A Mother's War-time Eulogy and Grief After Suicide

 Moments of collective grief can be tough for suicide loss survivors. Often, we turn away because we’re already living in a world of pain and can’t bear any more. Other times, we feel keenly attuned to public grief because it mirrors our own .  

So it was for me listening to Rachel Goldberg-Polin’s eloquent eulogy for her son, Hersh, one of the six Israeli hostages murdered by Hamas in Gaza two weeks ago. My heart ached for this courageous mother, somehow able to speak her unspeakable pain in public so soon. Though the circumstances clearly differ, some of her words echo the feelings of parents bereaved by suicide. I want to highlight parts of the eulogy here in the belief that every grief informs another and unites us in common humanity.

For 23 years I was privileged to have this most stunning treasure, to be Hersh’s Mama. I’ll take it and say thank you. How many of us begin with gratitude when speaking about our loss? It took me many months after my son’s death to be able to say the word again, much less to own it.

Now I no longer have to worry about you. I know you are no longer in danger. Goldberg-Polin endured 11 months of anguished waiting, not knowing her son’s fate, while she advocated tirelessly for his release. Many suicide loss survivors undergo years of worry about struggling loved ones, not knowing when they might get a 3AM phone call. Some feel relief when death frees loved ones from their torment—and themselves from constant vigil.

You squeezed into your young life a lot of experiences. And that gives me relief and comfort. Hersh was a beautiful, dark-haired young man with an open-hearted smile. He looked like he could have been a cousin of my son, Noah, who had also lived multiple lives by 21. Many bereaved parents describe the great vitality of their children. If a life is to be cut short, let it be a rich life? Small comfort, but something.

Hersh’s father spoke at the funeral of having “failed” Hersh and the other hostages. His mother spoke of the sickening feeling that we all could not save them. I think we all did every single thing we could. How we survivors can relate to self-blame, one of the hardest things to cope with after suicide. Experts advise that if we put ourselves on trial for a loved one’s suicide, we should consider all the evidence, including the ways we tried to help.

As we transform our hope [that you would be rescued] into grief and this new unknown brand of pain, . . . help shower us with healing and resilience … help us to rise again. How many survivors kept hoping that our loved one would find relief from some treatment, would feel joy again and return to their former self? We keep hoping until suddenly, it’s too late. Every morning, the unbelievable shock of their absence. Every hour, how we must wrench our poor hearts from worrying and hoping about the living to mourning the dead.

I know you’re right here, Hersh’s mother said, pointing to her heart; I just have to learn to feel you in a different way. How, I continue to wonder, do we learn to love a memory?

To the Goldberg-Polin family: Thank you so much for sharing your grief. May Hersh’s memory be a blessing.

To the parents of Palestinian children killed in Gaza: Though your grief is no less intense, we hear less about it in the media. I hope that one day, we can hear your stories and eulogies more fully in English to better understand your experience. I’m reminded of how, years before the current conflict, bereaved Israeli and Palestinian parents came together in organizations like Parents’Circle-Families Forum to mourn their loved ones and build relationships for peace.

To my fellow suicide loss survivors: Some days, we need to practice self-care and turn away from the sorrows around us. Other days, I hope we can recognize and greet others walking the mourner’s path, wherever they are in the world.