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.

Mental Health Awareness Month. Because we are needed in this world.

Salt Water

Taking a moment to thank the lovely website Salt Water for re-posting my post, The Cruelest Month, today. Salt Water provides "a safe harbor where you can find comfort, support, and tools to survive your loss and rebuild your life."

I am always honored when my writing is shared. I am particularly touched that my post has been shared with a site dedicated to supporting the grieving. 

Margo Fowkes, the founder of Salt Water. has provided a powerful list of the things a survivor of suicide loss can do to begin the journey of healing. You can find that document here:

Look What Happens With a Love Like This

Even after all this time the sun never says to the earth, 'You owe me.' 

Look what happens with a love like that. It lights the whole sky.”
- Hāfiz

This morning, the Lighting Up the Sky blog crossed a threshold. The number of times the blog has been viewed surpassed 100,000.

It's an amazing thing, that what is written here has touched so many people. Not quite three years ago, I started this blog. I wasn't sure where it was going. At first I thought I'd share parts of the journal I'd kept in the months after John died. I did that because of the number of people who were telling me that my writing about suicide was helpful to them. The most powerful feedback then remains the same today. When I hear someone say 'I learned something important about suicide by reading your blog,' it motivates me. But when I hear someone say 'when I read your blog, I felt less alone,' I am humbled by those words. I am humbled by the fact that this blog has impacted people in this important way.

So I stepped back and paid attention to what was being said. People told me they appreciated that someone was talking about suicide. They told me they didn't feel they had a voice. Many survivors of suicide loss felt they didn't have a right to mourn. Nearly every person I spoke to said they were hurt by the ways that people didn't understand suicide. Whether they were a survivor of attempts or a survivor of loss, they reached out to me to talk about the agony that this lack of understanding can cause.

Quickly I realized I could do more with this blog than I originally intended. I recognized that there were an immeasurable amount of people whose lives had been touched by suicide, not just me. Asking those people to share their own experiences with suicide was important. The more lives and voices that this blog could share, the more of a reminder that none of us are alone.

"People don't understand!" is what I was hearing.
"So, tell them," has always been my response. 

I understood too, the importance of being allowed to grieve a suicide loss. To be sad, angry, hurt and sometimes relieved. I knew firsthand that the stigma around suicide complicates grief. Often, we are told we shouldn't be talking about the loss. We are told that we should be mad at the person we lost, that we should forget about them.  Or sometimes the opposite - we are told we can't be mad at those who die by suicide, at all. We can't rage against a person's mental illness and we are not allowed to celebrate the beauty of who the person was, either. It is an excruciating paradox. So, I wanted this blog to give people permission to react to their grief in any way they needed. And I especially wanted to celebrate and encourage the beautiful side of grieving and the beautiful side of healing too.

I am both honored and humbled that so many people have been interested in what we, those whose lives have been touched by suicide, have to say. Our voices matter. As Robin Williams once said, "No matter what people tell you, words and ideas can change the world."

Speaking of quotes, many people have asked me why I named this blog Lighting Up the Sky. The name is derived from a quote by the Persian poet, Hāfiz. 'Even after all this time the sun never says to the earth, you owe me. Look what happens with a love like that. It lights the whole sky.'

When I started the journey of writing this blog, I was struck and saddened by the often held notion that those who die by suicide are selfish. As a survivor of a suicide attempt myself, I knew that many of us truly believe that by leaving, we are doing something good for those we love. I struggle with this to this day. If I hurt someone, I wrestle with wondering if my loss would be an adequate reparation. The pain of this deliberation cannot be put into words. We think we are relieving our loved ones of a burden. We believe that we don't deserve love or to be cared about. In this sense, though misguided, our actions are the opposite of selfish.

I considered the lack of understanding about suicidal ideation, the lack of resources available to those who need them, and the lack of effective treatment. Given all of the prior, I believe that we often look at suicide from a faulty and painful perspective.

But what will happen if we flip that perspective? How much more will be accomplished if we stop blaming the ones we've lost? I believe that often it is not those who are losing their lives to suicide who are failing us. Instead our culture, the stigma, and the silence around suicide, failed them.

What if instead of focusing on their owing us forever unfulfilled promises, we focus instead on the beauty their presence in our lives had once offered? I would think if we did this, while their loss would be no less heartbreaking, it would be a measure less dark.

That's how I want to think about the people I've lost to suicide. Not that they have darkened my life, but instead, I want their memory to light up my sky.

I can't let this milestone of 100,000 go, without saying this:

I started this blog for John Macaluso. I loved him. I love him still. He was needed in this world when he lost his life to suicide. And I know he'd be proud that this blog has had an impact on so many people.

I continued this blog for my mother. She was a writer herself. She was smart and funny. She was needed in this world when she lost her life to suicide. She would be proud of my writing too, I know.

