If you read my last update, you know that this weekend I am at the TAPS Military Suicide Survivor Seminar being held in San Diego. Yesterday, I attended Peer Mentor training, and today was the first official day of the events. It was a long day, starting at 0700, and I just returned to my room at approximately 2130. I knew it would be a hard day. I knew I would be immersed in a culture to which I did want to belong, but here I was, nonetheless. I knew that as a group, we are unique, with even more unique subsets. I came here hoping to connect with someone who can really understand where I've been, and maybe where I'm going. I did that. I also came so I could test the benchmark. Am I so abnormal that even 8 years later, I feel like this? Of course, now it's not everyday, but I do have my days. Is that normal? And what I learned: absolutely. I am normal. I'm not the only one who cries...I probably cry a lot less than some, and more than others. I'm not the only one in pain and just trying to take it a day at a time.
There were a few things I took with me today. The first is a little piece of the pain of everyone there (I think we have about 700 people here, so that's a lot of pain.) To some who know me, they may think I am cold, or distant, or that I keep people at arm's length. It is true to some extent. Who wants to set themselves up for pain again? Anyway, I'm rambling. But the truth of the matter is, every single person I've met, I take a piece of their hurt. I hurt because they are hurting, and that is just so damn unfair that ANYONE else has to hurt like I have.
The second thing I took with me, was from my peer group session. There were only 5 of us in the Adult Child Survivor group. I was the oldest of us, except the facilitator. And as such, I am in a very different place in my life now, but it wasn't so long ago that I was wondering would I ever meet a man who accepted me, my faults, and my pain, and take me for who I am. I wondered, who would walk me down the aisle? Who was going to make the Thanksgiving pies? What I learned today, was that I was not alone. These young women were going through the exact same things I had experienced. And while I felt so alone at those times, now I can make sure they don't have to go it alone. And I feel as if a weight or burden has been removed, just knowing that I'm not the only one to have those thoughts.
Thirdly, the children....oh god, the children. Moose is 4. There were many kids her age, who had lost a parent. There were some who were younger, and many who were older. They were all so brave, and amazing. But my heart hurts so badly. No child should know this pain. It would absolutely destroy me to know that anything had caused my daughter this kind of hurt and grief, and here I am surrounded by these kids who are living. I talked to a lot of moms today who lost their husbands to suicide, and they have young children at home. Some of these children don't remember Daddy, or maybe never knew him. To me, it is unfathomable, but here they are.
There were several wonderful speakers today (all were just amazing), and so many powerful messages, words of strength, and also the undercurrent of support just knowing you are surrounded by someone you could turn to and tell your story. I managed to keep it together, until after dinner. The memorial slideshow, with photos of each attendee's loved one who died by suicide, was my undoing. All that was bubbling just under the surface. I was sitting next to one of my new friends, whose son had taken his own life, and his photograph was the first one. I didn't even have to think. I just leaned over and held her the entire time (maybe about 10 minutes), it was definitely what she needed then, and I think it might have been what I needed. My tears slowly started coming with that first photo. And I cried quietly with her. I cried for her, for every mom, dad, wife, husband, brother, sister, son, daughter and friend who was seeing their own photograph. And when it was my turn, I cried more. And still I held on to her.
By the time our honored guest speakers had finished, we'd all cried some more. And I was grateful at that point for the laughter we'd also experienced today. And the companionship we all gave to one another. This weekend is more than crying, and hurting. It's also about finding new ways to take care of ourselves, help others, and find our way down a very rocky path. I'm raw, stripped to the bone. It's exhausting work like I've never experienced before. Hell, I've never allowed myself to feel this much. And I'm also coming away with a lot of things I want to share. Things I think will help my friends and family, just knowing what to say when I'm having a bad day, or when you just don't know what to say. Things that I hope will help someone who has lost. Things I hope will help my daughter as she navigates her own way through her Poppy's story of life and love.
I'm sure I will write again tomorrow night. It helps to do it while some of this is so fresh. And maybe in a few days, I will take some of my notes to make a more coherent post. But for now, I am going to crawl into my bed, dig deep down under the extra blankets (I set the hotel a/c to 60* so I can pretend I'm having an East Coast fall), and hopefully fall asleep quickly. There's more work to be done tomorrow. And hopefully I am little more prepared for it now.
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