Joshua far left, his brother, dad, and me.

 

 

Divorce Rate after the Suicide of a Child 

 

It was several months after Joshua's suicide before my husband and I could take a ride on our motorcycle. We did not at feel like enjoying anything. Once we did take a short ride, my husband stopped at the view of a small canyon which was the last time we rode as a group shown in the photo.

 

I broke down. It was too raw. Why did my husband bring me here?

 

We both struggled over the months, from March to June, to understand how the way we grieved was different and yet sometimes the same. The differences in our grief is what nearly broke us apart. We'd been married thirty-four years and wanted to stay married. Yet it was becoming miserable.

 

Before the 4th of July, I told my husband I could not imagine being at home to hear all the pops and bangs of fireworks. The reason was simple: Joshua had shot himself in his room while we were in the house.

 

My husband understood my fear. We got on our bike the morning of the 4th. and drove to a reserved compound in Santa Barabara where no noise was allowed. No music, no phones, and it was nestled up a hill amongest hundreds of oak trees. That was what we both needed as only one firework popped and it was muffled.

 

That trip reinforced our relationship and we worked together in our grief and suicide loss of Joshua.

 

Less than a month later, we hopped on the motorcycle again and attended a craft fair at our local fairgrounds. As we walked around, I spotted a booth where a lone man stood behind his table. My eyes fixed on the word 'suicide' on the pamphlets. I walked closer to the booth, picked up one pamphlet as the man watched me. I lifted up the paper and said, "This has happened to us."

 

The kind man leaned in and said, "I'm sorry for your loss. I too have lost a son to suicide."

 

He went on to talk with us, until he said, "Do you know the divorce rate when a child dies by suicide?"

 

I shook my head no.

 

"It is 99.99%."

 

My husband and I said at the same time, "Oh," and grabbed each others hand.

 

That day was a huge blessing for us. We now understood the reality of what we were up against. We also were more forgiving and more acceptable on how each other grieved.

 

God hears our prayers. Father God saved our relationship. This year, we celebrated our 56th. anniversary. And we still are merciful with each other.

 

If you need prayer, please leave a comment or email jeanann_w@yahoo.com. Jean 

 

 

 

 

When I was ten with my dog Laddie and baby brother

 

Joshua's Animals after Suicide

 Joshua left LiahNora the cat and Heinrich the rottwieler. I never considered that animals may truly miss their owners. 

 Heinrich mopped and ate little. I went to the feed store to stock up on dogfood and told the clerk something was wrong with Heinrich. He asked me questions and one led to me saying, "Our son, Heinrich's owner died recently."

The clerk blinked. "I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am. Heinrich is in mourning."

Now it was my turn to blink. "Really?"

"Yes. Animals feel the loss when owners are gone. It is a proven fact."

I thanked the clerk, went home, and cried on Heinrich's neck. I spent more time with him. Played frisbee and ball together. Eventually Heinrich became the happy dog who ate all his food.

Just days after Joshua's suicide, I was cleaning up in his room. His cat Liahnora stood on the windowsill outside. Several days in a row she did this when I was in there. Liahnora missed Joshua also. I spent time with her even though I was allergic to cats. I gave her pets and sat on the front porch so she could rub her head against me.

Five years later, my husband retired and we moved to my homestate. For our last load of belongings, we filled the bed of the picked with outdoor things and Heinrich's doghouse in the center. He seemed excited as he pressed his muzzle against the screened-in opening of the doghouse. Little did he know our trip would be long. 

As we drove along the Interstate, some people may have thought we reminded them of the Beverly Hillbillies. 

If you are in need of prayer, please comment and I will pray. ~Jean~ 

 

 

When Family Cannot Help after Suicide Loss

My Author friend, Becky, on the left

Even though our family clung together the first weeks after Joshua's suicide, a time came when most of them withdrew. 

They were hurting also. Yet as the mother of the loss, I could not understand why some of the family members went silent. I bore this son. I nursed this son. I disciplined this son. I supported him in all his endevors. Woulld I not hurt the most? I began to pray about these seemingly new losses.

As I prayed, friends and acquaints began to reach out. One friend, who was an author, called me. "Jean, you need a writing project." So she told me her idea and years later, twenty to be exact, the project was published into two books: "27 Characters of the Old Testament: Stories & Activities for Children" and "27 Character Traits of the New Testament: Stories & Actitives for Children". 

Another friend met with me weekly at her home or the coffeshop in the village. She stood by me for three years until I moved back to my home state. Another friend withdrew from me, though, which broke my heart. She came to Joshua's memorial and after, we never met together again. We had had a ten year friendship which the suicide severed. Why you may ask? I really don't know, except possibly my grief was more than she could bear. 

I later learned of Compassionate Friends International. I called a local mom who had lost her son and now helped other moms after suicide loss. We talked on the phone several times. She invited me to meet her at a park. During our visit, she said the most profound words I will never forget. "Jean, go through this tunnel of suicide loss and when you reach the other side there will be a gift." 

I gasped and stared at her. "I want that gift." 

The gift I received was compassion for others not only for suicide loss but any loss or hurt people may be suffering. 

 Please let me know if you need prayer. With love in Christ. Jean