And I write for this blog still, for me. It has been much easier for me to write about being a survivor of suicide loss than it has been for me to write about my own attempts and my own thoughts of suicide. It is important to be able to talk about these things without feeling ashamed. Speaking up is one of the most important ways to fight stigma. My words, like those of all others who've been touched by suicide, are needed in this world. 

I know.

To all of you who have cheered me on, or supported me when I've been hurting, and to those of you who have told me that this site means something to you, thank you.

And thank you especially to all of my fellow suicide attempt survivors and suicide loss survivors. You are the bravest people I know.

And finally, to all those who have lost their life to suicide - know that we are fighting for you. You are not forgotten. The sky lights up for you, today and every day.

Owning My Story - DAY 14

If we can share our story with someone who responds 

with empathy and understanding, shame can't survive.

- Brené Brown

I am a survivor of suicide loss. I have written about that. I am addict and alcoholic in recovery. I have written about that. I have an eating disorder. I have written about that, too.

But, until last year, I didn't write much about my own suicide attempts. Actually, I did do some writing in 2013, following my second and last attempt. I made some of that writing public, but within a month or two I removed the writing from public view.

I removed the writing for the same reason that I rarely write about my attempts now. I was ashamed. At that time, people contacted me and told me that they disagreed with my point of view, others contacted me and told me that I was being disrespectful toward my son by violating his privacy. Not that I was writing about him (I wasn't) but because he would undoubtedly be ashamed that his mother had attempted suicide. Out of respect for him (he was 16 at the time) I needed to hide the fact that I'd had an attempt. That is what I was told.

Every reluctance to write about my suicide attempts had been grounded in shame. The stigma in our culture is so strong. We are routinely told that those who attempt suicide are selfish, attention seeking, weak, sinners, inconsiderate, cruel, etc.. Those who die by suicide are taking their pain and without giving it a second thought, they are handing all that pain to someone else. That's what our society tells us.

Those who attempt suicide are everything that I don't want to be.

I can write about a lot of stigmatized issues that are close to home, but writing about my suicide attempts is one of the most difficult things I have ever done. I am not alone in this. In Jamie Brickhouse's article Overcoming The Shame of a Suicide Attempt (New York Times, May 2016), he says:

"As a recovering alcoholic I know that admitting to my behavior and owning my story is the only way it can no longer own me. I’m not ashamed of being an alcoholic, but I’m still ashamed of trying to kill myself."

For me, despite having feelings that were similar to Jamie Brickhouse's, there was a point about a year and a half ago, when I knew it was time to share my personal story. I was knee deep in suicide prevention advocacy, and I regularly bemoaned the stigma that deterred people from reaching out for help. But that wasn't my primary reason for talking about my own attempts. I was frequently exposed to people who were angry at those who'd taken their life. But, that wasn't my reason for talking about my own attempts, either.

I decided to write about my experiences with being suicidal, because in my suicide loss survivors groups, I kept hearing people say: "How could they leave me like this? Why wasn't I enough? Why weren't our children enough? How could they not have told me what they were planning to do?" These questions were agonizing for the people who were posing them.

I wrote about my attempts because people who didn't understand the complexity of  suicidality were in excruciating pain. And by and large, this pain reflected a general misunderstanding of what it is like to be suicidal. I wrote about my attempts because my fellow survivors of suicide loss, who were already in so much pain, exacerbated their grief by tormenting themselves over the possible answers to their questions. And I knew, most of the questions didn't actually apply to the circumstances under which a person loses their life to suicide. I knew I wasn't going to speak for all who have attempted suicide, but I also knew I was speaking for an awful lot of us.

I wrote about my attempts with the great hope that my story might help someone else who was suffering.

So today I will share my story again. It's long. (I'm 'wordy' as someone once told me.) But, it is thorough. Others have told me that my story was very helpful as they processed their loss. I am so glad. If you would like to read what I wrote, simply click on the picture below:

Telling our stories does not take away our grief or change what has happened, but it can heal us, and it can heal others - especially those who are hurting in the same ways. Empathy and compassion are fostered through honest communication. Your story matters. If you feel that no one understands what you are going through, use your words to help them to understand.  

This is Why I Write

Yes. These words. We must speak up. Your story matters. Someone, somewhere, may read what you have to say and know that they are not alone. None of us are alone. Share your story.



(The poem 'Why Bother', is from Sean Thomas Dougherty's book of poetry, The Second O of Sorrow.  Thank you Mr. Dougherty, you have perfectly captured the beauty and power of writing, in 20 short words.)

Belief in the Possibility

People rise out of the ashes, because, at some point, 

they are invested with a belief in the possibility of triumph 

over seemingly impossible odds.

 – Robert Downey Jr.

