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“You are going to feel like hell if you never write the stuff that is tugging on the sleeves of your heart — your stories, visions, memories, visions and songs. Your truth, your version of things, your own voice. That is really all you have to offer us. And that’s also why you were born.”
Anne Lamott

“You are going to feel like hell if you never write the stuff that is tugging on the sleeves of your heart — your stories, visions, memories, visions and songs. Your truth, your version of things, your own voice. That is really all you have to offer us. And that’s also why you were born.”
Anne Lamott

Category: Family

Suicide Prevention Month

George 1 Comment

Some of you may be aware we lost our grandson Ryan to suicide two years ago this coming December. With her permission, his mother’s Facebook post entitled “Life After Suicide” follows.

September is Suicide Awareness Month. I feel a need to speak out. Not really sure why or even what to say. Obviously,  I know nothing about how to prevent a suicide and I couldn’t possibly be more “aware” of the impact that suicide can have on those left behind.  I regularly hear, “I just can’t imagine” so I thought I would take a moment during Suicide Awareness Month to share some of my insights and experiences from this side of suicide.

1. There is an entire world of people out there on the same path as me. —– Y’All! There are so many people that have lost loved ones (specifically children) to suicide. I was naively unaware of the vast number of people that live with this pain. My therapist recommended that I seek out a group of moms like me. I did that through Facebook. So, so many groups. It’s heart wrenching. I still haven’t found my tribe. To date, the groups I have found seem to focus on the pain of the loss rather than how to experience joy WHILE processing the pain. I mean absolutely no judgment about how others process their loss. That’s just not the path I have chosen. I will find the right tribe for me soon enough. That brings me to the next insight…..

2. Recovery from suicide is lonely. —– I believe grief from losing anyone for any reason is lonely in the sense that each person’s journey is unique not necessarily that grieving is done alone.  It’s a simple fact that there is not another person on the planet that has experienced EXACTLY the same thing as me. Not even Byron. Yes, we are both Ryan’s parents, but I grieve as a mother and he grieves as a father. Different perspectives. Unique journeys.

3. There is nothing anyone can do to help. —– I am not saying attempts at helping are not appreciated. Oh my goodness, are they ever!! The reality is that nothing can soothe the pain of this broken heart. I loved every single act of kindness that was thrown our way because each was a reminder of how much we are loved even though it didn’t lessen the pain. Definitely keep spreading love through hot, cheesy casseroles!! 

4. There are a lot of things people can NOT do to help. —– Do not judge. If you think you know anything about the situation, just assume you are wrong and keep your thoughts to yourself. So many people thought they knew how to handle our private business better than we did. We were attacked in person and online with one of my children being told by many complete strangers that is was our fault. Would you believe that I had people private message me to ask me how Ryan committed suicide? Yeah, don’t do any of those things. If you do not know every single detail of a private situation, you don’t even have a right to an opinion. The only thing anyone has a right to do is offer nonjudgmental support. 

5. It feels really good to hear Ryan’s name. —– Never be afraid to say the name of the person who has passed. You won’t “remind” the loved one that their special person is gone. Trust me, it can’t be forgotten. When I hear Ryan’s name, it reminds me you haven’t forgotten that he lived. 

6. Life goes on. —– The world as we knew it did pause for a while. Thankfully, life didn’t stop the day Ryan died. I can’t imagine being stuck in the intensity of that day for the remainder of my life. Even with the pain, the sun came out again, laughter returned, and a new life sprouted from the darkness. It hasn’t been easy. It has been a choice to be wrestled with daily.

7. It’s okay for life to be good. —– I decided early on that my love for Ryan would not be measured by the depth and/or length of my grief. The grief isn’t going anywhere. It’s tattooed on my heart. I suspect I will process it for the rest of my life. With the understanding that the pain will never fully go away, I decided it’s okay to live a great life in spite of the pain. I refuse to give grief the joys I have left in life through my experiences of being a wife, mother, grandmother, daughter, and friend.

