DAY 22 - Tips For Surfing. And For Grief.

 

There is no one right way to ride a wave.
- Jamie O'Brien

Lately, I've been going to the ocean to practice surfing. I don't want to say 'to surf'' because that makes me sound like I know what I'm doing. What I'm actually doing is re-learning. (I used to surf 20 years ago. It's been a long time.)

Last week, a couple women who'd been surfing at the same time as me said hello. They were very friendly and encouraging. One of them asked me why I'd taken up surfing again, and I answered with one word.

Grief.

Here's the thing, a lot of my friends who have never seen me in the water have told me that they want me to teach them to surf. The request suggests a vast overestimation of my skill level.

However, while I may not be able to help anyone with technique, I can provide some surfing tips.

These tips work well for grief, too:

When you are in the parking lot, do not take a spot if someone else is waiting. Do not take someone else's spot. Do not.

When you are in the parking lot, do not stare at people who are getting in and out of their wetsuit. Do not stare. Do not.

Be careful when you are wielding a surfboard. Especially in the wind or in rough water. And be slow and thoughtful if you are holding it and you are going to turn in any direction.

Never enter the water without checking to make sure you aren't in someone else's pathway.

Never ride your surfboard into the path of others.

When paddling out, remember that waves come in sets, never assume the first wave is the worst one.

If you get knocked over or tumbled in a wave, hold onto your surfboard.

If you lose contact with your board underwater, curl up and protect your face and body. And then get your board back as soon as you can.

Get out of the water if you are really tired.

Get out of the water if you are scared.

Get out of the water if you are hurt.

Treat your board with the reverence it deserves. Rinse it off when you are done. Do not kick it, throw it down, or push it around. And whatever you do, don't drag it.

Treat your wetsuit with the reverence it deserves. Rinse off the sand and salt water after every use. Lay it out in the sun to dry, if you can.

Treat the ocean with the reverence it deserves. Standing on water is more than just a hobby. Its' a miracle. It's offered to you only because the ocean is allowing you to be there.

Treat your body with the reverence it deserves. Salt water can be harsh. Fresh water can be salvation. Rinse yourself off.

And always, ask for help if you need it.

And don't give up.

Never give up.

Translated as Grief Tips:

Do not judge someone else's or your own grieving process. Provide space and privacy if needed.

Don't let anyone else tell you how long you should be grieving or when you should stop. The timing will be determined the grief itself, not by other people looking in.

When you are grieving, be careful not to wield your grief like a weapon. Needing extra support, having a wide range of feelings, including anger, are all normal. Using the grief as an excuse to take the anger out on someone else is not ok.

Know your boundaries. Assert your boundaries. Pay attention to the boundaries of others. If someone tells you that they can't handle something or that they can't hear something, or that the information is upsetting them, listen.

Don't put pressure on yourself to be finished with grieving or to never grieve the same loss again.

If your grief knocks you to your knees, you haven't done anything wrong. Your job is to figure out how to safely stand up again.

If you find yourself swallowed up by grief, surround yourself with support. If you are tired, let yourself grieve. If you are scared, let yourself grieve.

If you are hurt, let yourself grieve.

Treat yourself (and your loss) with the reverence it deserves. You are important. The person you lost is important. You deserve gentleness and care.

And always, ask for help if you need it.

And don't give up.

Never give up.

DAY 7 - One More Light

 

If they say
Who cares if one more light goes out?
In a sky of a million stars
It flickers, flickers
Who cares when someone's time runs out?
If a moment is all we are
We're quicker, quicker
Who cares if one more light goes out?
Well I do

- One More Light, Linkin Park

One More Light is a seminal song about suicide loss. Written by Chester Bennington of Linkin Park, its raw and emotional lyrics are an homage to Bennington's best friend, Chris Cornell, who died by suicide on May 18, 2017.

The video was produced posthumously, as Bennington himself died by suicide on July 20, 2017. 

Chester Bennington died on what would have been Chris Cornell's 53rd birthday. 

I am happy to share the song again. It is a beautiful statement of how important our lost loves are to us. 

The Alchemy of Words

The true alchemists do not change lead into gold; 

they change the world into words. 

 ~William H. Gass

Guest post by Margo Fowkes

I started writing after Jimmy's brain tumor diagnosis. No diary, gratitude journal or daily pages. Just email updates on how he was feeling and what was happening with his cancer treatment that over time came to include passages on how the four of us were living and finding joy in between his 90 day scans.