Often when there is a high profile celebrity relapse, or worse yet, when a celebrity loses their life to suicide, the media focus is on the hopelessness of mental illness and addiction. And it's true, we do have a long way to go. But, the situation is not hopeless.

When these things happen, advocates step up (myself included) and bemoan the state of mental health care in this country. We share disturbing statistics that speak to the critical need for more effective treatment for mental illness and addiction. There is a subset of people who find the courage to step forward and say: "I suffer from mental illness too! I suffer from addiction as well! It's awful."

All of the above voices are important, and we must continue with these efforts to make changes and to destigmatize issues having to do with mental health.

But sometimes we forget that when suicide and addiction have become headline news, those of us who struggle with these conditions are particularly rocked. When our role models suffer a relapse or lose their life to suicide, we are confronted with a frightening sense of hopelessness. Often the media is bombarding us with images and details we don't know how to process, and now through social media we experience a barrage of other people's opinions - not all of them supportive or kind.

What we are in need of is people willing to stand up and say: I have been in the same place as the celebrity, and a relapse or depressive episode does not have to mean the end. 

In the face of desperate sadness and loss, we need heroes who have been there to step forward and remind us that we do make it through, as well.

Until we have better treatment modalities and until we know more about mental illness and addiction, we will continue to lose people. That is true. But I want to remind you that most of us survive. Please remember that. If you have suffered from addiction and mental illness, and are managing it well now ~ please take a moment to remind those who are still suffering that there is hope. If you have suffered from relapses or attempts, but are doing well now, please take a moment to let us know that relapses do not mean that you have failed and they do not mean that recovery is impossible. Please, take a moment to let people know - we survive.

I will start:

I have been where Demi Lovato is. I have suffered in similar ways and had relapses, and breakdowns, and have nearly lost my life to mental illness. I have been there.

For today though, I am ok. Today, I am glad to be here. 

Today, I am a survivor.

If you are struggling with these same issues, and you are reading this, remember that you are a survivor too.

Sometimes Simple, Sometimes Heartbreaking

There's a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours began.

― Mitch Albom

I am a writer. I write because my mother wrote. I can remember exactly what she looked like when she sat at her desk, fingers tapping on the keyboard of her typewriter. Throughout my childhood, she used a large beige IBM Selectric. Then, in the early 1980s, my father bought her a sleeker Olivetti typewriter. It had a tiny LED text bar just above the keys, so that you could proof your work as you were typing.  It wouldn't print on the paper until you pressed the return key. This was before word processors, and I thought her new typewriter was absolutely fantastical. To me, knowing that it was on my mother's desk almost felt like having a celebrity in the house.

My mother was so extraordinary at creating a visual, it was if she were a performance artist and the written word was her stage. When she was in her early twenties (and less agoraphobic than she would later become), she did perform her poetry in small cafes and bars in Berkeley and San Francisco. Her words would leave people laughing, or crying, or both.

It wasn't just her poetry that she shared publicly, though. Once she wrote an advertising jingle and entered it in a contest. I don't remember the jingle. I do remember she won free vitamins for a year. We gave vitamins as gifts to everyone we knew. I was young enough when this happened (not yet a mortified teenager), that I thought it was cool.

Sometimes I lose those memories, all the things about my mother that I once thought were cool.

But sometimes, when I myself write, I find the memories, once again.

Mostly though, her writing was known for the pessimism that began to color all of her attitudes toward life. When she incorporated humor into her writing, it was brilliant but terribly dark. Ultimately, it would be the darkness that would dominate all of my mother's thoughts and words.

My mother was mentally ill. She'd been so since before I was born. She was first hospitalized at the age of 17, and she was traumatized severely. She was institutionalized for several months in the mid 1960s, and she endured archaic treatments. Electroshock therapy that had not yet been refined and was barbaric in nature. Prescriptions for medications that made it impossible for her to focus or react - when she took them she was even less functional than she was at the worst of her depression.

My mother quickly became terrified of doctors and psychiatry. Years later when therapy and mood stabilizers may have made a difference, the trauma she'd endured as a teenager made it impossible for her to seek help. 'Help' scared her. And so her illness, untreated, grew more and more severe.

When she died, people would say to me: "I am sorry for your loss." Though I was engulfed by the throes of fresh grief, I would often reply to people with this - because it was true: "I did not lose her just now, I lost her many years ago."

It was hard to put into words. But I tried. What I couldn't say out loud, I wrote about. I filled journal after journal, trying to make sense of her loss.

My mother told me that when you are writing, you should write what you know.

A few years ago, I wrote a novel. In it, the main character's mother is neglectful and abusive and then dies. Much later, when a friend asks the main character about her memories of the mother she has lost, she has difficulty answering. This is what she says about the complexity of those memories:

"I can almost remember my mother. Her soft hands and voice. The warmth of her body when she hugged me or held me in her lap. I can almost remember. But when I try, those simple memories get gobbled up by the monster memory that follows so close behind."

