How to forge new routines to ease grief and learn to smile again …
I lost my beautiful husband Mark to suicide on July 15, 2022 at 17.49 approximately. It’s strange the details that you want to know, like the exact time it happened. I thought I would never smile again.
July 15 was a magnificent summer day in Co Waterford where we lived out in the country beside the sea with our two dogs and three young adult children coming and going. It’s a very peaceful area, perfect for walks on the beach. That morning, I got up at 6am and woke Mark so we could take the dogs for a quick walk before he had to leave for work. Mark was an anaesthetist, working at University Hospital Waterford for almost 20 years. I didn’t want him to miss the beautiful morning. As we set off, although the morning was glorious, I felt Mark was out of sorts. I asked him if he was ok and he said he was. I pressed him a little as I knew he wasn’t himself. I didn’t for a moment think there was anything seriously wrong.
He brushed off my concern and I let it go as I didn’t want to upset him before work. I waved him off, wishing him a good day; that was the last time I saw him alive.
The practical details around those days after Mark’s death are foggy. It felt like an explosion had gone off in my head shattering everything I thought I knew and the future I thought I had. Mark’s death occurred ten days before our 30th wedding anniversary. Our three children were abroad at the time and I had to call each of them to tell them what had happened. I was terrified they would somehow hear it before I got to them. Our eldest daughter, Siofra, had just been transferred from her company’s London office to New York, where she was settling into a very exciting life. My son, Finn, was visiting friends in Marbella and Maeve, our youngest, was also in Marbella enjoying the end of her post-Leaving Cert holiday.
I still can’t really think about those calls. My mind was frozen with the shock and horror of what had happened. Even though I was struggling to think straight, my instincts guided me at the time. The main one that arose with ferocity was the need to care for my children. I knew that I would have to show up for them on a scale I never knew existed and I set about doing that with a determination I had never experienced before. Desperately, I didn’t want the children to feel that their lovely, secure family had suddenly disintegrated. My children had lost one parent – I couldn’t alter that – but I could make sure they hadn’t lost two.
In the immediate aftermath of Mark’s death, we had to just get through each day and the funeral while in a state of utter shock and disbelief. My family was wonderful, and our amazing neighbours and friends were extraordinary. I will never forget the unbelievable kindness and support we received in our darkest hour. We chose to be completely open about Mark’s death which made things easier for everyone, including ourselves.
I think we do death very well in Ireland and we did get comfort from being able to have a lovely funeral for Mark. It was held at the church in Dunmore East; we opted to have instrumental music without any singing – I wanted it to be sombre as it was such a tragic death. The children and I spoke during the service while family and friends brought gifts to represent aspects of Mark’s life. As Mark was from South Africa, the funeral was recorded online and I look at it every so often when sometimes I still can’t believe it is real. For others in my situation, I recommend recording the service.
When the funeral is over, however, your new life begins. You have to find a way to embark on it even though that feels unbearable.
From the outset, I had managed to accept I could do nothing to change the fact of Mark’s death. I think that was a help, or at least it helped me, not to waste any of my personal resources or energy kicking against something that I couldn’t change. ‘Why me?’ or ‘This isn’t fair!’ isn’t helpful in my view. Life has thrown a terrible cross at you but you have to try to look to the future and walk your new path as best you can. I knew this tragedy threatened the very survival of our family. I felt the only route to survival was to go gently forward one step as a time with love in our hearts. I told the children this tragedy must make us kinder, more compassionate people and that going forward, we would try to make Dad proud.
We recognised that we were all very vulnerable and we promised each other to make only good choices. I also reminded the children that we must not let the tragedy blind us to all the blessings that we still have. I wanted us all, in time, somehow, to heal from this. I wanted the children to go on and live the full and joyful lives they should live, consistent with the wonderful father they had had. We created a sort of framework that felt hopeful in spite of the impossible journey ahead. Thankfully, the children were all able to continue with their lives. Siofra went back in New York, Finn continued college and Maeve started college that September. I am so proud of their courage.
In the case of a death by suicide there are agonising, unanswered questions. It was helpful to us that we really understood that a person who takes their own life has lost their capacity to think rationally at the time of their death. I know this to be true because Mark’s unquestionable devotion to myself and the children speaks to the irrationality of his action. If you can let go of trying to impose a rational explanation on the action of the deceased person and try to avoid blame, it is helpful. A person who takes their own life has become locked inside their own very unwell mind and cannot see out, even though they may appear normal to all around them. On the day he died, Mark did a full day’s work at the hospital. He even stayed behind at the end of the orthopaedic list to teach a younger member of the theatre team how to do a small procedure. There was nothing discernible to indicate he would end his life that day. It was a terrible shock to all his colleagues, who were devastated.
Don’t try to fix it or make it better, is my advice. Just listen and don’t be afraid to mention the deceased.
Often friends don’t know what to say – sorry for your loss suffices. Play it by ear; my family want to remember Mark in happy times and I would encourage others to share memories, rather than say nothing. We are settling into a new normal and the children are doing well, thank God. We talk about Mark all the time which I think is good. I swim in the sea at Dunmore East every morning at 7.45am with a few gorgeous friends who have been a lifeline. I visit his grave every day before work. I remember especially going to his grave late at night to tell him that South Africa had won the Rugby World Cup.
Last year I turned 60, a further incentive to take stock. I took up lots of new activities as I found I couldn’t bear to do things Mark and I used to do together. I stayed in a Buddhist retreat, took up skiing and golf and did a sailing course. I went straight back to work as a law lecturer at SETU [South East Technological University] in Waterford and continued with my pyjama business, Jimjams.ie, which I had started before the pandemic. I visited India with my daughters where we get our organic cotton pyjamas made through a women’s social empowerment programme. The girls did the early modelling for the brand – our dogs even appeared in some of the campaign images! We love India. I extended the range to include robes and accessories. It’s now a fully online business and we take part in fairs occasionally, including Ballymaloe Craft Fair. I’ve also participated in a charity event at the Royal Hibernian Academy in Dublin to raise funds for Pieta House. In the future, I would like to do more to help with suicide prevention and to support families who have been bereaved by suicide. Personally, I’ve found the Instagram accounts @griefireland and @grief_untangled_ beneficial as well as the Shapes of Grief podcast.
Keeping busy has helped. I have learned to let go of how life should be and embrace how it is.
As for our first Christmas without Mark, we made a conscious decision to stay at home, rather than go away and find ourselves somewhere strange and unfamiliar. We changed our usual routine, however. Instead of opening presents on Christmas morning, we opened them after Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. The children and I sipped champagne and chatted by the fireside until 4am. The following day we hosted my brother and his family. We had a great time; reframing Christmas was all part of reimagining our future. We miss Mark desperately but feel that he is watching over us and I hope with all my heart that he is happy and peaceful and that he is proud of us.
I hope sharing our experience may be helpful to others who have been bereaved by suicide. I know that God has a very special place in heaven for the gentle and beautiful souls who take their own lives. We are stronger than we know, so don’t be afraid. Grief is experienced differently by everyone and whether you keep very busy or lie low or cry all the time, just keep doing what you need to do, you know yourself and you will smile again. I promise.