When Jimmy died, I stopped writing. What was there to say? We were shattered, broken and using every bit of our energy to find a way to endure without him. 

It was my friends who convinced me to begin again. Laura, who invited me to what is now "our" beloved Tuesday night writing group. Regina, who pointed out that the essays and articles she and I wanted to share with other grieving parents didn't exist, so perhaps I'd "better start writing." And luck, which had me spot a calendar notice in poet Ellen Bass' newsletter about a week long retreat called "Writing as a Pathway Through Grief, Loss, Uncertainty & Change" which introduced me to Laura Davis, who thanks to COVID, became my writing teacher in March 2020 via her Thursday feedback class on Zoom. 

My first pieces on Salt Water went up in June 2017. Since then, I've written almost two hundred more, beautiful proof of the wisdom of Louis L'Amour's advice – "Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on." 

In the early days, I wrote to understand Jimmy's death. Why this happened. How it could have happened. If I could have prevented it. Whether I was the only one. 

I wrote to find my strength, face my weaknesses, mend the broken parts of myself. To learn how to reach. How to stay in the world on the days when every fiber of my being wanted to curl up on the bathroom floor in a fetal position and stay there. 

I wrote to learn how other grieving souls make their way through the world in the face of staggering, unimaginable loss. What works for them. What doesn’t. How they know. 

As time went on, I began writing to remember. The magic and beauty of my days with Jimmy. The laughter and adventures. The tears and late night confidences. The falling down and the getting back up. Why it mattered then. Why it matters still. 

I write to reclaim the joy. To learn how to hold fast to it when the world feels gray and so very unfair. To allow the sweet memories to flood back in and drown out the painful ones. 

I write to let go ... of the worst days, the painful progression of Jimmy's disease and everything it robbed him of, the side effects of treatment, the relentless march to ending we hoped and prayed would never come. Of the hurtful behavior of a small handful of family and friends. To find my way to forgiveness so that I could use Nadia Bolz Weber's bolt cutters and free myself from the misery I was dragging around. 

I write to make sense of the world on the days when nothing does. When life feels rigged and wrong. When the losses keep layering for those of us who have already been robbed of so much. 

I write to face my mistakes, failures, stumbles. All the ways I let Jimmy down. To offer grace to myself for the actions I'm ashamed of, the words I didn't say, the ones I wish I could take back.

I write in the hope that someone else will listen. To connect. To reach out with my words to others who are writing and thinking about life after loss in ways that are similar and ways that are entirely different. To draw close to those whose courage inspires me and to create a verbal boundary of protection against those who are bitter, self-righteous, full of rage. Not by criticizing, provoking or attacking but by making it clear that I have no space for their bluster and bile. That their way is not mine.

I write to reach back to those coming behind me, just as others did for me in the early days. To offer hope to the newly grieving that they, too, can and will find their own way forward. To provide reassurance that whatever they are feeling is natural and so very normal. To make space for their pain and bear witness to their grief. To give them permission to divorce themselves from those who treat them badly and encourage them to say what needs to be said. To ask about how their loved one lived instead of how they died. To say their beloved's name and hear them say Jimmy's in return. I write to heal my wounds and bear the weight of Jimmy's absence. 

To create a life in the aftermath, and on my worst days, to convince myself that I want that life. To remember my son's fierce desire to live and the promise I made him to find a way to go on, even when I don't want to.

I write to conjure my son back to life. To tell his story, remember his courage and kindness and honor his life. To pull the precious moments out of my brain and push aside the memories that burn and punish. To continue learning from him and keep his life woven through mine. To remind myself and the world that I will never stop being his mother. To preserve the beauty of our days together like a dragonfly in amber. To carry him with me for the rest of my days.

James Daniel "Jimmy" Fowkes lost his life to medullablastoma. 

Jimmy was 21 years old when he died.

Margo Fowkes (pronounced “Folks”) is the founder and president of OnTargetConsulting inc. , a firm specializing in helping organizations and individuals act strategically, improve their performance and achieve their business goals. Through her work, Margo helps organizations and leaders create a more compassionate culture by speaking openly about grief and loss in the workplace. 

After the death of her son Jimmy in 2014, Margo created Salt Water, an online community that provides a safe harbor for those who are grieving the death of someone dear to them. 

