The Month of February

 February is here. Never in my life, before 2018, did I hate a month. But I hate February. 

Stepping into this month, flipping the calendar over, starting the new month is something I dread. There is a physical, emotional and mental shift that takes place in me. And it's not some small change, it feels very large and heavy and black. Suddenly I'm carrying around this 50 pound weight of grief and it's like I've been switched on to an ultra-sensitive mode. Everything seems to be a trigger. 

I can't concentrate, I don't want to be around people, I can't focus on my work, I'm short with Jacob, I can't fall asleep at night and I want to sleep the day away. It feels like there's an iron ball in my chest, making it hard to take a deep breath. I feel like I'm perpetually hunched over with the weight of grief on my shoulders. And my mind is constantly running through thoughts while at the same time, being stuck on a static channel. I can feel the tears, right behind my eyes. 

This February will be three year since AJ left us. 

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I wrote that top portion at the beginning of the month. I knew what was coming. I knew February 23 would arrive, whether I wanted it to or not. I spent all of February dreading that day.

And then it was here. After much debating about what to do for the day, I finally decided on some self-care. About mid-morning I found myself thinking "you know, maybe this day isn't so bad. Maybe I put too much weight on this day. Why should I let it have this power over me? Why don't I just change my mindset?" I could hear my therapist cheering me on in my head. :) 

And for most of the day, I was able to keep that mindset. I really started to think that maybe this day didn't have to be so bad. And if this day didn't have to be so bad, that meant the whole month of February doesn't need to be that bad. 

Until about 4pm. And it was like suddenly, I hit a wall of grief. I can't remember exactly what time it was three years ago, but I know it was late afternoon when I was told at my office there were some sheriff deputies waiting to talk to me. I know it was late afternoon when I was told that AJ had taken his own life. 

I was done with the day. I wanted to crawl into bed and let the rest of this awful day pass me by. And I am so grateful to my parents who one, not only made this possible by taking over Jacob duty but two, allowed me to do what I needed in this moment. 

I'm going to be real honest here and say that the month of February has been really shitty as a whole. I spent the month struggling. I was sad, I was depressed, I was angry. I struggled through what my therapist pointed out to me was probably a depressive episode. I struggled with the fact that AJ killed himself. I felt overwhelmed by stress at work because of the combination of the shear number of projects I had going and the fact that it took every ounce of energy I had to concentrate enough to do those projects. I ended up at urgent care one day because of a rash on my arm just to be told that I had shingles. And I had to make some hard personal decisions. 

It's been shit. I spent most of the month off social media because I already had so much anger and sadness inside of me that I couldn't handle to know what else was going on in the world. I couldn't handle the nonsense and ignorance. I had no energy to argue with people on Facebook about politics - me! (haha) 

Slowly I've started to reenter the world of social media. And that anger is only burning brighter. Maybe it's because I'm grieving and mourning the injustice of losing someone I love in such a horrific way that I feel so angry at all the other injustices our world is facing. I feel so angry that people seem incapable of choosing love over anything else. I feel so angry at the shear lack of empathy and care. I feel so angry at the ignorance and hate. I feel so angry at the stupid political and pointless posts from our elected leaders. I feel so angry that we have to fight so hard for what should be basic human rights. I feel so angry that the world is such a broken place. I feel so angry that we have the capabilities and power to make things better, but for whatever reasons, we aren't doing it. I just feel so angry at it all. 

And I feel torn about how to find a place in-between that keeps me angry enough to want to continue to fight for what I believe and to not let the anger drown me. 

I do know I need to spend some more time with God. I need to make the time sit in His presence and let the quiet in. Fortunately, Lent is a good time to start doing this. 

I realize this post took a completely direction from when it started. But this is where my thoughts have been lately. These are the things I'm struggling with. This is where my heart is. 

Love Is

 Over the past year or so, I've thought about this blog post a lot. What I wanted to say and who I wanted to write it to - you or Austin directly. But the last few months have thrown everything else out the window. Until today. 

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. Last year, I wrote a blog post about the day and considering just sharing that again today. But then as I was looking through my Memories on Facebook, I saw this post from my Mom. 

I clicked the link to listen to the song. And immediately fell apart. 

Music is a powerful tool. 

Which reminded me of why I'm now writing this post. 

After Austin passed, his high school graduating class decided they wanted to collect money to commission a choral piece of music, written and composed in Austin's memory. (If you don't know, Austin was a choir director and a damn fine one at that.) And that's exactly what they did.

They reached out to composer Connor Koppin, who is also a Wartburg grad. And in turn, Connor reached out to Brian Newhouse, a poet he's worked with often on different pieces. 

Here's where I want to tell you that not only was this a perfect and amazing way to remember and honor Austin, but the process of the entire thing was very much needed for us as Austin's family. It was cathartic in many ways. And for that, I am so grateful. 

