Suicide Tsunami: Living in the Aftermath

By Sheralyn Rose

Grieving a suicide can be an isolating experience. Shrouded in secrecy, stigma, and shame, suicide not only can be almost impossible to discuss openly, it also challenges many of our most fundamental values. Following the suicide of her husband, author Sheralyn Rose felt everything familiar had been swept away by an enormous wave. Attempting to adjust to the sadness that threatened to engulf her led her to question what influences someone to take their own life. Her need to understand the pain that precedes suicide motivated her to reveal the emotional roller coaster that often follows this dramatic event.

In Suicide Tsunami, Rose uses her own experience as background, weaving stories of others through hers to create a collage of life beyond suicide. She exposes personal and moving accounts and ties them together to show how various people are affected. Identifying common reactions of confusion, embarrassment, and rejection, she is able to give this unique sorrow form. Suicide Tsunami exposes the soul of suicide grief; it brings us to the brink of what makes us human and shows that living in the aftermath can be rich and fulfilling.

I recommend this book for anyone who is surviving the loss of a loved one. It is a very personal account of Sheralyns journey through this loss and also other individuals who have experienced a similar loss It is compassionate and discusses many aspects of suicide that many people would find difficult to talk about. Dr Jennifer Rathjen, Clinical Psychologist

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Jul 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781452529233

Sheralyn Rose

Sheralyn Rose, a medical sociologist, has had a lengthy career as a health practitioner and policy consultant journeying from the remote jungles of Papua New Guinea to Australia and England. After years of traveling the globe, she has retired to garden and write in the rainforest of Northern NSW, Australia.

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Copyright © 2015 Sheralyn Rose.

Photos by Sheralyn Rose

Cover Art by Catherine Garrod copyright (2015)

www.cgarrodart.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press

A Division of Hay House

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www.balboapress.com.au

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

ISBN: 978-1-4525-2922-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-2923-3 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 07/03/2015

CONTENTS

Suicide Tsunami

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter 1: Missing

Chapter 2: Discovery

Chapter 3: Questions

Chapter 4: Answers

Chapter 5: Grieving

Chapter 6: Relationships

Chapter 7: Chaos

Chapter 8: Living

Chapter 9: Sanctum

Chapter 10: Resilience

Chapter 11: Acceptance

Chapter 12: Resolution

Chapter 13: Release

Chapter 14: Reflections

Afterword

About The Author

Suicide Help Lines

Contributors

References

SUICIDE TSUNAMI

I recommend this book for anyone who is surviving the loss of a loved one. It is a very personal account of Sheralyn’s journey through this loss and also other individuals who have experienced a similar loss. They are all very courageous to reveal the depth of their devastation, contributing to a greater understanding and eventually acceptance of the loss. It is compassionate and discusses many aspects of suicide that many people would find difficult to talk about.

Dr Jennifer Rathjen

Clinical Psychologist

Sheralyn Rose presents a moving and compelling account of the anguish and impact of suicide suffered by loved ones left to cope with such terrible loss. Told with sensitivity, maturity, and compassion, this is a story of love, courage, and life that touches the heart and brings to light the aftermath of, sadly, an increasingly prevalent occurrence. A brilliant book that deserves to be read widely, it makes a landmark contribution to our understanding of the wider implications of suicide and our need to confront mental health issues.

Brigadier (Rtd) Chris Roberts AM, CSC

Author, The Landing at Anzac

By the same author (writing as Sheralyn McGuinness)

Life in a Shoe-Box in Taim Bilong Misus Bilong Armi, (2001), Pandanus Press, Canberra

Early Menopause. Why Me?, (2003), Michelle Anderson, Melbourne

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Nothing occurs in isolation. The aftermath of suicide is testimony to this. Peter’s suicide impacted so many people it is impossible to list them all. Each reached out to do what he or she could to ease the burden of sadness. Rather than omit one person, I would like to offer a greatly inclusive and heartfelt thank you to the numerous people who have been connected with this story.

This includes, but is not exclusive to: Liz and Harry Clarsen, Chris and Tim Ford, Wendy Roberts, Jane and Eric Pearson, Gerry McCormack, Mary and Ken Wright, Andy Platt, John Paget, Bron and Chris Rose, Marlena and Michael Jeffrey, Judy and Chris Roberts, Stephanie and Russ Lloyd, Di McGuinness, Cass McGuinness, Jean and Dale Fotheringham, Josephine Blogg, John Blogg, Wendy MacCormick, Julie Najdovski, Mark Cruickshank, Peter Worgan, Kathy Swan, Pam Burton, Joanne Edirnelian, Dianne Clark, Malcolm Cotton, Gaynor Hicks, Jennifer Rathjen, Lucy Brogden, Kath Lavery, Rick Schmidt, the RMC Class of ’66, 4 Platoon B Company 7RAR (first tour of South Vietnam 1967‒68), and the Brethren of RCDS London 1990.

Some organizations involved were: Wirreanda Nursery, my deepest love and respect for this amazing group of wonderful friends; Northern Beaches Local Area Command NSW Australian Police, with particular thanks to the duty officers who brought humanity into a tough job; NSW State Emergency Services; volunteer firefighters, especially Coal and Candle Rural Fire Brigade; NSW Scouts; Vietnam Veteran Counseling Service; and Forensic Counselors, Glebe.

To the many people bereaved by suicide who so generously shared their stories, I extend my sincere thanks for their candid honesty and the wish that in the telling, others may gain some comfort.

Thanks also to Cathie Garrod, for allowing me to use her inspiring painting Tempest for the book cover.