Inspired by Jimmy’s determination to live a rich, full life despite his circumstances, Salt Water’s articles and other resources focus on healing and building a new life in the aftermath of a devastating loss.

Her Father's Flag

Amon Gift, a US Army veteran, was 23 years old 

when he died by suicide, in January of 2017. 

The photo above is of Amon Gift's daughter, at his funeral.

I first published this photo as a Beauty of Grief feature. I've shared it many times since, as its heartbreaking message stands.

We are losing too many veterans to suicide.

If you want to see more of what I've written about suicide and the military, click here. 

The reasons for actively serving and veteran military related suicides are varied and complex. However, the importance of showing our support to individuals is critical. This is Memorial Day weekend. Reach out to someone who is serving or has served in the military. Let them know that they are loved and that you care.

Remember that close to 22 veterans a day are dying by suicide. Supporting military related suicide prevention should happen every day, as well.

If you are a veteran or actively serving member of the armed forces and you are feeling hopeless or suicidal - please reach out. You can start by calling the Veterans Crisis Line. Your service to the country is appreciated. Your life matters. You are needed in this world.

(Thank you to Kelsey Leann Tobin for permission to use the beautiful photo of her daughter, above.)

These Things I Know

 

Written by Jim Yoder, April 29, 2021

Nine years ago this morning, Tammee left us.

We have so many questions. We work so hard to try and know things.
Why didn’t we see something? Why didn’t we realize she was in danger?
Why didn’t she say something? Reach out?
What was she thinking? How was she hurting so badly inside?
What could we have done differently? Would it have mattered?
.
Here’s an idea:

Let’s don’t focus on what we can’t know.
Instead, what if we focus on what we DO know about her?
.
I’ll start:

I know Tammee loved with abandon, loved deeply, and cared deeply.
I know Tammee valued her family, her faith, her friends.
I know Tammee was adventurous, even to a fault. Whether flying airplanes, scuba diving, riding horses, driving motorcycles, she loved speed and exhilaration.
I know Tammee danced always like no one was watching, even though entire dance floors would stop and clear to watch her (which would always then embarrass her greatly).
I know Tammee was impulsive, always choosing immediate action over analysis and planning. I know this caused many wonderful things to happen, and sometimes not so wonderful.
I know Tammee was in great pain and fear 24x7.

When her psychosis and extreme paranoid delusions began 11 years prior to her death, her and everyone’s lives changed drastically, and survival became our driving focus. She suffered on a scale that devastates me to this day, and will forever affect me.
I know Tammee was somehow stronger than anyone I’ve ever known, and it still amazes me.
I know Tammee loved me.
I know Tammee is in heaven.
I know I loved her always, and will love her forever.
These things I know.

Fly free, Tammee Lee! 

Jim Yoder lives in Kansas. He sings in a gospel band, he's a Kansas City Royals fan, and he is a survivor of suicide loss. On April 29, 2012, Jim lost his wife Tammee. Yesterday, Jim shared the note above with his fellow loss survivors. 

The anniversaries of my own two primary suicide losses are in April. As we round the corner from this month into May, what Jim wrote was a beautiful reminder to me that we can move forward holding equal amounts of Grace as grief.

Tom's Clothes

Written by Kimberly A. Starr

When Tom died, I took the easy way out when it came to his clothes. Within a few weeks of his death, my husband and I packed them all up in Space Bags and took them out to his dad’s house for storage. It was sort of “out of sight, out of mind.” That was just about six years ago.

Around two weeks ago, I decided I was ready to look through his shirts to have them made into a quilt. I texted his dad, and he agreed to bring all the clothes down to our house. When he arrived with them, he told me he was alright with me donating them because, “I have many things to help remind me of Tom.” He also mentioned that “Tom would approve of us donating the items.” I immediately broke down. The idea of donating his clothing had not even been on my radar even though it is a completely reasonable and logical thought. Tom’s dad left all the clothes and told me he was alright with whatever I decided. I am blessed to have a good relationship with him even though we divorced in 2006.

My anxiety was heightened, and I was tearful for a few days as I anticipated touching each of his items and having to decide what to include in the quilt and what to pass on to another medium-built teen.

