Two months (!?) into this journey of After, my grief has found a new place. It has a room in my mind or heart where I can actually close the door and get lulled into a sense of being able to cope. I am able to go through the routines of my day, shower, eat breakfast, teach, grade papers, and keep the door closed and the feelings at bay.
Sometimes I allow myself to open the door. I look at my son Tom’s picture and think about him. His jokes, “that” look, his puns, the laughter he brought to the house. And then I cry. Sometimes it is a single tear down the cheek with a half-smile that matches his. Other times it is a bursting, sobbing rant, and I am afraid the neighbors will hear. Generally, I only open this door at home, when I am alone or with my husband.
Sometimes someone else opens the door. They ask me how I am, or, not knowing he is gone, ask after him. I do my best stop the door from opening, like when someone is forcing their way into your home and you put your foot there or push back against it. Sometimes it closes; sometimes it does not.
And sometimes the door sneaks open by itself. Like it does not quite latch tightly and the grief finds a way out. Sometimes it leaks out and I can dodge it; other times it rushes out over me before I can stop it. That often happens when I am driving and a song’s lyrics connect with my conscience or sub-conscience. It happens when I think I see him walking across the high school campus. It happens when I allow myself to picture his final moments.
I am told it gets easier. Tears will come less often. Perhaps the door’s latch will get more secure, and I will not feel the need to open it as frequently. But the door will always be there, as will the memory of our son who left us too soon.
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Thinkstock image by xuanhuongho
Kimberly A. Starr earned a Bachelor of Arts in Theatre from Whitman College and a Masters in Theatre Production from Central Washington University. After her son 16-year-old son, Tom, died by suicide in March 2015, she started writing as a way to process her feelings around her loss. Her pieces about her grief and the aftermath of her son's death have been published by The Mighty, Our Side of Suicide, The Ugly Shoes Club, and other national and international blogs and publications. She compiled the writings from the first 457 days of her loss into a book called, 457 Days; A Mother’s Journey Along Grief’s Path. In addition, Starr owns and operates StarrBright Suicide Prevention Presentations. After Tom’s death, she felt called to learn more about suicide and mental health conditions. Starr regularly presents research-based information in combination with her son’s writings with a broad range of audiences in hopes others will not experience the depth of pain involved in losing a loved one to suicide. Previous audiences have included Pacific Northwest National Laboratory Wellness Program, Yakima Valley College Grandview Campus – in classrooms and for student groups, Kadlec Hospital, Washington State Day of Remembrance Conference for Gold Star Families, Prosser School District – in classrooms and for school staff, Prosser Rotary Club, and multiple mental health and suicide prevention summits.
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