Brian reached out to us as family and asked if we would mind having a conversation about Austin and why this piece was being commissioned in his memory. It was during that conversation, that some real healing started to take place among us. For me, at least, it also felt like this piece was being created for a larger reason. During that call, Brian told us a bit about his personal life and it was like an immediate connection - Brian would have the right words for this song. 

A few weeks later, we got a copy of the music, along with a digital recording of the music and parts, but no voices singing along. Even as someone who can read music, I had a hard time putting the music and words together. But the more I listened to the music, the more I read the words, and the more I sang along, the more I fell in love. 

STOP here if you aren't interested in my interpretation of the music or if you want to listen to the song yourself first. Skip to the video at the end of this post.

 

While I surrounded myself in the music and lyrics, I couldn't help but think how beautiful the music and composition sound. But I also recognized that it an extremely hard piece of music. It was not a song that most choirs would be able to pick up and have ready within a few rehearsals. But I liked this aspect. I thought 'this is totally Austin'. First, he would have enjoyed the complexity of the music, the challenge for his choirs. And second, his life was not easy; it was hard and complicated. And you can feel that in the music. 

To me, this song feels like a letter to Austin. We're telling him all these things - how we carry his name and love fills our hearts. And as the music changes, it's like we're yelling these things at Austin because he's no longer listening to us. Then the line "so that one day you may sing" is so quiet and peaceful - Austin finally listened. And he was finally free. And we can praise God by singing holy, holy, holy because he is free from pain and sorrow. He is singing again in heaven. 

Here are the lyrics: 

A river carries your name through every bend of my heart.
May this love named for you, return to you.
Swarming your shadows to the depths of the sea. 
A river carries your name.
A new sun rose on the day of your birth.
It floods each acre in the fields of my heart.
Let this love bind your shadows.
Let this love bind your shadows, send them reeling into silence. 
So that one day, you may sing:
Holy, this breath is holy.
This living holy.
This love, holy, holy, holy. 

And here is the premiere performance of "Love Is" by the Tipton Chamber Choir from March 2020, with an introduction by Brianne Magill.

I apologize for the quality of video; I was holding my cell phone and Jacob may have been whispering to me during some parts. :) 

If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, you are not alone. Please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 800-273-8255.  

World Suicide Prevention Day

September is Suicide Prevention Month and today, September 10, is World Suicide Prevention Day. I can't lie and say that seeing so many social media posts about this day doesn't bring a large amount of pain. But I realize the importance of this day. To speak out. To help end the stigma. To let someone else, who might be struggling, know that they do matter. 

Because here's the thing. I'm on the other side of a suicide. I am someone that struggles with the unexpected loss and grief after someone I love ended their life. And it is a place that I wish no one else would have to be in. 

The grief and pain I felt after losing Austin was something I've never experienced. It was raw and sharp and heavy. And while the edges are slowly starting to dull, it is still a pain I have trouble explaining. We as Austin's loved ones were left with so many unanswered questions. That's truly one of the hardest things. We have hundreds of questions and we will never get a single answer. 

These past few days have been especially hard. Was it because I started seeing things for Suicide Prevention Awareness? Maybe. It also just seemed that Austin was around in a lot of places lately. I still can't accurate describe the feelings and emotions I've struggled with over the past couple of days. If I had to try, each day felt like one big, deep sigh. It was hard to concentrate on anything. I literally wanted to do nothing. I was extremely tired, feeling down and even my body felt heavy and exhausted. 

It's these days that I really hate the fact that Austin is gone. That he left us. That he left Jacob. It's a deep pain for me. 

But then I try to think about the type of pain Austin must have been in. I try to think about how low he must have felt. And still that provides no answers and only more pain. 

I've struggled to talk a lot openly about Austin and how he died. But I think that I need to. I have a voice I can use to help others. I have a voice that could maybe save someone else. 

When was the last time you checked in on some of your loved ones? When was the last time you made sure they knew you loved them. Or that you're always available to listen? Or that they are worthy? 

The WHO recently reported that every 40 seconds, a life is lost to suicide. Every 24 minutes, one American dies by firearm suicide. That is far too many souls lost. 

The Coalition to Stop Gun Violence recently created a new website to help prevent firearm suicide. I urge you to get educated, as I plan to do myself. 

Another helpful article, written by an attempt survivor: Stop telling people "It Gets Better".

Bishop Elizabeth Eaton of the ELCA recently shared this message: "Suicide can be prevented. We are never beyond God's mercy and compassion."  

And if you know of someone grieving the loss of someone by suicide, please do not call those suicide victims selfish or weak. And other reminder of why we should stop saying "committed suicide". 

So today, on this World Suicide Prevention Day, and every day, in memory of Austin, I ask that you get educated, that you become aware, that you reach out to your loved ones and that you help end the stigma.