And that is the best way I can describe what the monster of my mother's mental illness was like for me, for so long. In my mind, her illness began to encompass the entirety of her. I didn't see her paranoia and anxiety as symptoms, I saw them as a parts of who she was.

By the time I was a teenager, her fears had spread to every corner of her life. She would whisper disturbing secrets to me, and then admonish me to not tell anyone. "They won't understand," she'd say. "They'll think I'm crazy," she'd accurately access. So, for a time, I kept many of her secrets. Initially to honor her. Later, because her irrational fears left me feeling ashamed.

I had been an adult for many years before I realized that her mental illness did not equal shame that I had to carry. It would take even more years before I understood that her illness was unfair. The injustice of her life experiences impacted not only her, but myself and everyone else who loved her, as well.

I lost my mother to suicide, sixteen years ago, today. Her name was El Collie Kress, and she was 54 years old. She was a writer and for most of her life, she wrote every single day.

She left a note for us when she died. In it she wrote of her love for her husband, for my brother and his wife, and for me too. I think of that sometimes. That even on the day that she died, she wrote.

And if there is any compensation in that fact, it is this: Just like with my beautiful John, the last words my mother ever wrote spoke of love.

This past year, I've made no secret of the fact that writing every single day has helped me to heal. I know - I've always known - that in large part, I write to honor my mother. It helps me to feel connected to her. And always, with my words, I hope to make her proud. Perhaps it is because of this that I knew instinctively, writing would help me heal when John died. I knew that keeping his goodness and his love alive through written words, was an honorable thing to do.

I am braver now than I once was. I am willing to do battle with the monster memory of her mental illness. I will not let her suicide win. Her death will not become the defining moment of her life, and it can no longer encompass all that she is.

The truth is simple. I miss her. Not only my memories of the times when she was younger, more silly, and sweet. But I miss who she may have been, had she lived. Had she believed in healing, the way that I do now.

Today, my memories of my mother are more forgiving and more complete. Today, when I remember her, my memories are sometimes simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking.

But I will take it all. I will hold up to the world one of the best gifts she ever gave me. In her memory and in her honor, I will share that gift with you, as well. My writing.

This is Why I Write

The role of a writer is not to say what we can all say, 

but what we are unable to say.

― Anaïs Nin

We must speak up and speak out about mental illness and suicide. We must combat shame. We must end the stigma.

Silence contributes to suffering and silence contributes to loss of life. 

In the United States alone, 40,000 lives a year are lost to suicide. It is estimated that there are 240,000 survivors of suicide loss who are left behind to deal with profound grief. 

None of us are alone. 

Speaking up helps us to remember. 

This is Why I Write

You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who had ever been alive.
                                                                                            - James Baldwin

Billions of Beautiful Hearts

We are searchlights, we can see in the dark

We are rockets, pointed up at the stars

We are billions of beautiful hearts

-Pink, What About Us

I started this blog four months ago, for people like me, whose lives have been touched by suicide. 

I started this blog for those of us who have loved someone whose life has been lost to suicide. I started this blog for those of us who have overcome having been suicidal. I started this blog because there are so many of us who are survivors of suicide attempts.  

No matter what our personal affinity is, I started this blog for us.

And when I woke up on Sunday, this blog ticked past the mark of having been viewed over twenty thousand times.

In the world of search engine optimization and social media, 20,000 is a fairly small number. In the world of suicide themed niche blogs - 20,000 is a worthy number, especially since the blog has only been around for a few months.

The first few weeks after John died, my writing was compelled by my wanting the world to know how much I loved him and what a good person he was. Also, writing was often the only thing I knew to do in order to get some measure of relief from the constant pain of having lost him.

But it was the feedback I was getting in response to what I wrote that began to shape the direction of my writing.

By and large, the feedback had several predominant themes:

• Thank you for saying this stuff out loud, I wish more people would talk about suicide.

• Thank you for showing the world that survivors of suicide loss have a right to grieve, I wish we were allowed to grieve our loved ones with the same respect and honor as those who've lost people in other ways.

• Thank you for telling the world to stop blaming the people who have died by suicide, I wish more people spoke up on behalf of those who've been lost.

And, this too: 

• Thank you for telling the world about how cruel it is to blame another person for someone's suicide. I wish more people would speak up for those of us who this is happening to.

Those were the predominant themes of the feedback I received then, and they continue to be the predominant themes now. 

This is not about me, though. Twenty thousand people haven't turned to this blog because they want to know me, that's for sure. I am not the reason this is happening. But I do know why people are reading this blog, and I know because they tell me.

People are turning to this blog because they want to find a voice where they feel they have none, and people are turning to this blog because they want to understand things that we don't like to talk about in our society. 