At the core, however, it is my children, David, Robert, and Larissa, and their families who were, and remain, most intimately involved. Without them, I could never have endured this journey. They make my life worth living, and I know their father loved them beyond measure.

INTRODUCTION

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Life can change in an instant. Mine did. It happened one day when a man went to an isolated spot in rugged bush land and took his own life. That man was exceptionally gifted; he was a greatly loved family man, and he had every reason to live. That man was Peter, my husband.

Suicide exploded into my world, a savage, unwelcome intruder, propelling me to a prison of incomprehension and aching despair, shattering my simplistic world where life was for living—not destroying. I grappled with disbelief, repeatedly having to tell myself that his self-inflicted death was real. I tried to find reason where none seemed apparent. I searched desperately for anything that appeared familiar. But everything had changed.

At first, I was numb with shock, unable to absorb the impact of how he had died. Later, a whirlwind of desolation tumbled and orbited around me as the intensity of my heartbreak worked its way into a crescendo. Comfort eluded me, and I was unsure if I could endure the enormity of this catastrophe. Frantically, I tried to maintain some kind of equilibrium, all the while knowing that my life had transformed permanently. Suicide had eclipsed all. I needed answers and searched obsessively for information. Ultimately, this became part of my salvation. It helped dissipate the powerful sea of torment that threatened to engulf me.

At that time, I couldn’t imagine feeling happy again, let alone finding meaning in my life. But my slow adjustment and reconciliation is testimony to the incredible healing powers that lie within. Moving beyond Peter’s suicide has been mammoth. It has been painful and protracted. Part of me would like to tuck it away somewhere unseen, but knowing there are many others walking in my shoes inspired me to share my story. Living in the aftermath of suicide can be so devastating that many people just close up about it. I hope that telling how it was for me might bring the terrible impact into the open and hopefully, give some solace to those who, like me, felt swamped by doom.

Here I have only skated over the surface, as there are many subtleties and complexities that would make this too long. I wanted to keep my story as simple as possible, as I found that during my period of intense distress, it was exhausting to concentrate on anything too involved. Reaching into the core of my memory, some of it emerges chronologically. Equally much is erratic, as my recollections overlap, entwine, and turn back on themselves. At times it has been almost impossible to tease out specific moments, thoughts, and feelings, as the emotional chaos induced by this violent death sabotaged my ability to reason and think clearly.

It was difficult to talk about openly as well. Suicide is an awkward topic. Once legally and religiously condemned, it has a history of bad press. Prejudice sticks. While there is a degree of intrigue when a public figure suicides, most suicides are not discussed openly, making us feel it is rare. But suicide is common. Throughout the world, someone suicides every 40 seconds. More people succumb to suicide than are killed in wars, violent crime, or on the road. Each suicide leaves behind about nine people who are intimately involved and many others who are affected in a variety of ways. Every day, everywhere someone is lost to suicide. Every day, everywhere, others grieve. Thus my story is not unusual. The silence around suicide does not make it less real. It perpetuates stigma and secrecy; the twin burdens passed on to loved ones left behind.

It was some time before I understood any of this. Although Peter had been anxious and agitated, I hadn’t imagined the outcome would be Death. A tragedy. First for him, then for numerous others left struggling in the aftermath. As Peter’s life ended, it created a haunting nightmare. I felt I had been swept up by an enormous wave, over which I had no control, no foothold, no means of survival. It seemed everything I knew had been washed away, and I was merely flotsam bobbing about, churning around in a hostile sea, in danger of drowning in the tempestuous waters. I had no concept of the overwhelming dismay I would feel, the absolute chaos my life would become, and the never-ending ache for understanding. All the courage I could muster did not ease my distress.

Emotional wreckage lay everywhere. Unrelenting anguish filled my mind and entered into every aspect of who I was. I became my grief. I absorbed it into every cell of my body. It wakened me at night from fitful sleep, clutching at my chest, weighing me down with its oppressive mass and stealing my breath. That indiscriminate tidal wave had swept away all I held close, leaving a barren and alien shore. I was beginning to understand how suicidal people feel isolated with their extreme suffering. Now I was feeling alone with my heart-wrenching sorrow.

Frightened for my own survival, I forced a superficial calmness as I searched for relief. Reaching into the darkness for pen and paper, I began to write. The written word became my companion as I recorded my feelings in a diary. Then two. Then more. Writing was cathartic. If I put my words on paper, they were outside; I could observe them; they didn’t need to devour me.

I was driven to find answers—anything to explain the unexplainable and empathize with the tormented. I needed a framework, a reference point, something to provide an anchor to steady me through the calamity that had instantly redefined my life. I searched the wasteland of self-destruction for a safe haven, somewhere to place my hurt, some way of finding relief from my suffering. I searched for any clue that might make sense of my abruptly altered life.

I read voraciously, everything I could find to help me comprehend the complex array of factors related to suicide. I became aware of how often it appears in literature, art, film, and music, highlighting its universality. Without understanding and acknowledging the existence of suicide, it is almost impossible to accept. I needed explanations, and this became the driving force that took me through a complicated and ever-changing tangle of questions, doubts, loneliness, depression, and helplessness. Disjointed and jostling, these feelings surrounded me, making it difficult to place any of it in recognizable order. I needed to negotiate my own maze of misery until I became acquainted with its convoluted trickery.

Before I could find any sense of resolution, I had to understand suicide as a form of pain relief rather than a rejection of life. On some level, I began to understand the terrible pain that precedes