Finally, yesterday I went through all the Space Bags and Tupperware tubs. There were clothes I hardly remember and others I expected to find and did not. I went through all of the cargo pants and sweatshirt pockets, hoping to find a new piece of his life but did not find anything as hoped. I did take one of his sweatshirts and wrapped the arms around me for a bit. I cried on and off, but I did get through it.

I kept about 25 pieces of clothing including t-shirts, shorts, and sweatshirts to be made into the quilt. I also pulled out a few items to be made into teddy bears for me, my daughter, and a few of Tom’s friends.

This morning, we drove 25 miles to a local charity thrift store and dropped off the bags, as I could not bear to donate it someplace local, and then see someone wearing one of his clothing items around town. I held it together while handing the bags to the attendant, but the tears started again when I returned to the car. My husband pulled away from the donation door, stopped the car, and held my hand until the storm of tears passed.

It was time. Even though it was painful, I feel like a burden has been lifted. And Tom’s dad is right, our family has many other reminders of our beautiful son.

© 2021, Kimberly A.Starr Thank you Kimberly, for being willing to share this very personal and poignant piece of writing with Lighting Up the Sky readers. For suicide loss survivors who choose to let go of some of the material possessions that belonged to the person we have lost, your words are a beautiful reminder that we are not letting go of the memories or the love. 💓

Exactly where we need to be.

To all of us who have lost a partner to suicide. To those who have lost a partner in any way. To the widows and the widowers. And to the forever heartbroken. 

I see you.

To those of us who have someone new,

To those of us who are still waiting for the heavy veil of grief to lift before we can love again,

To those of us who yearn for someone to appear and hold us through it all,

To those of us who choose solitude intentionally because it offers us safety and warmth,

I see you and you are exactly where you need to be.

Some of us will bear this day that celebrates love by hiding our sorrow. 

Some of us will take the vulnerable step of asking others for support. 

Some of us will sit in peaceful memories. 

Some of us will stand in anger. 

Some of us will be celebrating with someone new. 

Some of us never cared about Valentine's Day anyway.

Whatever you do - 

I see you and you are exactly where you need to be.

Watercolor at top © Mira Santos, 2021

Suicide Prevention. Have the Conversations.

Love, Honor, and Compassion. A Suicide Loss Announcement Done Right

Tommy Bloom Raskin
12/30/1995 - 12/31/2020

'[Tommy] opposed all malicious gossip, 

stopping all such gossipers with a trademark Tommy line:

forgive me, but it’s hard to be a human.'

With suicide loss, making public announcements is often complicated by the stigma attached to suicide. As a suicide loss survivor and as a suicide attempt survivor, I have experienced my own shame around losses and survival. For a long time, I avoided and sidestepped questions. I didn't speak up about needing comfort, and I often pushed it away when it was offered.

Today, I see speaking up as an imperative part of healing. And more so, I refuse to let shame dictate my behavior.

A few days ago, Maryland Congressman Jamie Raskin (and his wife Sarah) publicly announced the death of their beloved son, Tommy Bloom Raskin. I am sharing their announcement now. I feel the announcement was done right. It focuses on what is important: Tommy's amazing life, his accomplishments, their compassion for Tommy's struggles with mental illness, and finally - their great love for their son.

With the exception of adjusting sizing of text and removal of a few photos (for spacing reasons) the announcement below is unchanged from that which was posted on Congressman Raskin's website. I hope that in reading the announcement, you might grow in your compassion for survivors of loss, as well as those who have lost their life to suicide.

To Jamie Raskin and the rest of Tommy's friends and loved ones, I extend my heartfelt empathy and condolences. I know I speak not just myself, but for so many of our fellow survivors of suicide loss, when I say that we share your grief. We are deeply saddened that you have now joined our heartbroken club. Your son's life mattered. We know.

Statement of Congressman Jamie Raskin and Sarah Bloom Raskin on the Remarkable Life of Tommy Raskin

Rep. Jamie Raskin

3 days ago·9 min read

TAKOMA PARK, M.D. — Congressman Jamie Raskin and Sarah Bloom Raskin today released the following statement about their son Thomas (Tommy) Bloom Raskin:

“On January 30, 1995, Thomas Bloom Raskin was born to ecstatic parents who saw him enter the world like a blue-eyed cherub, a little angel. Tommy grew up as a strikingly beautiful curly-haired madcap boy beaming with laughter and charm, making mischief, kicking the soccer ball in the goal, acting out scenes from To Kill A Mockingbird with his little sister in his father’s constitutional law class, teaching other children the names of all the Justices on the Supreme Court, hugging strangers on the street, teaching our dogs foreign languages, running up and down the aisle on airplanes giving people high fives, playing jazz piano like a blues great from Bourbon Street, and at 12 writing a detailed brief to his mother explaining why he should not have to do a Bar Mitzvah and citing Due Process liberty interests (appeal rejected).

