i dont really know how to talk about my dad's suicide. most people dont really want me to, it is too hard for them to sit and listen without crawling out of their skin as i talk. i watch it happen as it comes up lightly in conversation and as i go deeper they withdraw. recoil. i can see them trying to stay there, maybe trying to think of something better, something to say to me. but its the same always, they look so lost.
its not like i go into details about how it happened or anything, i think most people are just so far removed from the topic, and its not like its a daily conversation. i get it, talking about suicide is taboo.
coming away from my fathers death, i felt raw, similar to when i had just given birth 4 months prior. open. dreaming. gutted. exposed.
now 3 months later, the daily aknowledgements are gone finally. i dont have to tell everyone i run into what happened. they all know now. i dont have to see the pity in others eyes as they struggle with words of condolence, i never really understood that anyway. why was everyone sorry? they didnt do anything to cause this.
but, as time has gone on i have started to realize what is coming from me and this experience. i am learning a new kind of gentle. i need gentleness right now and i wish i could have a sign around my neck for the lady who yells at me at the grocery store because i'm blocking the isle after having one of those brain malfunctions that tend to happen after losing someone close. where one part of your brain has to remind the other part that he is dead. that you cant call him and ask if he wants to come over for dinner. oh, thats right. i forgot.
i need to be gentle to others, because you never know what news they may have gotten that day. or a week ago or even a year ago. this kind of pain doesnt fade with time. you just learn a new normal, that chronic ache just sitting there. finding new ways around it, to accomodate it. but its not like it changes.
its hard. and i'm not sorry. time doesnt heal all wounds, and i dont think i want it to.