This side of suicide is a rough road. For me it has been a path paved with focused, purposeful, intentions geared towards healing. Grief has been taken head on and not suppressed. The result of that decision has been experiencing anguish previously unimaginable. Another result is that a really good life has come between the waves of pain. If you are lost in grief, you too can have a really good life! Don’t believe the lie that you should feel guilty for experiencing joy again.

For Suicide Awareness Month, I am asking anyone that needs help to please reach out to someone. If that someone doesn’t listen, keep reaching out. Call me if needed. Please face your pain so that your loved ones don’t have to do it without you. Face it together. There is strength in numbers. 

Peace, love, and joy to all!

Melissa Gabehart

Family Lore

George 2 Comments

Recently I was reminded of a story from my mother’s family that has been a part of our family lore for as long as I can remember. Often we assume that everyone knows the family history but more often than not, important and interesting stories get lost in the passing of generations. For that reason, I though it would good to document the story for family who may not know or remember.

In my mind, mother’s family was a bit strange. There was the usual family drama but there were circumstances which set the Page’s apart. The subject story of this post is about my grandfather, William Columbus Page aka Mr. Billy. To me he was Papa.

Papa was a cotton farmer and had two brothers and one sister, Luke, Jimmy and Ninnie. My recollection is that Luke was the dominant brother, a hard, no nonsense man. Jimmy was a “good ole boy” and fun to be around. I only knew Ninnie in her later years  when she came to live with Papa after being released from the “insane asylum” in Tuscaloosa. She had been confined there for decades and as a result of her shock treatments was a passive and compliant old lady who dipped snuff.

Two characteristics come to mind when i think of Papa. He was a deeply religious Methodist and stubborn to a fault. Hard headed as my mother would say.  There is more that could be said about Papa, but I want to get to the story.

Mr. Billy Page

The following is a story in the life of  William Columbus Page.   I am sharing it as it was related to me by my mother, as best I can remember.

Billy Page married Nellie Thornton and there were five children born to them. Two died in infancy and three survived, including my mother Aurelia , sister Izora and brother Bill born in 1923. My grandmother Nellie died in 1926. At age 13 my mother assumed responsibility for mothering her siblings. I do not know the circumstances of my granmother’s death. As the story goes, Papa was deeply affect by her death to the point that her made a vow not to speak again until he heard otherwise from God. For the next three years he kept that vow despite his brothers attempts to goad him into speaking. Their harrassment might have seemed cruel except for the fact that Papa would read his Bible and pray aloud in the evenings.

On the evening of July 28, 1929, returning to his house with a team of mules ahead of a threatening thunderstorm, lighting struck. The mules were killed. Papa was struck unconscious. The metal buttons on his bib overalls were melted and the house was set on fire. As it happened there was a man passing by who came to investigate and finding Papa unconscious and not breathing administered artifical respiration until he began to breathe again. Bystanders extinguished the house fire using milk from near by milk cans. I presume that Papa interpreted that event as the sign he was looking for, as my mother said, he never quit talking after that.

That’s the story and I’m sticking by it.

As is often the case, there is more to the story. Cinflicting accounts have come to light as I researched for this blog post. Beyond my memory of mother’s story, there is a newspaper article that documented the events of July 28. I also had conversation wih my cousin Jerry Page.

Here are some twists to the story as I related it.

  • Jerry rembers being told that Papa was struck by lighting twice. The first occasion came several years before 1929 and his team of mules were killed. He was unable to speak following that event. There is no mention in the later newspaper article regarding mules being killed in July 1929.
  • The newspaper article reported that Papa had suffered a paralytic stroke in 1922 that rendered him speechless. He was able to speak after he was revived. It was noted that his son Bill was able to hear his father speak for the first time.

What seems to be relatively certain is:

  • When Papa was struck by lighting in 1929 he was unable/ unwilling to speak. He began speaking after the event.
  • There is no corrobration of his vow not to speak.
  • He was stubborn enough and devout enough to make and keep such a vow.
  • In any case, his survival was a miracle as was the return of his speech.

Since there are no surving witnesses or anyone who would have second hand information, I am going to hold on to the story that I was told.   That’s how family lore goes.

Bill, Izora, Aurelia