“Over the years he was enveloped in the love not only of his bedazzled and starstruck parents but of his remarkable and adoring sisters, Hannah the older and Tabitha the younger, a huge pack of cousins, including Jedd, Emily, Maggie, Zacky, Mariah, Phoebe and Lily, Boman and Daisy, and Emmet and spoiled rotten with hugs and kisses and philosophical nourishment from his grandparents Herb and Arlene Bloom, Marcus Raskin, Barbara Raskin, and later Lynn Raskin, the best aunts and uncles a mischievous ragamuffin could ask for, including Erika and Keith, Kenneth and Abby, Mina, Noah and Heather, Eden and Brandon, and Tammy and Gary, and a cast of secondary parents who wrapped him in adoration and wildly precocious conversation like Michael and Donene, Ann and Jimmy, Kate and Hal, Kathleen and Tom, Katharine and David, Judy, Reed and Julia, Dar and Michael, David and Melinda, Angela and Howard, Helen, Sheila, Mitchell, Will and Camille, Phyllis, Shammy,Khalid and Zina.

“With all this love infusing Tommy’s world and soul, girls quickly came to fancy this magical boy who always made time for the loneliest kids in class and frequently made up his own words to describe feelings and parts of toasters — and, to be clear, he took a strong liking to girls too, these omnipresent magical lovely girls he found who always had a profound beauty radiating from within. Tommy was raised on a fine Montgomery County Education, which took him through Takoma Park Elementary School, Pine Crest Elementary School, Eastern Middle School, and Montgomery Blair High School (with a frolicking detour to Ecole Active Bilingue Jeannine Manuel in Paris for one family sabbatical year where he learned French, tried to teach himself Japanese, and insisted on travel adventures through North Africa and the rest of Europe), but his irrepressible love of freedom and strong libertarian impulses made him a skeptic of all institutional bureaucracy and a daring outspoken defender of all outcasts and kids in trouble. Once when third-grade Tommy and his father saw a boy returning to school after a weeklong suspension and his Dad casually remarked, ‘it looks like they let finally let him out of jail,’ Tommy replied, ‘no, you mean they finally let him back into jail.’

“At Blair, Tommy’s adult persona began to take shape: he co-founded Bliss, a life-changing peer-to-peer tutoring program and spent hours tutoring fellow students in Math and English; made wonderful friends he lavished attention on; became Captain of the Forensics Club and a savagely logical and persuasive orator in the Debate and Extemporaneous Speech Club where he had to be constantly reminded by his teammates that the purpose of high school debate tournaments is to score points and not convince people of the truth or change the world. He was active in the Young Dems and recruited dozens to get involved in the 2012 Obama reelection effort. On Prom Night, he threw a dinner party for 24 fellow students, including classmates who had no date that evening, and they all went to prom together as a group. He hated cliques and social snobbery, never had a negative word for anyone but tyrants and despots, and opposed all malicious gossip, stopping all such gossipers with a trademark Tommy line — ‘forgive me, but it’s hard to be a human.’

“Above all, he began to follow his own piercing moral and intellectual insights looking for answers to problems of injustice, poverty and war. A Bar Mitzvah from Temple Sinai, he taught a Sunday School with Heather Levy for two years at Temple Emmanuel, often substituting his social-struggle analysis of the Exodus story for teachings on the Hebrew alphabet. He ordered and devoured books on the Civil War and Maryland’s history in it, World War II and resistance to Nazism, Jewish history, libertarianism, moral philosophy, the history of the Middle East conflict, peace movements, anything by Gar Alperovitz on the decision to drop the atom bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and anything by Peter Singer on animal rights. He began to pen these extraordinary essays and articles that now add up to well over 100 as well as write plays and extremely long polemical poems, which he eagerly performed for audiences astounded by his precocious moral vision, utter authenticity of emotion, and beauty of expression.

