Losing a friend to suicide

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.”  – C.S. Lewis 

The title bears the whole weight for this. And there isn’t any perfect way to say things. Allow me to borrow words from C.S. Lewis, just because I could no longer flesh into words what I feel.

“I thought I could describe a state; make a map of sorrow. Sorrow, however, turns out to be not a state but a process.”

Grief is unexplainable. And the pain demands, not just to be observed, and known, but felt – and not just felt in the senses, but felt deeply in the soul.  It couldn’t be defined because it constantly changes its course, shaping itself into another mold, transforming into another shape, but secretes the same deadly sting.

The pain doesn’t stay put in one place, but it lingers and permeates everything that we do. It disturbs us when we’re busy and on the go and when we stare blankly into space. There isn’t any corner where it wouldn’t find you. 

Grieving over someone’s death has a way of making you discover your unrealized capacity for pain. I never thought I could hurt this much. There was this depth of sorrow, I have never plunged in before, and who knew it was there. Somehow, it seemed that my previous sorrows paled in comparison to this. 

“The death of a beloved is an amputation.”

The death of a loved one does feel like an amputation. Like a body part that has nestled comfortably in you, only to have it taken away so abruptly, without cause, without notice. Life became unpalatable for a moment.

Losing a friend to suicide leaves you in a very unsettling place. It doesn’t bring closure, only confusion. 

Why?

Could I have done better?

There are questions that could send us spiraling downwards as we wrestle with the guilt and shame. And in these moments where we’re all mad and sad, we couldn’t really think straight, because we have to attend to the pain. 

“Perhaps your own reiterated cries deafen you to the voice you hope to hear.”

Perhaps we start with admitting our wretchedness because we can’t see anything properly when our eyes are blurred with tears, neither could we think well when our hearts are tired of sobbing. And our better selves must act in third person, to gently prod us to not lean on our skewed understanding, and to not see things from our limited perspective. With questions unanswered, we have these deep sighs, painful grunts, and loud cries.

We are not just releasing pain, we are looking for answers, but in doing so, in grace, let not the cries deafen you from hearing the Voice you hoped to hear. 

I knew of a Man who lost his cousin to a tragic and unjust death of beheading. Upon learning of his death he retreated to a desolate place and found momentary solace there by himself. Being famous in the land, he needed time alone, maybe to grieve, to mourn, to think, to pause, to breathe. And when he went back ashore, “he saw a great crowd and he had compassion on them and healed their sick.”

Someone died. He took a break. Know that you can too. When stuck in a low place, go to the higher plane, but even if you can’t, he can walk with you not just hill-high, but in the valley-low. Perhaps, this is one of the many reasons why God himself, through Jesus, chose to be fully human as well, so then we would never have to come to him with contempt and say he doesn’t know our pain. 

It was Jesus who grieved, and he grieved because he loved. It was Jesus who saw you and had compassion on you. It was Jesus who had never hardened his heart to help the living while mourning for the dead. It was Jesus, who though was hurting, kept healing others. 

While it may leave us with questions, let us not stop living for the sake of those who are still alive. Death can shatter the way we prioritize things. Let us love like we’ve never been hurt, so we don’t have to see our loved ones pass away because they carried an unbearable amount of pain alone. 

“God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” 

In moments like these, we either pull away with tight fists because of such overwhelming pain,  or we draw closer with our broken souls and bare hands and yield.

To my friend, we sorely miss you. I may not have all my questions answered right now. I can’t solve this puzzle, but I can grieve well through it.

And to those who mourn, the gloom may stay a little bit longer, but hope is as sure as the sun that never fails to rise upon daybreak. 

And when you’ve …

uttered your prayers,

walked with God,

moved on in time, and

washed your face,

don’t forget to love well.

This world desperately needs it.

Love,

Jamie