Facing Unexpected Triggers

You may have heard the term “trigger”, or “trigger warning”, especially if you spend a lot of time on social media. It may even seem silly or childish or even weak to see that a few words or images can “trigger” someone into a bad emotional space. I don’t think that anyone really understands triggers until they go through something traumatic and in turn, experience triggers for themselves. Obviously, trauma is not something I would wish on anyone, but unfortunately it is something that most will experience in their lives. The loss of a child, having a medically fragile child, or a traumatic death (like suicide) or traumatic experience are common traumas that would result in an individual being triggered. When you open Facebook, you can almost expect to be triggered, especially depending on the groups you may follow. Even better, some posts come with “trigger warnings” at the top, and if you’re having a rough day, you know to keep scrolling. Unfortunately, life does not come with trigger warnings.

The most common natural trigger I experience is music. Sometimes, a song takes me to a place where I have a memory of my brother. Sometimes, the lyrics speak to me, or him, or my life since losing him. This weekend, I listened to music for 3 hours straight doing yard work, with a plethora of songs from my teenage years coming up on the playlist- let’s just say I was ready to cry. I did not have a single moment of sadness or grief until the last song came on. “I Wish You Were Here”, by Incubus started to play and I was a sobbing mess.

Then, I sit down to watch one of my favorite holiday movies, “It’s a Wonderful Life”. I am not sure how it did not occur to me that the entire movie was about a wonderful man who was deciding whether he should his life or not when suddenly an angel intervened and talked him down from the ledge. Now, I know I will have to be in the right frame of mind to watch that movie again.

There is no real tried and true way to face these triggers, at least not for me, at least not yet. One of the most important pieces of advice that I have received on my grief journey was from a social worker I was seeing. She told me, “When you need to cry, cry. Don’t hold it in. Let it out. Just, cry.” So, I do. Sometimes, I cry in the car. Sometimes, I cry in the shower. Sometimes, I encounter triggers, and I don’t need to cry at all. The point is, you can avoid some things. You can avoid walking down certain streets. You can skip certain songs when it is not a good time to face your emotions. But, sometimes, no matter how much you protect yourself, you will encounter triggers. I think that is why it has been helpful to face triggers when I feel like I can. If I am in a safe place physically, or in a good mindset emotionally, I like to face my triggers. I like to try when I can. I like to listen to James Taylor sing Fire and Rain and scream it at the top of my lungs. It is clear that I cannot run from everything, and I cannot run forever. So, if I feel like I can face it today, I face it. If I don’t, I avoid it as much as I can until I am left to encounter it again.

The Year of Firsts

It has been 9 and a half months since I lost my brother. On February 10, the day after his angel-versary , I will officially be able to put the “year of firsts” behind me. I lost my brother two days before my 29th birthday. Needless to say, my birthday has been the worst holiday to celebrate without him so far.

I had a big build up to Thanksgiving though. From what I can remember, my brother only ever missed one Thanksgiving. He was working and needed to stay working so that he could be home for Christmas that year instead. I was upset, but I understood. Aside from that, he went where I went. Whether it was my mom’s house or my paternal grandmother’s house or my aunt’s house 3 hours away, wherever I went, he would come. Looking back now, I can appreciate his willingness to support me. Unfortunately, I didn’t see it then.

Last Thanksgiving was actually worse than this Thanksgiving. My brother, Erik, and I fought. We argued and bickered. I was silent and in tears through dinner. The Erik I once knew wasn’t there anymore. Someone else remained. Someone scattered, confused, passionate yet disinterested, self-righteous yet obviously unsure. I didn’t like this new brother. I didn’t like being faced with the distance that had grown between us over the years. It was tough!

If I could do it all over again, I would have embraced his quirks. I would have focused on the jokes and the memories. I would have let his harsh words roll of my back. Instead, I’m left with the memory of a terrible last Thanksgiving.

This year, I had to run away a little bit. My in-laws graciously treated us to a vacation in Siesta Key, about two hours away. I am not intending to brag- because even if I had cried a big, ugly cry, I still would have been happy with the day. But, I only shed a tear when I got the sweetest message from my nutritionist (or life coach, as I call her :)). A smart, blonde, supermodel of a woman told me that I inspired her. I still question it! How can I be teaching someone who is a huge role model to so many, including myself?? But I learned to take the complement all the way down to my core, and I let myself feel it, and I cried.

(Just goes to show how powerful words can be!)

I had read to prepare for triggers. I did. I also read to start new traditions. I did that too. I released a sprinkle of Erik’s ashes into the Gulf of Mexico. (He is still teaching me how to “let go”.) I expected to cry then, too. But I didn’t. I felt a release, and I felt him there with me.

Overall, the distractions were a great aid in helping me survive Thanksgiving with love in my heart. I only have two more big events to go and then I can put the “year of firsts” behind me ❤

When someone asked if it was ok to share…

When I first received the news of my brother’s suicide, I wasn’t sure what to say to others. Just months before I lost a friend to a suspected suicide- but this was never confirmed. For anonymity purposes, let’s call this friend “John”. John’s family and closer friends were silent “out of respect”, they said. I don’t know John’s official cause of death, and I probably never will. But, I would imagine that it was accidental or intentional suicide.