“At Amherst College, he majored in history, helped lead the Amherst Political Union, intellectually discredited the egregious Dinesh D’Souza who turned to pathetic insults when Tommy destroyed his argument from the audience with a simple question (even before D’Souza was soon to be convicted of federal campaign finance crimes), won the Kellogg Prize, created and performed one-act plays with his social dorm mates, and wrote a compelling senior thesis on the intellectual history of the animal rights movement. Spending his summers voraciously reading and soaking up all the wisdom to be had at his eclectic self-procured internships at the CATO Institute with Doug Bandow, J Street, the Institute for Policy Studies, ARC of Montgomery, Compassion Over Killing, and for Professor Frank Couvares, Tommy became an anti-war activist, a badass autodidact moral philosopher and progressive humanist libertarian, and a passionate vegan who composed imperishable, knock-your-socks-off poetry linking systematic animal cruelty and exploitation to militarism and war culture. He recruited gently and lovingly — but supremely effectively — dozens and dozens of people, including his parents, to the practice of not eating animals, and it will be hard to find anyone his age who has turned more carnivores into vegans than him. (He also cheerfully opposed sectarian holier-than-thou sanctimoniousness among a handful of vegans he met and would say, ‘I’m working for a vegan world, not a vegan club.’) A prolific and exquisitely gifted writer, he came to publish essays and op-eds in the Nation, the Goodmen Project, Anti-War.Com and other outlets. After his Amherst graduation, Tommy went to the Friends Committee on National Legislation to work on stopping the war in Yemen and on Middle East policy, and spent a year publishing more remarkable essays and articles (soon to be available to you) and launching a book of political philosophy offering a sweeping animal rights critique of Locke, Mill and classical liberal social contract theory.

“In 2019 Tommy went to Harvard Law School. He lived up in the attic of the home of Michael Anderson and Donene Williams, his Dad’s beloved law school roommates, and made more remarkable friends. He studied constitutional law with Noah Feldman, criminal law with Carole Steiker, and property with Bruce Mann (Elizabeth Warren’s husband); he loved the systematic thought and debate dynamics of law school but reported it to be like half an education because the moral philosophy component was somehow left out. Rather than read endless lists of long cases, why not have students read clear comprehensive statements of what the law is and then talk about what the law should be? So while zealously promoting his newfound favorite game — Boggle — to rescue his classmates and himself from the stress and anxiety of law school, he also pushed them to engage with social problems and found a strong affinity group in the Effective Altruists. He spent last summer working quite brilliantly as a summer associate at Mercy for Animals and found a knack for actual lawyering.

“This fall Tommy not only took a full complement of his second-year law classes, including Disability Law with Michael Stein which he loved, but, at the suggestion of his beloved Professor Steicker, became a Teaching Assistant with Professor Michael Sandel in his ‘Justice’ Course at Harvard. As a teacher, Tommy devoted great time to teaching his section of the class — working on his astonishing lectures and jokes, and meeting endlessly with his dozen students on Zoom, finding what was precious in their work and teasing it out. He loved his students and they loved him back. Not content with giving half of his teaching salary away to save people with malaria by purchasing mosquito nets with global charities, when the semester was over and after his grades were in and the student evaluations were complete, he made individual donations in each of his students’ names to Oxfam, GiveDirectly and other groups targeting global hunger. When I asked him why he did this, he quoted something that he loved which Father Daniel Berrigan said about Dorothy Day: ‘she lived as though the truth were true.’ Tommy said: ‘I wanted them to see that the truth is true.’

“We have barely been able to scratch the surface here, but you have a sense of our son. Tommy Raskin had a perfect heart, a perfect soul, a riotously outrageous and relentless sense of humor, and a dazzling radiant mind. He began to be tortured later in his 20s by a blindingly painful and merciless ‘disease called depression,’ as Tabitha put it on Facebook over the weekend, a kind of relentless torture in the brain for him, and despite very fine doctors and a loving family and friendship network of hundreds who adored him beyond words and whom he adored too, the pain became overwhelming and unyielding and unbearable at last for our dear boy, this young man of surpassing promise to our broken world.

“On the last hellish brutal day of that godawful miserable year of 2020, when hundreds of thousands of Americans and millions of people all over the world died alone in bed in the darkness from an invisible killer disease ravaging their bodies and minds, we also lost our dear, dear, beloved son, Hannah and Tabitha’s beloved irreplaceable brother, a radiant light in this broken world.

