A Gift for Mom! 🤍

November is obviously the main month of the year in which we are all to be thankful, in whatever capacity we deem best for ourselves. I can list off plenty of things and people I am thankful for: my siblings, sister-in-law, nieces, my best friend and boyfriend, second family, my dogs, cat and the newly acquired neighbor’s chickens that are always in my yard, rollerderby, Pepsi and Swedish Fish.

See, that wasn’t so difficult. It seems easy to be thankful for things and people in your life that make you happy, but what about being thankful for losing someone? This makes me sound like a bad person, but if you will hear me out, it might change some perspectives and what exactly different types of thanks can be.

This month houses International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day. It’s a day meant for people to gather and find a sense of healing by sharing stories with others. Last year I went to my first ISSLD and it forever changed my Novembers, what I am thankful for and what I was finally able to let go of- forever.

2015 marked a decade since my father died by suicide, caused from many factors. Last year at this event, I was finally able to admit many things that I held on to since age 16. Things that if said to the average person not affected by suicide, could hardly understand. Things that sound so harsh, yet need to be said.

I am going to share something I posted last year on Facebook after attending my first ISSLD. It’s something I deleted, re-wrote, had a pounding in my stomach about, cried over, called my ‘feeshter’ about to gain perspective over whether or not I am a bad person for sharing this information and finally decided to put my truth and feelings out there. I have been aching with these thoughts since my teen years, but I was never able to put them into words.

Here we go:

November 22, 2014

Today is International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day. I am celebrating today for my father. I love you. I miss you. I am still grieving for you and I am still working on my forgiveness for you. I accept the reasons of why. I try my damndest to honor you. I understand things others cannot see about you. I share your disease. I cry out of anger more so than hope. I have internalized this pain and doubt 5 months shy of a decade from losing you.

Today I viewed a video and heard a remark that shook me during the support group meetup I attended. A woman stated she felt ‘relief‘ after she lost a loved one to suicide. I thought of that statement and how careless her words sounded, until I really thought about what she meant and how she used the word relief to her certain perspective.

Today after years of shouldering blame from those who didn’t live how we did, whom felt myself, siblings and mother had some part of driving our dad to suicide, years of hearing “I’m sorry” because telling someone your own father shot himself left them speechless to say anything else. For years instead I told random people who knew nothing of me that my father died from natural causes because at first, being 16 onward, I was ashamed to be viewed as a freak, crazy or the daughter of a statistic and even more afraid of being viewed as a person who had to be watched over. Well, I am effing crazy but I am alive to admit that.

Today I am announcing that I am indeed relieved that my father ended his life. Relieved because no amount of medicine nor doctors could help him. Relieved because he is not in physical nor mental pain any longer. Relieved because I don’t have to worry about him wrecking his motorcycle again. Relieved because there are no more threats from him ending not only his own life, but ours as well. Relieved because I don’t have to call 911 on him anymore. Relieved because he finally did what he threatened to do since I was just a goddamn child. Relieved because he truly is a soul that is whole, finally. Relieved because I truly do know the full extent of his crazy love he had for us. Relieved because today sharing your memories I only focused on the grand ones and people saw my humor I have from you. Relieved because I should not feel ashamed to feel this way.

Think what you may. View my words how you will. Today I might just be able to forgive a part of my father and that makes me relieved.

Today I also took home a sand art ornament that myself and others made together by sharing a memory of our lost loved ones and pouring in different colors of sand. I chose white since there wasn’t black or red sand for Huskers and blue because the two colors together reminds me of Christmas lights dad would hang up.

Relief-one should not feel weighted down to feel this way.

 

—And now, nearly a year later and rereading my own exact words, I feel such a sting towards this person that would say this. How can someone feel relief from someone, especially one’s own father choosing to end their life? Well, it did not happen overnight and it has been the most courageous moment of my life to admit this feeling and to finally not feel like a bad person for having such a different take on a disease then most and letting go of the weight that his death has held over me. I can justify my relief because I am still here, walking around with his DNA within.

