August 29, 2020
“And why is it so important to get strong? I have been graced with the strength to endure. But I have been assaulted, and in the assault wounded, grievously wounded. Am I to pretend otherwise? Wounds are ugly, I know. They repel. But must they always be swathed?” Nicholas Woltersdorf
The first thing we say when we think we shouldn’t talk about Elliot is that we will make the other uncomfortable. Sarah says, “After a minute they can go back to normal life; we never can.”
Martha didn’t hesitate to complain, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Christ’s response in the end was to raise Lazarus, but not before he wept. John’s Gospel says he groaned in himself. Did death wound him too? The plan all along had been to raise Lazarus, so why weep and groan?
I wonder, did Christ in his humanness see me that day? Did he see me with my heart shredded leaning against my dog thinking about Elliot? Did he know how long it would be for me—a lot longer than four days? Christ weeps with me today because my son is still in the tomb. My wounds are ugly, but I am not going to put a band aid on them.
August 30, 2020
The other reason we as suicide loss survivors hide our wounds is that the gawking makes it more painful. Anne’s friend calls it the frog face. You meet a person who pities you. They tilt their head and smile. The thought underneath that warped smile is, “I’m glad I’m not Matt. It must be hard for him.”
It is tempting to cover things up because I don’t want to be an entry in anyone’s gratitude journal:
“I am thankful that I have not lost any of my children…
No miscarriages
No car accidents
No drug overdoses, and especially
No suicides.”
Of course, no one thinks these things in the morning. No one wakes up in the morning thinking of the horrors they are missing. No. But now and then people see me. They imagine my horror. They go home grateful and tuck their children in to bed. As they try to drift off to sleep they think one thing and then another: first, “I am glad things aren’t this way for me”; then, “Could this happen to me?”
My response to the frog face is this – you lost him too. The universe was a better place when Elliot was with us. Go home tonight and cry because Elliot is gone and you don’t get to see him anymore. Pity yourself. Things are this way for you. This did happen to you.