Twenty thousand people are turning to this blog because this blog does not turn away from the tragedy, the crisis, and the heartbreak that is suicide.

Over the last twenty four hours, in the United States alone, over three thousand people attempted suicide, and we lost over one hundred of them. And that's just during the last twenty four hours. Suicide deaths outpace homicide two to one. Every fifteen minutes, another life is lost.

I want to give you good news, but I can't. Not yet. The numbers are only increasing. Ninety percent of all suicides can be attributed to a mental illness, and by the year 2030, depression will outpace cancer, stroke, war and other accidents, as the world's leading cause of disability and death.

People are looking at this blog because they want to understand an epidemic that is pulling so many of our loved ones out from under us.

The posts on this blog are for us all.

I will continue writing. I will tell my story. Not just for me, but for my mother and for John and for all the others who have lost their life to suicide. All of them still deserve a voice in the fight for suicide prevention.

I will continue to share every resource I can find that relates to suicide prevention and awareness. There are a lot of good organizations, good causes, and good information. We must start accessing this information, putting pieces together, and having honest conversations. This is how we combat stigma. We have to do a lot of footwork. The time is now to get into action.

Every single one of us needs to advocate for better services, better treatment, and legislative efforts that mandate putting the lives of the mentally ill ahead of insurance company and health industry profits. (Yes. I said it.) 

This is how we move a critical zero-suicide national agenda forward. 

It isn't easy. The way of the world seems to be that the lion's share of proselytizing falls on the shoulders of those who have suffered the greatest losses. Fair or not, we are the ones with the passion and we are the ones who understand the urgency. Beyond my initial heartbreak, there have been things about becoming an advocate for suicide prevention that have been distressing.

The rate at which we are losing people is horrifying, and the role that stigma plays in facilitating lives lost is inexcusable. 

I am deeply saddened when we blame the mentally ill for the illnesses that take their lives. I am equally upset by the degree to which people assign blame to those who are left behind. With few exceptions (there are some) I am a proponent of blaming the severity of mental illness and our substandard systems of care for those struggling with those illnesses. 

When it comes to a grief such as this, there's a fine line between healthy anger and fearsome cruelty. There is no easy answer, I know. But, blaming someone who is already grieving a suicide loss is unspeakably cruel, and turning away from that kind of cruelty is paramount to making any kind of effective gain in the fight for suicide prevention.

And yes, of course there are also parts of this journey that leave me with a lot of anger. It would be fair to say that when it comes to the state of the mental health care industry in this country, I feel some rage. I know that we need more treatment options. We must make changes in prioritization of suicide as a public health issue. And we need to allocate more resources towards research and education. We aren't doing enough, and the number of people dying attests to that fact.

But there are things about this blog that give me a great deal of comfort.

I am able to see the stats for every post I've made here, and they tell me that my favorite posts on the blog are the same for the rest of you who are reading them. 

The Beauty of Grief posts do well. I am so glad. Survivors of suicide loss want the world to know that our losses are real, that our hearts are broken, and we need to be able to talk about the beautiful memories we have of the people we love. So often, we are made to feel as if we ought to be ashamed of having lost someone to suicide. There are so many misconceptions attached to that stigma. Rather than address them now - I will focus on the impact it has on the bereaved. We feel alone. We feel forgotten. And we are terrified that shame will be all that is left of our loved ones' memory. Loving someone who has died by suicide is not shameful. Grieving the loss of someone we love is a natural and necessary component of life. I believe in honoring the poignancy of our loss.

It was the artist Auguste Renoir who spoke of moving through grief, and he said this: After the pain, it is the beauty that remains.

But my favorite of all the regular posts on the blog are the 'Our Voices Matter' features.

By sitting down with others whose lives have intersected with suicide, I have been reminded again and again of the astonishing capacity of human beings to be courageous, resilient, selfless, and caring. When I speak to fellow survivors of suicide loss, I am witness to a strength that I hadn't known could be possible.

Being able to write and share the Our Voices Matter features is a constant gift in my life.

The people who are being featured are telling their stories so that others whose lives have been touched by suicide will know that they are not alone. They share in order to let people know that it is ok, brave, and often beautiful to ask for help. And they share in order to give those of us left behind, hope.

The Our Voices Matter features include the words of storytellers, experts, activists, advocates, law makers, and loved ones.

I am proud that these people open up to me, and I am proud to share their stories.

There are still a few months to go before we hit the day that John will have been gone for a year. Writing those words makes my hands shake and my heart ache. I believe that his spirit is at peace now, and that he is being held and comforted in all the ways that we who love him would want. And I believe that through the grace of God, John returns that love and comfort to us all, still.

