I hate Februarys. As January creeps along with its cold, stark, dark days my anxiety starts closing in. My mind starts rehearsing a January 6...7...now 8 years ago. The questions are the same and likely always will be. "What could I have done?". "What did I miss?". "Why didn't she tell me her true thoughts?". And, the most damning lie, "What did I do wrong?" and "Why wasn't love enough to heal?". These are the thoughts you forever rehearse when someone you love dearly dies by suicide-- and it's why I hate Februarys. February 13, 2015, I lost Willow. My cousin. My best friend. Lifelong sister who I grew up with just moments down the road. February...you suck.
To most people I might look like a fairly high functioning human. I'm now a nursing professor, business owner, juggling committees, charitable work, friendships, teaching fitness classes, marriage, grown kids, a home, a lovable beagle rescue mix. But February tests me. Inside I am a cauldron of-- I shoulda...woulda...coulda. From my conversations with other survivors this is not unique. Suicide leaves a unique trail of grief on the hearts of the loss survivors.
Willow took her own life while vacationing in Florida the day before her real life was supposed to resume again. Maybe the starkness of the reality between how she wanted to live and how she was living was too painful to face and she felt trapped. Last night I had a dream I went to Florida and visited Disney and Willow was working as Winnie the Pooh (a character she adored) in the Magic Kingdom. I don't even know if Pooh Bear cruises the Kingdom these days, but it was a comforting thought to cling to that she was just hiding out and having fun and not really...dead.
I don't share this for sympathy. I've had many angels in my path help carry the weight of this grief. It doesn't exactly get easier you just learn how to carry it and still carry on. The grief doesn't get smaller--you just grow larger around the enormity of pain and grow in a different way then you imagined. I share this for awareness. There are on average 130 deaths by suicide a day in the United States and many more attempts. Mental health care is health care. We have to collectively erase the stigma and improve access so everyone can get the care they need.
In 2017 I traveled to the AFSP Advocacy Forum in Washington, DC to advocate for a national 3-digit mental health/ suicide prevention hotline with thousands of other volunteer advocates from every state. Last year this dream came to fruition with the creation of the 988 hotline--which you should call if you need help or know someone who needs help due to a mental health crisis. It was a sweet victory for that line to go live. But, in my unspoken thoughts I wondered what would have happened in February of 2015 if 988 was active. Would Willow have called? Would she have sought help? I don't know. I hope she would have.
I don't really know, but I really need to let myself ask those questions when they arise and feel the feelings and let them go to make room for love, compassion, good memories, and the smiles that we shared for 45 years of my life. I've learned through painful attempts suppressing the questions only prolongs the pain.
I hate Februarys. And, that's OK. Some things are allowed to suck. Forever.
If you need help...please know you matter. Please call 988 or visit afsp.org and get help. The world is better with you in it and Februarys will be better if you stay.