I recall being afraid to check the new comments and wondering who would be offended by my word choice but something my brother wrote back on the post held me at ease. “Dad had an illness and battled it for a long time. Some people will read this and be mad, some will be happy, some will not understand. Hearing him say he would do it, we never knew he would. The spirits of the dead are kept alive in the memories of the living.” I knew plenty wouldn’t get it, and that was OK- because I knew some would.

I learned from ISSLD that, time does heal some of the pain that was given after losing someone by suicide, but it doesn’t bring someone back. You are allowed to feel and cope and find support from people dealing with the same pain! We hear it all the time ‘suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.’ I do not feel this way. There is no way to get into the mind of someone who has this feeling marinating within that can be caused by many factors. We do have a right to be angry and say things like ”maybe there was more I could of done,” but sometimes there just isn’t anything more anyone can do–and the blame game doesn’t solve a thing. However, my father’s issues were not temporary; they were life-long and profound to the extent that they took over the man I called ‘Pops.’

I grew up watching my father trying to be the best damn dad there was, and somedays failing miserably by his choices and others being a dad I didn’t know because of his disease. Being asked by him to flush his medicine down the toilet at age 9 or so because he ”didn’t need medicine” because he “didn’t have a problem” is a moment I recall almost daily. I saw sides of him that make me afraid to look in a mirror somedays. But anyone who knew him would tell you he had the kindest heart, which was evident. He would literally give you the shirt off his back if you needed it and lava soap if you came over for a visit. He was, like many, a good person.

Albeit, it will never sound ‘ok’ to be thankful for losing someone (either by death, breakup, moving cross country etc), but I am thankful my father is in peace even if that means I don’t get to have him anymore. I am in relief because the constant worry and threats has ceased.

Suicide will always be the word that sparks people to want to try and ‘save’ someone, which is nothing we have the power over someone to do, but sometimes help can be found. It is, however, a word that can be poorly misrepresented due to the stigma behind it. My dad was not a coward, nor self-ish. He cared so deeply but lived his way. I am not ashamed to say how he died any longer nor accept people feeling sorry for me being a daughter of a statistic. I am more than that and my father is as well. I gained relief and thankfulness after a decade from something society seems to only see as an easy way out. Well society doesn’t always get it right.

dad

In memory of you Pops. 

Forever the Sunshine on my Shoulders.

 

*I highly encourage anyone who has been affected by the loss of suicide to find where their own event is being held in their city and to attend on November 21 this year*

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

Elle Patocka

Elle Patocka is a Czech lady born and raised in South Omaha Nebraska. Her life has taken avenues unforeseen and some well planned in advance- and that has continued to make all the difference. She lives by the notion to be altruistic and live life because ‘’ you never know when your bus is coming.” Her view from home is seen from 5 feet 3 inches, mostly lying down in a hammock, browsing vinyl, skating, mosh-pitting and sweating with strangers at concerts. Elle recently had two pieces of her writing selected to be published in her College magazine and website The Metropolitan- this has checked her bucket list off of becoming a published writer come true and she hopes to continue to write in any form possible.

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

In: Grief
Woman holding fish

They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. I found that to be most true when my grandma passed. Like many grandmas, she was the best. She was kind and tender, but firm when she needed to be. She gave her time freely and used her baking talent to bless others. She had little and needed little, yet she had a way of drawing people together. There wasn’t a day I can remember when someone didn’t call her or stop by. She seemed to have all the answers and somehow knew how to fix almost any problem....

Keep Reading

My Parents Will Never See This Face

In: Grief
Woman with sunglasses shown in rear view mirror

You’ve had that moment, right? That moment when you don’t recognize the woman standing in front of you. Her hair is grayer. The skin around her eyes is a bit darker. Even without noticing the small details, that face is different. It’s aged. And as I stared at her yesterday afternoon, all dolled up and nowhere to go, it dawned on me: My parents will never see this version of me. My mom will never get to see hands that look like hers. She’ll never recognize the wrinkles or the sun spots. My father-in-law joked about gray hair with my...