I work on this blog every single day. I write, speak to survivors, I ask questions of experts, and I answer as many of the messages I receive as I can. I know there is irony in the fact that my efforts in the fight for suicide prevention, in some ways, reflect my wanting to move on from John's death. But, I will never let the goodness of who John was, go. Without question, I started this blog for John. I share my words, for John. And every effort I make on behalf of others is because of John Macaluso, and because of his beautiful heart.

I use my voice to speak up for those who have already been lost, but this blog has also become about those who are still at risk of losing their lives to suicide. Most especially though, this blog is for those of us who are left behind. There are just so many beautiful hearts that are somewhere on the spectrum of having been touched by suicide.

So I do this for John.

And I do this for the twenty thousand beautiful hearts who have already read the stories on this blog, and for the thousands who are yet to come.

I do this for us.

PS ~ When I look at the blog's stats I am able to see that the 'Get Help Now' page is widely accessed. That alone makes this blog worth it. Suicide is a worldwide epidemic, and appropriately, there are crisis hotline numbers in countries all over the world. If you are a person who is suffering, there are people who want to talk to you right this very minute. Reach out. You are needed in this world and your life matters.

This Is Why I Write

Talk about your experiences with suicide. 

Talk about your experiences with mental illness. 

Talk about being a survivor. 

From Psychology Today, No Stigma, No Shame: Breaking the Silence of Mental Illness:

For those who have won the battle with addiction, being sober gets counted in days and years and being sober gets 'awarded' with kudos and supported for doing the work necessary to stay drug or alcohol free.

For those of us with mental illness, we have not yet been given permission to own our survival or to claim our days, weeks or years that we have been symptom-free because we too are working our recovery.

Simply put:

Silence contributes to stigma. 

Stigma contributes to a lack of understanding. 

A lack of understanding contributes to a lack of funding, 

A lack of funding contributes to a lack of resources, a lack of treatment, and a lack of research prioritization. 

And research has the potential to improve all of the above.

There should be no shame in dealing with mental illness. There should be no shame in being the survivor of a suicide attempt. There should be no shame in being the survivor of a suicide loss.

Shame and stigma stop the people who need help from reaching out.

Combating stigma saves lives.

This is why I write.

This is Why I Write

Split the world open with me and start talking about mental health and suicide awareness. Have the conversations. End stigma. Begin now.

Welcome to Lighting Up The Sky.

I created this blog because I'm committed to making a difference in the fight for suicide prevention. I believe ending stigma around mental illness is critical to these efforts. Having conversations and speaking up are important ways to start. I believe we also need more research, better treatment, and a way to make resources and services more readily available to anyone who needs them.

Professionally, my background is in non-profit development and administration. Three years ago I went back to school so that I could move into a field that I cared about deeply. I am pursuing that career and am proud to now work as a counselor at a drug and alcohol treatment center located in the San Francisco Bay Area.

I'm a lifelong resident of California and love this state, especially the northern half. I have one grown son, who I adore. I make a lot of artsy crafty things. I love movies. I love superheroes. Especially Wonder Woman and Superman.

I enjoy sharing my writing, You can find my separate writing blog, here: Ink Splattered Soul.

And, I have a personal vested interest in suicide prevention. My mother, El Collie Kress. died by suicide in April of 2002, and my boyfriend, John Macaluso, died by suicide in April of 2017. They were both needed in this world, and their deaths were heartbreaking and tragic. My heart goes out to all fellow survivors of suicide loss, and I hope you find some comfort on this site.

I am also a survivor of two suicide attempts, one in 1987, and one thirty six years later, in 2013. I attribute both attempts to mental illness that was not being well managed. I suffer from PTSD and an eating disorder. I am also an alcoholic and addict in recovery. Far more than I would like, I understand what it's like to have stigmatized conditions.

I also believe in healing. I believe in recovery. I believe in reaching out and speaking out. I believe that every story is important and I believe that all of our voices matter.

Thank you for being here. I hope you find the information you are looking for and that you find some support and a lot of hope, too.

This Is Why I Write

This Is Why I Write

Our Voices Matter

In six weeks, this blog has been viewed by:

• over 5,000 people
• in twenty four different countries
• on six different continents

So, the blog has a new domain name, because this is our number one goal:

www.SuicidePreventionNow.com

According to the World Health Organization, close to 800,000 people die from suicide every year. In other words, one person every 40 seconds.

We must have these conversations.
We must end the stigma around mental illness.
We must identify effective treatment.
We must make treatment and resources readily available for all.

Our voices matter. We must begin now.

Thank you for spreading the word and sharing these resources.

This is Why I Write

Thank you Rachel, for your words.

Rachel Thompson is the author of the award-winning, bestselling Broken Places (one of IndieReader’s “Best of 2015” top books and 2015 Honorable Mention Winner in both the Los Angeles and the San Francisco Book Festivals), and the bestselling, multi-award-winning Broken Pieces, as well as two additional humor books, A Walk In The Snark and Mancode: Exposed.

