By Sarah Hart
I am the mother of a beautiful daughter who fell victim to suicide on Dec. 21, 2018.
“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through,” people say.
The truth is, you can and it scares the hell out of you. It turns your perception of me into an unapproachable person as you can’t come up with the right thing to say.
I wanted to share a few thoughts from the side of the abyss that is grief. As I become brave enough to head out in public, two things happen. First, I feel like I have a neon sign on my head.
“It’s her … didn’t her daughter just fall victim to suicide?”
Part of me wants everyone I meet to know why I look as I haven’t eaten or slept in six weeks. But, part of me wants to be anonymous and invisible.
I know the biggest part of me loves it when people just come over or call. They just bang on the door and sit. Sit with whatever is there that day. Sit with the company of pain, sit with the distraction of five cats … but just sit.
Those of us grieving need you. We need you to realize your fear of saying or doing the wrong thing is not a real worry for us. The worst that could have been spoken or the worst that could possibly happen already has.
The reality following such profound loss is an abyss of grief and pain. Come up to us if you see us, and just say “I’m thinking of you.” Just say anything. Come and borrow some sugar. Come and use the bathroom, come and have a coffee, but please come.
You may find a grief stricken person in pajamas at 4pm or in bed at 2pm. Why? Well, I am writing this at 3am. Most of us are sleepless. We don’t care. The little things are just that – little.
We are people; people lost for minutes, days, weeks, months or years … but come and find us.
The worst thing a person thinking about someone they know who is grieving can do, is to do nothing. Validation and love are needed.
So come and stumble. Come and cry, or come and laugh … but come, or call, just do that. That is good.