“He left us this farewell note on New Year’s Eve day: ‘Please forgive me. My illness won today. Please look after each other, the animals, and the global poor for me. All my love, Tommy.’”

Click here to find the announcement on Congressman Raskin's Website.

Click here to find the Tommy Raskin Memorial Fund for People and Animals.

A season of faith.

This holiday season, whatever your spiritual beliefs are, I hope you've been able to embrace some measure of faith.

Suicide loss survivors, suicide attempt survivors, and those who are struggling with thoughts of suicide today, despite our pain I believe that the mystery of grace surrounds us all. I have faith that there is a light that will return, no matter how dark our skies have become.

This is a season of both giving and receiving. Make an effort to do both. Many of you I've never met, but I do know this - you are deserving, and your efforts matter.

Grateful for the Ocean

 

My gratitude for good writing is unbounded; 

I’m grateful for it the way I’m grateful for the ocean.

- Anne Lamott

Every year, International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day takes place on the Saturday before the (U.S.) Thanksging holiday. For some, the timing of the event might seem odd. But for many of us who have suffered a loss, it makes sense.

As we move toward a holiday that encourages an entire country to express gratitude, suicide loss survivors often feel invisible. If we are new to our loss, we might feel as if we are expected to pretend that we are ok, when we don't feel ok. However, Suicide Loss Survivors Day allows us to express our feelings, just as they are. Perhaps more than anything, the day reminds us that we are not alone. Infact, feeling connected to others who share this type of loss serves as one of the most important foundations of gratitude.

So, I decided to ask fellow suicide loss survivors what they are grateful for this year.  I received responses from all over the world. I received facebook messages, texts, emails, and even handwritten notes. The words were varied and poignant. I am happy to share them with you now.

I am grateful that I am surrounded by people that I love and that they are aways there for me. ~ Gianna C., Oakley, California

I am grateful for my family, my dog, Eli, and all of the resources I have to help me at home to learn. ~ Emily C., Oakley, California 

I am grateful that my boys are no longer struggling and suffering, but I still wish they were here not struggling. But there is this thing called life, which is never perfect and everyone has struggles. I'm grateful that God has given me the graces to deal with the things I've had to deal with, and to be able to engage with people in this world. ~ Jo M., Brentwood, California 

This thanksgiving I am grateful for my wife and daughter, for helping to keep me out of the abyss after Peyton’s suicide. ~ David J., Conroe, Texas

I am grateful for my fur babies who bring me comfort when no one else can.  ~ Becky A., Jefferson, Georgia 

I wouldn't trade my time with my two loves, for anything. (One was a suicide, the other a heart attack). I am SO grateful for the time I was able to spend with each one. The things they taught me, too. I feel I have a greater love, even though losing them hurts, still. Even in their death, they have taught me so much. About life, grief, love and even myself. ~ Shalene T., Utah

I am grateful for the unconditional love of friends and family who give me incredible support and make me laugh! ~ Teresa C., Oakley California

I am grateful for my soul sister Heliana. She’s been there for me all the way for the past three years. I lost the love of my life, but I gained a sister.  ~ Martha B. , Weston, Florida

I'm grateful for my friends who continue to show up. I'm grateful for my cat who shows me love every day. ~ Tartine C., France, Europe

I am grateful for my beautiful family who are a blessing to me every day. ~ Pete C., Oakley, California

I am grateful for the love of God, and the strength He gives me each day to keep going after losing my son. ~ AnneMarie S., Santa Fe, New Mexico 

I’m grateful for my loving husband and my two dogs, Bennie and Luna. ~ Margie W., Alicante, Spain 

I am grateful for my Mum and partner. ~ Abbi W., Penworthan, United Kingdom

• I'm grateful for the 21 years that we had with her. ~ Katie G., United States

I am grateful for a great, strong friend who has my back at every bad turn. ~ Hazel S., Chesterfield, United Kingdom