You can learn more about Rachel Thompson, here.

You can find my own story, here.

And, you can find more reasons that I wrtie, here.

This Is Why I Write

One of the most important things you can do on this earth 

is to let people know they are not alone. 

― Shannon L. Alder

You eloquently put into words so many thoughts in my mind and on my heart....thank you for giving a loving voice to it all. - Teresa Macaluso Celli, Oakley, California

I just read your blog about suicide. You have power in words for others. A mighty survivor who can help many with your thoughts and knowledge. - RC, Birmingham Alabama

You always manage to say everything I have never been able to put into words. Please continue to document your journey because it is a voice so so many who have grief caught in their chests. There is dumbfounding value in all you write. - Mimi Tati Ottobani, Walnut Creek, California

I want to say thank you for loving and supporting John and for sharing that with the rest of us.

Bipolar depression comes with a deep self loathing that can be impossible to override... Your writings remind me that even if i don't want to be here for me, it is really important that I stay here for them. - AT, Berkeley, California

You have an expertise on the topic of suicide that I'm sure you wish you didn't have. It's great that you're using your experiences to help others. Stacey Freedenthal, PhD, LCSW

Psychotherapist and Consultant www.speakingofsuicide.com/ Author, Helping the Suicidal Person: Tips and Techniques for Professionals

You've opened my mind to a different view. Of course it's not a sin if someone dies of cancer and I can see how this line of thinking relates to mental illness. I will think differently about this in the future. Thank you for your perspective. - TF, Colorado Springs, Colorado

You are able to help me understand more than any other person has been able to do. Thank you for sharing your heart. Keep doing what you are doing! We definitely need your voice!- Joy Macaluso, Willmington, Ohio

Being blamed for a suicide is a very familiar story. I hate that so many of us have experienced this.  All I know is that it’s messing with our own grieving process to be dealing with this unnecessary burden. Che Broadnax, Brooklyn, New York

You are courageous for walking through the pain and sharing your experience so openly. I don't talk about this often but I tried committing suicide when I was 16. My mom made me promise that we wouldn't ever talk about because people would think I was crazy. You are helping a lot of people by bringing awareness to something that's painful to talk about. - SM, Lafayette, California

Once again you have put into words emotions that would seem impossible to explain. You are shedding a light onto mental illness and describing what so few people actually see and that in fact is a way of honoring John. - HM, Martinez, California

Thank you for your honesty. One issue I have with placing blame on others is that it detracts from addressing the actual causes of suicide and it perpetuates stigma. (Suicide is the 'fault' of a person, instead of the result of illnesses that we need to understand better.) - Shelly Sover, Albuquerque, New Mexico

It is very hard to live knowing our loved ones will never be coming back. Your blog can help many people that are experiencing what you have. Nami Nakamura, Illustrator, Remembering Dad: A Coloring Book for Grief, Loss and Comfort.

Your writing Is a gift - awareness is much needed for all whether it be those affected or not. - JN, Lima, Ohio

I feel guilty because I should have been able to save him. I should have seen the signs, they were right there in my face. I wish he felt he could have come to me about his underlying issues, and he didn’t think he had ANYONE. That is the guilt that eats at me. I was his person, he should have been able to come to me. We were the person closest to the one who died, so naturally people expect the answers from us and we don’t have the answers so they instantly shift to blame. - Kristi Burke, Fort Worth, Texas

Keep journaling in your blogs and keep reaching out to us. I know this is a hard journey without them but we can get through this together. - RC, Birmingham Alabama

I admire the beautiful way you tell your truth. It is tremendously moving and I hope that others may feel able to share their feelings, knowing that they are not alone. - LM, Pleasant Hill, California

Thank you! My heart is with you. I'm proud of what you do. - Bernice Estalilla, Quezon City, Philippines

Always, always, thank you for sharing! - Roxane Arnett, Camino, California

Love your truth. Hate thinking of the pain but love the compassion and beauty that you have opened the window to. You are braver than you know.  - Ann Mccolgan Tomaselli, Pleasant Hill, California

Unfortunately, like so many survivors, I can relate to being blamed. Grief can bring out the worst in some people. - JK, Michigan

Thank you so much for sharing. This is so personal and helps tremendously. -  Michelle Cook, Detroit Michigan

I have had suicidal ideation since I was about 10 years old. I almost never share it with anyone because there is no right reaction - it is either dismissed as dramatics, smothered with concern, or creates an awkward black cloud of silence. It waxes and wanes, and as I get older, there seems to be more waning. Your chronicling of your loss is helping me to focus on the people around me who would be left in the wake of my self destruction, who actually care. TA, Berkeley, CA

