For this exercise, I took excerpts from the first eight weeks of my journal, written months before this course started. Although months have passed, I have days when I feel exactly as awful as I did in those first weeks. There are days that I focus on surviving–making it to the end of school so I can come undone. Some people still avoid me or avoid eye contact. Others act like nothing happened, including Cooper’s life. Not just his death, but his life. Those are the people I’d like to smack. I’m more certain each day that sharing my story is the right thing to do and that being honest about Cooper’s death by suicide will help more people than it hurts.
If I stop pushing forward, it seems like he just died. Just like when we came home from vacation and Coop had to begin to adjust, I’ll have to begin to adjust. As long as Logan and Cass were around, reality didn’t fully sink in. What’s scary is that I don’t see a way to make things better. I can’t fast forward through this. I know that. Of course, this is my greatest loss. Not only did my child die, he took his own life. He needed help and I wasn’t enough. My poor sweet boy. I’m so grateful Cooper left a note on the phone. It does help me understand. And I think I’m glad I found the tree. He was in a beautiful, peaceful place when he died. When he fucking shot himself.
I feel like the spaceship in Apollo 13, where they had to shut down all but the most critical systems to conserve fuel or whatever their reason was. I’m in survival mode.
I survived the week. It’s tempting to take some time off, but what if every day off feels like today? Some days, I think I’m doing better. Those may be the days I don’t allow myself to think. It’s when I think that I get into trouble. If I stop pushing forward, it seems like he just died.
It’s been good to see _____ and _____. I think we needed this time. It’s been so hard, though, too. Retelling it means thinking about it and going through it again. Just being around people is exhausting. I probably seem bitchy or whiny or dramatic. Maybe I am. I don’t know. What I do know is for every minute I’m “on,” I need a minute to recover. Crazy.
______ hasn’t looked me in the eye, much less spoken to me, since Coop died. I won’t act like nothing happened, though. I don’t intend to be melodramatic, but I also don’t intend to ignore what happened or act as if Cooper didn’t exist. I don’t know what ______s’ collective problem is. I wanted to slap _____. Or tell her to fuck off. Either one. I sure don’t feel apologetic. If people are uncomfortable, that’s their problem. I suppose this trial thins the herd.
I’m a novelty right now, and I don’t love it. While I’m not looking for attention, I think sharing the process of grieving the loss of Cooper could help people. I’m confident that being honest about his dying by suicide is the right thing to do.
Missing you has really kicked in this week. I don’t know what happened, why the missing you intensified so much. It’s awful.
A bereaved mother. That’s me.
Woods Writes 