This post is about my mother’s suicide, and may contain triggers for some. Feel free to skip it and come back when I’m funny.
Today is the 1-year anniversary of my mother’s suicide. This has been a difficult journey, to say the least. A hard road to walk. There have been days where it was all I could do to crawl forward. There have even been days I simply lay down on the path, gasping and defeated. Suicide is what they call a complicated grief, and the past year has been a whirlwind of emotions. I have been overwhelmed by guilt. I have been angry. I have been sad. I have been heartbroken. I have been broken.
I have these emotional wounds that aren’t visible to the human eye. That no one can see just by looking at me. I carry them within, and I can choose to revel them, or keep them hidden. But they will always be there. Eventually they scab and scar over, but time alone does not heal. We have to work at it. We do not get over grief, we get through it. We do not let go of our grief, we grow and expand to make room for it until it doesn’t hurt so bad. But the scars remain. We carry them with us always.
But we can heal.
Someone showed me this picture on the internet the other day, about kintsukuroi. Kintsukuroi is the “art of repairing broken pottery with silver or gold and the understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken”.
With how many times I have felt broken over the last year, this really resonated with me. I believe that this applies to people as well. There is room for hope and healing, if we make it. We can thread silver or gold through our internal scars and become better people for them, with a richer history. Our pain can make us more empathetic to others, more compassionate, more understanding, more caring. Stronger. More beautiful.
I miss you mom. Today and every day until the end of my days. Thank you for making me more beautiful, in your own way. I hope that wherever you are, you too have found hope and healing. Happiness and peace. Rest. And although you are no longer here, our love for you remains.
There is a lot of laughter and joy in my life, but sometimes, some days, it’s ok to not be ok. Today is one of those days for me. I find it easier to be vulnerable in writing – so I write. Thank you for allowing me to share that here.