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Debra's Column: Blindsided by Grief

By Debra Stang

By the time this column runs in February, I will have moved into a new apartment. It's almost 200 square feet larger than the space where I'm living now. It's less expensive as well.  

From every point of view the move makes sense...except from a sentimental one.  This will be my first move Since my friend, Julia, completed Suicide in May of 2009.  This apartment is where we laughed and groaned over stupid movies ... where we played an all-night-long drunken version of Trivial Pursuit on New Year's Eve and topped it off with eggs, toast, and champagne as the sun rose on New Year's morning.

This is where I sought comfort after she died, withdrawing into myself and letting the four walls close protectively around me.

Moving feels like another step in the process of getting on with my life, but in doing so, I'm leaving Julia behind. She'll never see my new place. We'll have no shared memories there.

8 Ways to Survive Holiday Shopping - And Help Others Feel Better, Too!

By Debra Stang

Saturday, December, 2009. I woke up in a lousy mood. The weather was cold and dreary. I had to go to the mall to finish up my Christmas shopping. Oh, and nearly seven months earlier, one of my closest friends had ended her lifelong struggle with depression by completing suicide. To say that I wasn't in the holiday spirit would be an understatement.

The day just kept getting better, too. I couldn't find a pair of socks that matched. One of my cats coughed up a hairball on my purse. The parking at the mall was hideous. I missed my friend Julia, who could always make me laugh about things like that, so much it was physically painful. I'd always thought people were exaggerating when they talked about a broken heart, but my chest actually ached when I thought of her absence.

I was bound and determined to have a terrible day. Just then, the woman parked next to me got out of her car. She looked every bit as miserable as I felt. Watching her, it occurred to me that I wasn't the only person in the world who didn't want to be spending the day at the mall. Maybe I wasn't the only one plowing my way through the holiday season after a loss of some type.

Suddenly, an idea popped into my mind. Even if my day was shot, there was no reason to inflict my bad mood on others. I came up with eight rules that day, and I've used them each year. The result has been that even though I start out feeling dreadful, I usually come home feeling not-so-bad. I'm sharing them here with you in the hopes that they can make your holiday shopping bearable as well.

1. Don't grumble, whine, or complain even if everything about your shopping experience really is horrible. Keep reminding yourself that it's only a few hours and you'll be back in your comfortable home soon.
2. Greet the bell ringer in front of the store politely, even if you don't intend to give a donation.
3. Smile at the store clerks and take a moment to thank them for their service, even if it wasn't that great.
4. Let an elderly shopper or a shopper with a small child cut in front of you.
5. Donate a toy to Toys for Tots.
6. Buy a gift card for a friend who is struggling financially and send it to him or her anonymously.
7. If you eat lunch at a restaurant, leave the server a great tip.
8. Buy yourself a beautiful ornament or another special gift that has meaning to you as a reward for surviving the day.

I wish you all the best holiday season possible. May you find peace within yourself and joy to share with the world!   

Debra's Column: The Grieving Atheist

By Debra L. Stang

Not long ago, a friend and I were walking around the pond where we'd strewn Julia's ashes three and a half years ago.

My friend said something funny had happened to her the day before, and she couldn't wait to see Julia in heaven to tell her all about it. Then she paused and said softly, "But you don't believe in that, do you?"

Tears filled my eyes as I shook my head no.

"So," my friend persisted, "what keeps you going when you miss her so much you can hardly stand it?"

Her question laid bare the dilemma of the grieving atheist. I had loved Julia completely. I still do. Yet I do not believe in a soul or a spirit that survives death. I believe that the day that she took that massive overdose of muscle relaxers and closed her eyes for the last time she severed our relationship forever.

I will never feel her arms around me again, or hear that deep, infectious laugh. We will never tease each other again, or go to brunch on Sunday, or play Trivial Pursuit or watch a bad movie over a six-pack of beer.

She does not know that I have fulfilled my dream of becoming a fulltime freelance writer, and I will never be able to tell her that she was the one who gave me the courage to do it.

Our separation is not just permanent; it is eternal. And that brings me back to my friend's question. How does an atheist grieve? How do I survive each day when there are still times when I feel as if one of my limbs has been ripped from my body? 

Debra's Column: Suicide in the Gay and Lesbian Community

By Debra Stang

The list keeps getting longer--the list of LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered, and questioning) people I know who have completed suicide. Two weeks ago, it was a man I'd known in high school. He wasn't "out" back then and neither was I. I remember him as a friendly, soft-spoken kid who greeted everyone with a dazzling smile.  He loved to make people laugh.

About five years after I graduated from high school, I ran into this man at a Gay Pride parade in a city more than 200 miles away from the small town where we'd grown up. We hugged each other tightly and laughed about the coincidence. I thought he looked great that day, brimming with a confidence I'd never seen in him before. We promised to keep in touch...but of course life got in the way, and we didn't.

Twenty years after that chance meeting, he died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Of course, I don't know that his suicide was in any way connected to fallout from his sexual orientation. My guess is that homophobia was a thread in a deadly tapestry full of hurts and disappointments.

Changed for Good

By Debra Stang

When it comes to living on after a loved one's death, there are two extreme theories along a continuum of experience and ideas. The first is that we never really get over the pain and trauma of such a profound loss. Or, as one client described his experience to me, "You don't get over it; you just get on with it."

The second extreme, which can be found in Ruth Davis Konigsberg's The Truth About Grief is that we can and do get over the hurt and eventually move on with our lives as if nothing traumatic or sad had happened.

Where do I stand on this issue? Somewhere in the middle.

I want to say upfront that the intense, debilitating pain that follows a loved one's suicide does ease with time. So, if you're a new survivor, hang onto that. You won't always hurt the way you do right now. Given love, nurturing, and space, even a shattered heart can mend.