Blame really isn't helpful. I see it though as one of those things that people do to not to look at their own feelings. - HM, Lafayette, CA

Thanks so much for posting this. The last few weeks the guilt has been excruciating. In my head I know all the things you say but my heart is another story. Jenny Cain Folkerts, Covington, Georgia

I saw your post on FB with the link to your blog. You captured all the feelings I'm going through, but so far have not been able to get from my head to paper. I'm going to start a journal, I think I'm ready now. - TJ Walnut Creek, California

I'm sure so many people have benefited from your sharing of your raw feelings. I'm so sorry to hear about your struggles and losses. It sucks that there are so many of us. I have been open about my loss of my son, and was amazed to find so many others who wanted to confide about their losses from suicide. I find it helps in my own healing. CS, Moderator, Sharing Our Stories, Survivors of Suicide Loss Support Group

Thanks for all your posts about suicide prevention. As someone who spent a lot of his life with suicidal tendencies, I appreciate your efforts. I'm a survivor and know how unbelievably hard getting through those times are. I'm grateful to be alive today and do my best to live life to its fullest each day. Your efforts are important and valuable. - Rick Eckert, Concord, California

I appreciate learning more about how mental illness is a disease. Even though I know and love many family members and friends with mental illness, I too still fall into the ignorant thought processes at times that people who suffer from mental illness have choices. It's good to be reminded to check my biases.- Melissa Brown, Canaan, New York

Thank you for walking us through your stages. It gives so much hope for resolution. - AL, Berkeley, CA

As someone who has loved a person who struggled as it sounds like John struggled, I am very familiar with the responsibility and guilt you are feeling. I add my name to those who thank you for your breathtaking honesty and the beauty of your writing. - Josh Room, Berkeley, California

Your writing has helped me navigate through the roller coaster ride of feelings & emotions that I now go through. By sharing your journey , you help countless others. In times of loss we can be surrounded by loved ones yet still feel all alone.... hearing from someone who has/ is going through it helps on a whole different level. - JT, Walnut Creek, California

Your writing is so clear and in many ways makes me and others understand many of the things we do not talk about. Know you are contributing tremendously to all of our well being.  - Elsa Guerra, Oakland, California

Absolutely, phenomenally, and endlessly brave to write these words that express feelings that no one should ever have to feel.  You are changing the world Chelise, mark my words. - Maddi Grady, Sebastopol, California

I work in adult mental health and appreciate your words and efforts to educate and decrease stigma. - Jena Nawy Tunis, Berkeley, California

Beautiful, sad, painful and raw. Thank you for sharing this. Your words will make a world of change for you and others. I'm so happy you have such a positive spin on past tragedies and pain. It so important for people to know they aren't alone- Brandy Anne Martin, Encinitas, California

Guilt seems to have the strongest hold on everyone who goes through this. - AF, Colorado

You are a gifted writer, able to put down emotions and thoughts on a page, that many cannot even manage to vocalize. - Lynne Wright, Fremont, California

You are someone who gets it. I am sure he needed that. I hope that this horrible disease gets the true help it needs. - Beth Hall,  Orlando, Florida

Thank you for so openly sharing your story. The world needs you. I fully support you and the gift you are giving by openly sharing your story. - Francesca Bunnin Cavanaugh, El Cerrito, California

Thank you for being so authentic. I admire your strength, honesty and bravery. Your words are powerful and bring hope to many. - Amy Moore-McDannald, Portland, Oregon

I continue to struggle daily - some days are worse than others. It does help to hear about others who have lost someone they love to suicide. - Nancy Varella Lendway, Dublin, California

Thank you again for this raw and beautiful writing and for protecting your John. I will protect my partner Diana, who died by suicide, too. - Landon J. Woolston, North Miama, Florida

I’ve often wondered what would bring my 20 year nephew who was in the prime of his life to make the decision to end his life. I still cry at the thought of what kind of pain he must have been in to think that life was no longer worth living, that the world would be a better place without him.  Of course, it is not. People don’t understand why he would do it - they either don’t know he had clinical depression or don’t understand the reality of how severe depression can be - and did try to find someone or something to blame.  The questions will never go away. You just carry on and sometimes get misty eyed thinking of what you shoulda, coulda, woulda done, had you known how deep his pain went. As they say, you don’t “get over it” but you do learn to live with it, sadly. - CG, San Pablo, California

Survivors are not victims; anyone who thinks sharing our stories means we can't get past them doesn't understand one doesn't equal the other. - Rachel Thompson, Author/Advocate

From the Survivors of Loss of Loved Ones to Suicide (SOLOS) website:

Research has proven that through connecting with others who have experienced the same traumas as ourselves, individuals can truly do something amazing and open the door to healing -whether that be connecting with others who have struggled with depression, anxiety, self-harm or who have been through a suicide loss.