John actually had a background with drug addiction, just as my brother Erik did. John had a much longer history with it though. He had tried rehab across the country and had ended up homeless countless times. He had asked a lot of us for money over the years. I, along with many others, sent it to him- he told me that thanks to me, he would be able to get lunch that day.

When I first learned that my brother had moved on from more “mild” drugs and onto using methamphetamine, I reached out to two old friends. One of them helped get people into rehab for a living and was a recovering addict herself, and the other one was John. Drugs were so out of my wheelhouse that I just did not know what to say to my brother and how to help him. So, I asked John- “what should I say to him? what would you have wanted to hear?” Ultimately, he told me to treat my brother “with love and compassion”. Ultimately, though, he expressed the importance of rehab to me, which my brother never ended up attending. Regardless, when John passed, no one said how. To me, it seemed like there was shame surrounding the loss, and so that’s what we guess- suicide.

I try not to place blame in the loss of my brother. Something that helped me a lot was understanding that it took a “perfect storm” of bad situations to bring him to that place, and no one person or incident is responsible. I know this to be true. But, one of my wishes is that John’s family would have spoken out. I watched Erik walk a similar path to John. If I had known how his final days went or with certainty how he was lost, maybe I would have been able to see more red flags. I will never know if it would have made a difference, but I believe that there is a chance that it could have.

So, a few days ago, when someone asked me if it was “ok to share” parts of my brother’s story, it made me think of John. I understand that some families have a hard time accepting suicide. I even realize that results may have been inclusive. I even have family members that questioned my brother’s suicide for months- suspecting foul play from the other addicts in his home with him. But, ultimately, I want to be an open book for suicide and suicide loss. If one thing that I share can save just one person, then I have served my purpose. If, in fact, John was lost to suicide, then imagine the crushing stigma his family must have felt to not want to share.

On February 9, 2016, the day we lost my brother, I also did not know what to say. If I shared the truth, would it hurt my mom? Would it hurt my family? I only took about 24 hours, and then I think my mom might’ve even taken the lead. But after one day, I knew what the right thing to do was. I shared. I shared everything I knew. I shared every observation I had. I even shared details for anyone who asked. I do not know what will and wont help people. But, what I do know, is that sharing is going to help someone, and it certainly helps me.

“Survivor”

When I first lost my brother to suicide, I was lost too. But I was determined to dive right in. That’s just what I do- I take action. I had to “fix” whatever I could even if there was really nothing that I could fix. If being a new mom in the new millennium taught me anything, it was to run to the computer to find all of the coping mechanisms that I could. I found Facebook groups. I found amazing organizations like the American Foundation for Suicide Awareness (AFSP). I found clinical studies. In the wake of this loss, I seemingly found everything that I could possibly need, aside from my brother back by my side, of course.
In this new technological whirlwind of trying to make sense of it all and put the pieces of my broken life and family back together, I found the term “suicide survivor” was one that kept coming up. Was I a suicide survivor? The term brought about imagery of failed suicide attempts and those with mental health issues who were in recovery. But, how could that describe me? Even the trusty Internet was undecided.

I mean, the very definition of “survivor” is certainly one I could relate to. I have always considered resiliency a great strength of mine (and I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging- I probably have like 5 qualities that I really like). I later attended a “Survivor of Suicide Loss” workshop that the AFSP offered. There is a new shift to adjust the phrasing to “survivor of suicide LOSS”, and it reignited my interest in the old confusing term. I was certainly left here, surviving, after one of the biggest losses I will ever experience. Some days just barely surviving. But every day moving forward.

On February 9th, when I received the call from the detective in Texas, I felt like the lone survivor. That day, as I made phone calls to my mom, my dad, my grandmother, my brother’s best friend, I felt like like a lone child, standing in the rubble and aftermath of a terrible disaster. As time went on, I realized that although my path is different from anyone else’s path, I was not alone. I had friends and family by my side. There are people who I haven’t even met yet that have walked similar paths. But, I now know that although at times it is lonely, I am not alone.

My brother, Erik, and I looked very similar. We were only 13 months apart. Cut my hair and slap a beard on me and we would look like twins. Sometimes, I think our resemblance drove people away in the days following his death. Especially the people who missed him the most. Which were, unfortunately, the people who I felt I needed the most. If I had a huge loss, after my husband, I would go to my parents, or my grandma. But, how can I ask for them to take care of me, when they needed to be taken care of themselves? How could I ask them to help me through a loss that they were going through themselves. I can’t. But, there were still days where I wanted to scream “I AM STILL HERE!”- like they didn’t know. Like they didn’t realize that they can learn from their mistakes. They can come out of this Hell better and stronger than they were before. When my dad says “I should have called Erik more often”, and I want to yell “YOU CAN CALL ME MORE!” Well. I don’t have answers for those feelings of anger and resentment. As selfish as it sounds, I haven’t escaped them yet.  But, one day I will move past it. One day I will accept that I can only control myself. Until then, though, I will be here, still surviving.