Self-pity is taboo in our culture, tinged with shame like suicide. No one has any patience with a “pity party.” We are supposed to be strong in the face of grief. We are not supposed to feel sorry for ourselves or to want others to feel sorry for us. But with suicide loss, we can feel small rather than strong, less than instead of more than . We can need sympathy and empathy from others, not just in the early months but later as bitterness sets in.
Self-pity is part of the process. Survivors are the living
victims of suicide. The lost loved one’s pain is passed on to us, along with
shock, remorse, abandonment. Our worlds are in pieces on the ground. We are,
quite simply, bereft.
As if there isn’t guilt enough, I feel bad when I’m crying
for myself rather than for my son. A mother should feel her child’s pain and howl
at missing that child, and I do. Then sometimes, I tumble into the victim pit
and feel cursed. I am reminded of other grievous losses--my father’s suicide,
and my mother’s death when I was 19. Self-pity engulfs me and leaves me feeling small, helpless, and exposed. Sometimes I feel like a motherless
child -- and a one-child-less mother.
I cannot summon any strength or spiritual connection in
those moments. I retreat into self-pity and wallow. Maybe we survivors need
those moments away from the stress of striving to reclaim our lives.
“A victim,” writes Karyn Kedar, “is a person who feels less
than whole.” In her book, The Bridge to
Forgiveness (2006), she urges us to “keep moving away from hurt, keep
moving toward wholeness” (p. 22). She sees anger as an antidote to victimhood,
a necessary stop en route to forgiveness (p. 43):
“Well-placed anger is
a healing agent. It tells you that what happened is wrong. Really wrong. It
reminds you that you did not deserve the offense. Anger can restore a sense of
self, of self-worth. It allows the victim in you to disappear. . . Anger can
transform a victim into a person who believes he or she deserves goodness,
wholeness and love.”
My anger gets spent in short bursts and quickly dissolves
into tears of self-pity. I need to give full vent to anger, yes. But too, I need to
feel whatever I am feeling without judgment. All emotions are welcome here, says a sign at the children's memorial garden where we now have a stone for Noah.
To my fellow survivors: It’s OK to feel sorry for yourself.
I share your sorrow.
