****Trigger Warning: discussions of suicide, death, grief. Please only read if you feel comfortable doing so. If you are feeling suicidal, please skip to the end of this post and contact the national helpline for immediate assistance. Remember, you are not alone!***

Last week marked the three-year anniversary of losing a loved one to suicide. That’s a pretty strange sentence to type out. It feels like it hasn’t been that long and I remember it all like it was yesterday. Read my previous posts for more details and reflections of my initial grief – today, I’ll discuss grief three years later. In some ways, it still feels as fresh as it was right in the beginning. It’s been three years of losing you, and I’m still trying to figure out how to adjust my life to this new normal.

I’ve been staring at a blank page for longer than I’d like to admit. Trying to find the words to capture how I’m feeling three years later. An emptiness or numbness is ever present. It seems I can’t quite describe my current state – where everything and yet nothing has changed. I know that I’ll miss you forever, but I’m still not sure how to actually live with that. I guess I’ve been doing it, because somehow three years have passed, but I don’t think I’ve been doing it well.

The past three years have been pretty hell-ish to be quite honest. I had to work really hard in that first year to pull myself out of the dark place I was plunged into during the early days of grief. Sometimes it feels like I might be slipping back there, but it’s not so obvious, so I have to be careful that I don’t slip into it. I changed jobs and moved to Toronto, which was good for awhile but brought up other issues. I got in a car accident, a situationship, and debt. I moved back home to try and help some of my mental health concerns, but honestly, it’s still been pretty challenging.

But there’s some moments where it feels okay: Releasing my first book in your memory to talk about my own struggles with mental health (and a second book coming soon). Camping on my own and having the actual strength to do so, and enjoy it. Running with 200 of my new friends all lit up in the night sky (shout-out to run club which has been keeping me sane lately). Being with your family and friends, simply enjoying the moment and time together. I hold onto these moments as tightly as I can, not wanting them to pass me by.

When I reflect, I don’t know if you’d be happy for me, or upset, or angry. I do my best to make decisions that will benefit my mental health, hoping that if you were still here, you’d be proud of me for doing so. But I can never quite be sure how you would’ve reacted. Yet, I see you everywhere and feel you around, all the time. So regardless of how you would’ve reacted, I can at least know that you aren’t really too far away.

Grief is like a fog, and sometimes it lifts for me to see clearly. But those moments are few and far between. More often than not, the fog is ever present as I try to make decisions, and every move feels a bit hazy. It’s hard to know what direction to take. It has impacted me so much more than I thought, and sometimes I feel guilty for letting it impact me this much. I should be living more, shouldn’t I? How can I when this grief feels all-consuming?

There is always guilt. Guilt that I’m grieving too much, guilt that I’m not grieving enough. Guilt that I haven’t made enough of a big deal on your death anniversary. Guilt that I think about it all the time – even if it’s not overt, it is always there, underneath the surface. Guilt that I am not making my own life truly count. I can’t seem to escape it, this shadow of grief that follows me everywhere.

Sometimes grief looks like sobbing alone on your couch, and sometimes it looks like pushing yourself to do a social run with your friends. It might be writing, connecting with nature, or taking time to rest. It’s definitely confusion and questioning all of your life choices. However it shows up, it’s always there. Learning to live with this grief is a challenge, and I’m just doing the best I can right now. I know it is always going to be here and will always be a process of riding the waves up and down.

Truthfully, I have no idea what I’m doing. Maybe I didn’t before either, but grief turns everything on its head. It really sucks. Unfortunately, I don’t see it getting better anytime soon – but I suppose grief is the price we pay for love. I know that my love was deep because I grieve so deeply, and I guess in one way or another, that makes it all worthwhile. Love is never lost, it’s just transformed into something else. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.

Resources

I have a few resources to share that may help on your grief journey, if you’re also grieving the loss of someone. Check them out:

• A website that discuss normalizing grief: https://www.normalizegrief.com/
• A very helpful PDF guide that discusses Hope and Healing after Suicide: PDF guide
• My book, Blooming: Poetry for Seasons of Change, discusses my own mental health struggles and parts of my grief journey. If you are interested in exploring it, you can find more details and ways to order a copy here.

***If you are contemplating suicide, please seek support immediately. Canada has developed a Suicide Prevention Hotline that is available 24/7 when you dial 9-8-8. You can also contact the Canadian Mental Health Association for ongoing support via their website, https://cmha.ca/ YOU ARE NOT ALONE!! ❤ ****