• I am grateful for the memories I have of my son. When he was 5 and sat on Santa’s lap, he asked Santa to bring his mommy a special gift because she didn’t have a husband anymore. (Santa pulled me aside to tell me this.). I’m grateful for the heart shaped rock he found while on vacation with his dad and stepmom - he was 10. He saved the rock and brought it home to me as a token of his love. To this day, that rock goes everywhere I go. I’m grateful for the adult conversations we had and that he felt safe with me to share his innermost feelings. I’m grateful he shared his first heartbreak with me. I’m grateful for the times he visits me and guides me in the spirit. I’m grateful for every poem he ever wrote to me and every special drawing he made for me. I’m grateful that he thanked me for being his mom and taking good care of him. ~ Nancy VL., Dublin, Califonria

I am grateful for the memories we have together...it is all I have left of him. ~ Teresa P., San Antonio, Texas

I am grateful for getting to be his happily ever after... He had a hard life, right from birth on. I'm grateful I got to show him true love and loyalty, before he left... Doesn't make it hurt any less...but I'm grateful that he got to know unconditional love before he returned 'home'. If that makes sense...  ~ Sharon E.V., Northern Ontario Canada

I am grateful for long conversations I got to have with my friend after meetings, and how he always reminded me what a good mom I am. ~ Victoria G., Walnut Creek, CA

I’m grateful for the path I’m on that has enabled me to feel like I am enough and that I’m worthy.... it’s been a long road. ~ Sheree GK., Carrollton, Ga.

I’m grateful for having the strength to endure this grief, for knowing that there would be a rainbow at the end of this tunnel. I didn’t have family support, but I did have friends support and for that I am truly grateful. I’m still trying to find myself, let’s just say I’m a work in progress and I’m good with that. I find that not playing the victim truly helps and knowing that it’s ok to have bad days, but to embrace the good days. And, I’m grateful for the special friends that I have made through my grief from losing Greg. ~ Debbie W., Camus, Washington

I am grateful for my kids. They have been the ones to keep me going when I have just wanted to give up. ~ Shelly H., Willow Springs, Missouri

I’m so grateful that John took the time to visit me whenever he was in my neighborhood. I was grateful for the opportunity to make lunch or a snack for him, and learn about some of the things that were important to him. I was also grateful for the chance to drive him to where we’d go for vacation on Cobb Mountain. That time was so precious because we connected on a different, more meaningful level. David had just passed, and John was still very young. He was filled with sadness, fears, and insecurities. My mom and I spent our time encouraging him to be more independent. We loved watching him gain enough confidence to interact with the other kids. ~ Mimi O., Chico, California

I am grateful that since the virus, I am learning to appreciate the little things; the most important things. I am grateful for the gift of family and the opportunity to show my love in new ways. ~ Grace M., Tea, South Dakota

I am grateful for my fiancé, friends, family, and pets. A less common thing I'm greatful for is my Nintendo Switch, that little machine has kept me sane through the wild ride that this year has been. ~ Kerri S., Winston-Salem, North Carolina 

I am grateful for my family, friends, wonderful loving co-workers who are like family. ~Amanda CB., Mantua, New Jersey

I am so grateful for the years I got to spend with my partner and the relationship that formed with his daughter. ~ Clarissa B., York, South Carolina

I’m grateful for my overwhelming inner resilience to life’s difficulties. My willingness to fight the fight and to never give up; to stay in the game no matter what for as long as I’m able. Rather than focusing on only the stigma perceived by those who think they know something, knowing instead that mental illness runs rampant through society and the world, where people suffer silently unable to be reached by those with even the greatest of intentions. And I’m grateful that, as a result of chronic depression handed down to me from my mother, my unrelenting struggle with addiction, and the constant never-ending challenge to keep going even when I’m no longer really interested in doing so, I possess an inner truth and depth that constantly reveals both the beautiful and tragic elements of human nature, where nobody is above suffering no matter what one’s circumstances. I’m grateful to be one of those individuals with depth and connection with self and the spiritual. ~ Mike G., Pleasant Hill, California

I am grateful that I’ve learned to use the pain, loss, and grief to help others. ~ Laura C., New South Wales, Australia

I am thankful that when I think I am weak, I manage to overcome my insecurities and accomplish things that I thought I couldn't do on my own without him here, and I feel good about myself.

~ Susie W., Crowley, Texas

I'm grateful for the years I got to spend with my daddy, I'm especially grateful for the laughs we shared over the years.  ~ Breonna C., York, South Carolina

I am grateful for the honesty and bravery of my fellow survivors of suicide loss. Their courage inspires me every single day. ~ Chelise S., Concord, California