything I've learnt about suicide.  In these moments I don't understand how I got here and why on earth this happened to us.  I can't believe he's gone, let alone how. But thankfully these moments are fleeting and, I believe, are more about the grief roller coaster and my process of healing rather than any doubts about Dan's frame of mind that day.  

The Love of Friends

Last Saturday was Maggie's 37th birthday.  Each year, her birthday was a huge celebration with literally hundreds of friends gathering to feast on food and wine.  She called it the wine party, or officially "Wine: It's What's for Dinner."  Instead of a massive celebration last Saturday, I spent quite some time reading back on my posts and remembering how life was a year ago or longer.  Two years ago on Maggie's birthday (12.9.2010), I was miserable.  I felt more alone and alienated than I had ever felt in my life.  While overwhelmed by feelings of abandonment from folks who I thought would never, ever leave my side, I wrote the following.

“Whacha doin’?” I asked.

“Nothin’” he mumbled, looking up briefly from his work to lock eyes, that warm, friendly gaze ever so familiar.

As he gently tapped another brick in place I continued with my story.  It was like all the others lately, sad and filled with heart-pain and lost love.  I spoke straight from my heart.  The comfort of being best friends for such a long time made it easy to be blunt.  He smiled as I spoke, occasionally looking up and mumbling confirmative grunts.  But he never stopped working.

After a while of me spilling guts and tears, he started talking.  His business was doing great, he said.  The future was very bright, he said.  You wouldn’t believe the success that was happening, he told me.  It was amazing, he said.  And it was.  All he told me was wonderful.  But I felt cold.  As he spoke he didn’t look at me.  The more he spoke, the more distant I felt.  While I heard his words, it seemed like what he was telling me was mumbled and hard to understand, like the message was possibly meant for someone else.

I began to feel alone.

He continued to talk but I stopped listening.  I heard the mumbled tones of his voice but I didn’t hear his words anymore.  Something was between us, something that was smothering me.  It was not familiar at all.  Finally, I stopped him and asked “What’s happening here?  Why do you sound so far away?”

Then I saw it.  It was like I was asleep and suddenly I had awoken.  Where I had only noticed that his hands were busy, now I saw the bricks, so many bricks – each staggered on top of another, layers and layers, ten feet tall and completely surrounding me.  All except for one small space where he stood, brick and trowel in hand, staring at me with warm, friendly, loving eyes.  I can’t imagine how this happened and when all this was done.  Yet here I was, trapped behind an almost-closed wall.

“What are you doing!?!” I asked.

“I’m helping you” he said.

“How are you helping me?”

“I’m protecting you from things that might hurt you.  And from me” he stated.

“I don’t understand.  Why do you seem so far away?  I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, my best friend.  I wish you’d come back.”

Me:  Every time we hang out you just talk about business.  I have so many other things I __need__ to talk about but I feel like you only want to talk about you, like you don’t see me anymore.  I feel so alone and it hurts my feelings.  So I’ve been avoiding you.

Him:  When we hang out, you are so sad that it hurts me badly.  You are hurting and I care so much about you.  To see you hurt, hurts me and I don’t know how to deal with it.  Then, when we talk, inevitably, the things I say end up hurting you more.  I can see you visibly cringe!  I talk about my wonderful relationship with my wife and it hurts you.  I talk about how things are going well in my life and it hurts you.  I don’t want to hurt you anymore.  It’s dragging me down.

Me:  I’m sorry.  I don’t mean to be a fun suck.  I’m so sad though and I just need to talk.  It didn’t used to be this way and it won’t be this way forever.  But I’m so, so sad right now.  You are my best friend and I trust you and we are so comfortable I feel like I can be really honest with you.

Him:  You are so raw and the things you have experienced and feel are so intense.  I don’t have the tools to handle them.

Me:  I’m sorry.  I don’t mean to cause any difficulties.

Him:  I’m sorry that all I’ve talked about is business.  It’s because I’m scared of hurting you more.  I see you hurt when I talk about certain things.  I see you cringe in pain.  It hurts so much to see you hurt.  I just want to protect you.

Me:  You can’t protect me.  You mustn’t try!

Him:  I can keep from hurting you by avoiding talking about things that do hurt you.  I keep conversations light and on topics that can’t possibly cause you pain, like my business.

Me:  How can you possibly anticipate what’s going to hurt me when, heck, I don’t even know myself?

Him:  I want to keep you safe but it’s so hard.

Me:  Please don’t try to protect me.  There’s no wall you can build that could save me from the world.  Besides, any wall you might build would only cage me in and separate us.

Him:  But I don’t want to hurt you.  I don’t want you to hurt.

Me:  Just talk to me.  Be my friend.  I give you my word that I won’t be angry at you for anything you might say.  I trust you.  Please give me permission to hurt.  I promise I’ll be ok.

Him:  But….

Me:  If you see me hurt, just give me a minute.  If need be, give me longer.  I’ll be ok.  Let me take the pain, sit for a second and regroup.  I _will_ regroup.  I’m strong.  But you have to give me a chance.

Him:  But if I say something that hurts you badly….?

Me:  I’ll still be ok.  Give me permission to hurt.  Then have faith in me that I’ll be ok.  This is how I heal.  This is how I’ll grow.  If you protect me, you are keeping me from healing.  If you protect me, you are stopping me from a return back to normalcy.  If you keep you from me, then you are starving me from our friendship, something I need more than anything else right now.

Him:  This is scary.  You are telling me that it’s ok that I hurt you?

Me:  Sort of.  I’m telling you that it’s ok to be you.  And I’m asking permission to be me, hurt and all.  If you’ll let me, eventually, I’ll be stronger and you won’t see me hurt so much.

Him:  It’d be nice to see you again.

Me:  It’d be nice to be me again.

Him:  I’m glad we are friends.

Me:  Me, too.

Him:  So, me and my wife were hanging out the other day.  Have I mentioned how much I love her?…..