Keep Reading

The Due Date that Never Comes

In: Grief, Loss, Miscarriage
Woman walking down path

It is not often talked about. I completely understand why, but when going through something so heartbreaking and devastating, women shouldn’t have to suffer alone or in silence. If you’ve gone through it, you probably already know what I’m referring to – miscarriage. It is the reason many couples don’t tell people they are expecting until after the first trimester. It is so unfortunately common that one in four women will experience a miscarriage in their lifetime. According to the National Institutes of Health, 15-20 percent of pregnancies will end in miscarriage, and it is the most common pregnancy complication...

Keep Reading

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

In: Grief, Living
Black and white photo of older man in garden

I was never meant to be a plant person. I’m the woman who can kill a succulent on the way home from the store. Once, a fern sighed in my direction and gave up. That is my spiritual gift. My grandpa Dominic would have laughed—hard. He loved to laugh. And sing hymns passionately in Italian. He was an Italian immigrant who lost his arm working in a mill, and still, he woke up every morning and dressed like dignity itself. He shopped for my grandma. He fixed what was broken. And he tended the biggest, happiest garden you’ve ever seen....

Keep Reading

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

In: Grief
Woman with mother smiling in older photo

Recently, whenever I look in the mirror, I see a strong resemblance to my mother.  People always said I looked like her, but I never really saw it until now. I think it may be because you always think of your parents as being older than you are. At the age of 61, I am now only two years away from the age my mother was when she died. The only good thing about dying young is that everyone will remember you that way.  I have only known my mom as the vibrant, personable, and active woman she was. Well,...

Keep Reading

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Woman and young daughter smiling

Editor’s note: This post discusses child loss Child loss changes Mother’s Day. My 19-month-old, Julia, died suddenly on Mother’s Day in 2024. Three months later, her autopsy revealed she had B-cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (B-ALL, also known as SUDNIC). Julia died a week after we did an embryo transfer at an IVF clinic in an attempt to have a second child. We found out three days after Julia’s death that the embryo did not make it either. Six months later, we did another embryo transfer that succeeded, and I now have an 8-month-old daughter, Lucy Mei (“Mei Mei” means “little...

Keep Reading

I Miss Having Parents

In: Grief
Grown daughter posing between smiling parents

I have been living with the ache of loss for so long that I truly don’t remember what it feels like not to carry it. Sometimes it rests quietly beneath my ribs, dormant and almost polite. Other times it rises without warning—on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, in the middle of a coffee line—and cuts straight through me. Today, it was a song. I was waiting for my coffee when “Pictures of You” by The Cure drifted through the café speakers. I hadn’t heard it in 20 years. In my twenties, it meant heartbreak—young love unraveling, relationships ending before they were...

Keep Reading

What No One Tells You about Losing a Sibling

In: Grief

Nobody tells you that when you lose a sibling, your entire childhood flashes before your eyes. There’s no better witness to what you experienced growing up than that one person who was standing nearby for all of it. And when they’re gone, a part of that childhood and a part of that story goes with them, because it was only ever known between the two of you. There’s no last chance to say, “Remember when?” or to laugh about the things that made you laugh to tears together, a million times at the kitchen table. There’s no last conversation about...

Keep Reading

Grief Didn’t Break Me, It Rearranged Me

In: Grief
Sad woman looking off to the side

I survived losing my father after his long, grueling battle with cancer. It was one of the most difficult seasons of my life. I had a front row seat to watch cancer pick him apart piece by piece. When you lose a parent, you lose a part of yourself. They say time heals all wounds, but you never stop missing the good ones, and there are days when it feels like it just happened. By the grace of God, I survived, but I will always miss my father. Then, almost a decade later, I lost the career that helped me...

Keep Reading

I’m Learning To Be Soft and Strong

In: Grief
Woman sitting and crying on floor

During the weeks we cared for my grandmother in hospice, survival mode felt necessary. There were medications to track. Visitors to update. Logistics to manage. I remember sitting on the couch that served as my makeshift bed and listening to the rhythmic hissing and puffing of the oxygen machine one night. While my mom showered off the day, I texted my sister updates and sent my husband a quick message of love. I could still smell the lavender candle we had lit earlier in the day to mask medical scents. The house was quiet, but my mind wasn’t. I was...

Keep Reading