Getting Through the First Few Weeks After a Loved One's Suicide

By Debra Stang, LCSW, LMSW

It's been more than three years since I talked to my friend Julia for the last time. Of course, back then I didn't know it was the last time. I will never forget the shock, horror, and grief I felt when I arrived at her apartment two days after our last phone conversation to find she had completed suicide.

The next few months were a whirlwind of tears, misery, anger, emptiness, self-blame, and one question after another that no one except Julia could have answered. I thought I would feel that way forever. I couldn't imagine that kind of hurt ever losing its intensity.

It caught me off guard when I realized I was no longer crying every day, or even every week. I could remember good times I'd had with J and not think about seeing her body on the floor. I learned to stop asking "Why?" But perhaps most importantly, I realized that the end of Julia's life didn't need to mean the end of my life as well. There were still a wealth of experiences awaiting me, and while I was sad that Julia wouldn't be there to share them, I was not going to deny myself the right to seek pleasure and adventure.

It took me a long time to get to that place, though. First I had to survive that initial period of grief so deep it felt almost unbearable. I remember feeling very alone during that time, but when I look back, I realize that I was surrounded by a network of helpers that circled to protect me almost from the first moment on.

Debra's Column: The Dangers of Scapegoating

By Debra Stang, LCSW, LMSW

If you look back into the Old Testament, a scapegoat was a goat cast out into the wilderness to die after a Jewish priest had symbolically laid upon its head the sins of the people (Leviticus 16:10). Today, the term is still used to refer to "a person or group made to bear the blame for others or to suffer in their place (Dictionary.com).

Scapegoating often occurs after a tragic, perplexing event like a suicide.

Are You Scapegoating Someone?

There are many reasons why people resort to the defense mechanism. One is to impose order or sense on what happened. Many people who die by suicide have struggled with depression, addiction, or another mental health issue for years. Others, however, have no such history. Their suicides catch everyone by surprise. When you are reeling with shock and grief, it's much easier to point a finger at someone and say, "It's his/her fault!" instead of, "I honestly don't know why this happened."

Another reason for scapegoating may be misplaced guilt. Perhaps you are upset about something you did or didn't do, so you turn on a person who, in your eyes, did something even worse. ("I may not have been the best father, but at least I didn't refuse to take her calls when she needed me.")

Finally, you may feel like you honestly have some cause to lay blame. Perhaps the person you're blaming was a bully or someone who abused your loved one. It's perfectly valid to feel anger at anyone who mistreated someone you love, but it's not fair to lay the suicide at that person's feet. No matter what was going on between your loved one and those around him or her, the suicide decision ultimately rests with your loved one. True, they may have been struggling with a painful relationship, but the fact remains that the vast majority of people who are treated poorly do not resort to suicide.

If you want to blame something, blame the disease in your loved one's brain that caused so much hurt that he or she could find only one way out.

Debra's Column: The 7 Lies Depression Tells

By Debra L. Stang

Grief is a normal reaction to losing something or someone that we love. It's not a pleasant emotion. We hurt. We cry. We get angry. But we also heal.

For some people, though, especially those who have lost a loved one to suicide or another type of traumatic, sudden death, the grief transforms itself into something far more ominous: depression.

Depression is not a normal response to loss. It is a mental health problem that hijacks your brain and imitates your voice to fill your head with doubt, confusion, and lies--the same lies that our loved ones probably believed when they took their own lives.

If you've slipped into depression, watch out for these seven lies. Don't take them at face value. They are not your mind talking but an illness that preys on the psyche just as cancer preys on the body.

Whenever these lies slink into your mind, fight them. Drag them into the light of reason and watch the crumble. Talk to loved ones who understand and who will support you. Reach out to your clergy, a therapist, a counselor, or a doctor. Don't for one moment give into the following, vicious untruths:

1. You have always felt this way. Depression is an illness. It has no memory of the time before it existed. As far as it is concerned, this is your "normal" state. But you know better. Seek out happy memories. Look at pictures that make you smile or wear a favorite piece of clothing or jewelry that you bought when you were feeling particularly good. If you can't remember better times, ask others to remind you.

Debra's Column: Happy Birthday, April Fool

(Note: My friend Julia was born on April 1. She always referred to herself as an April Fool.)

Happy Birthday, April Fool!

It's been almost three years since I've seen you, since I've talked to you, since I've felt your large, comforting arms pulling me to you and heard your laughter, warm and contagious, in my ear.

I wish I could say I'm really angry at you...but I'm not. I believe the pain I so often saw in your eyes was just the tip of the iceberg. You hid the rest from me, from anyone who loved you, and kept the full burden for yourself. It was too large for one woman to fight. It dragged you under.

Perhaps it would have been too much even for an entire army (and believe me, J, you did have at least an army's worth of people who loved you), but I wish you had let us join in the fight.

Suicide from the Other Side of the Table

By Debra Stang

The year 2001 was the worst year of my life. In January, one of my closest friends was admitted to the hospital with a "mild" case of pneumonia. It developed into acute respiratory distress syndrome (ARDS). The day before my birthday, she died while I held her hand.

Shock and grief sent the depression I'd battled all my life spiraling out of control. The medication I'd taken for years no longer seemed to help. The simple act of breathing was physically painful. I wanted the hurt to stop. More than anything, I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. Almost without realizing it, I drifted into planning how I could make that happen.

Why am I telling you this? Because if you're like most survivors, including me, you've spent a lot of time agonizing about what you could have said or done to keep your loved one alive.

I've been where our loved ones stood. I know the tunnel-vision lure of the suicide trance. And I also know that there was nothing anyone could have done to get through to me at that point. Absolutely nothing.