Memories Part 2

I am not quite sure how this is going to go. I know there will be a part 3 because there is a life afer the post suicide story. I thought this was all past, but then the death of my only son last year brought it all back. Well here goes.

Part 1 ended with my fathers suicide. Of course I lived on. actually there was some thought and question. That of course I lived on was not automatic. But as I went on, I vowed never to do that to my son. I vow I did keep.

I learned of his suicide after I got home from work. My wife had called my preacher as she thought I might want to cry or be held. Sine she was planning on leaving me, she did not want to do that. I was the strong one like my father. When they told me, I planned what I needed to do and did it. There was no reason for the preacher to be there nor her to worry that I might want a touch. The next day when I got to my fathers home, is wife was bedbound. I took care of some things around the house. Organized the den and some of things that needed done. I was rather surprised when we went to make the funeral arrangements.that I was the only one who knew what he wanted. I remember teh funeral only for 2 things. My cousin came in and looked at me stepped forward and looked at me, and then I opened my arms and she gave me hug. That was nice. I* was the strong man others leaned on and n one else even thought that I might need a hug or comfort. The other thing I remainly remember is that dad was buried as a Catholic. He had mentioned the day before about communion. I would have loved totake communnion with those who loved my father and were here to honor his memory. But the preist was very hesitant about it. I was going to honor his discomfort with it. But he started and after about 3 people he must have been afraid I would want to partake, because he ended it and said theyw ould do it at a Sunday service. I fell very bad that my protestantism ruined the ceremony for others who were out of town and wanted to partake. I wish he would have believed me and continued. After the funeral I went out to the car where my wife waited. The flag on his cofffin was given to someone to take to his still bedridden wife She later gave ti to me for which I am grateful.

Home again. Living after my best friends and idol's suicide. Living???? How do I live when everyting in my life reminds me of dad. I take a walk in the evening to the pond . I remember the walks with my fahter and standing on the bridge watching the stars and sometimes talking. And it was nto enough for him. And all comfort for the act is gone. I see the sun and bright day and remember enjoying the majesty of life with my dad and it was not enough for him, and there is no joy for me. Walking, fishing, painting, reading, music either playing or listening to. It is all teh same I learned my love of it from my father and it was not enough for him and there is only pain in ti for me. My wife moved me to another house and divorced me and left. That took about 6 weeks. 3 weeks later, things were pretty rough. I lived a simple Spartan life and was not a slave to things or possessions. Still, I had a sereo for music, paints, some books and some tools for electrnic repairs. My house was an semiipen house for street people and smeenary students. I supported it by buying stero equipemtn, repairing it and selling. My regular job supported me, This side supported the people I helped out.

So 2½ months later, I tried to talk to my preacher. He avoided me. I asked again. He avoided me, After abotu 3 weeks, I quit asking, quit leadign aa prayergroupand assit preaching. So one night with 2 other people he came to my hosu eand said my problem was I owned too much and I should give it to him. I thought he was wrong. But submission to those who He has ordained to be over you is not saying yes, when you agree. submission to those GOd hasplaced over yu means sayign yes when disagree. He ahd all his arguments prepared. But did not need them. This was between GOd and I. I said yes and gave him what he asked. I then gave of what I had to the "2 witnesses" he had with him. Then the next day I took him my greatest possession which he had not asked for (and which was minor to him.) - " if a man ask for...." he went on to trade it all for a Harley. I went home and explained I no longer had the means to earn income ot keep teh house going and cut back to 2 people only and the ohter bedrooms went empty and closed. And, I have never placed myself in submission to any man again. I can no longer pay the price of assembling together.

And I still hurt, and I was alone. Still, I did not know how to live with my fathers suicide. I asked occasionally and talked sometimes, but never deep nor serious. In fact I started doing standup comedy and I had so many suicide and death jokes. Out of it all, I was able to bring laughter to others. It actaully did help a little to see I had some value to other people for a few hours some Firdaya nd Saturday nights. But the emptiness inside me was growing. I had to work at my job. I had others who needed a frined to talk to and lean on. I had to do what needed done and be what I had to be. And I did it well enough no one noticed after the first 3 months.

But I knew inside I had to find something for me. AS I gave to others I could feel the ouring out of me. Before dad's suicide, I had many places and activities to refresh me and restore my spirit. Now I was not and I had to actualy work to find a reason to stopa nd care and to listen to and help someone else. Instead of my mind being fully on aiding them, there was a place inside me that was saying what about me? It was nto right or wrong, bt rahter something of being human inside me that had created a need. I had to deal with it. My answer was unique to me. Do something that would give me some accomplishment, some pleasure and some satisfaction that did not invlove my spiritual inheritance from my father, but on my own. And something that would totally involve m and I would have to concetrate on and work at to totally fill me. The things quiet walks and absorbing nature, creating music or art could no longer do. I sought my own retreat to be restored.

For me my answer was to walk the mountian trail from Maine ot GA. I began exercising and walking. I worked up to on myweekend walk 25 milews w/a full pack sleep in the park and walk back the neext day. I discussed many months leave of absence with my boss, I planned traveling companions along the route. THe times I could see my sona nd he could be wiht me on the walk, supply points, etc. I was gong to go against the season's as others who walked the whole trail went with the seasons. This was to be my retreat, ny time with God,

I actuallywas busy a doing better. Walking hime from work and thinking of my plans for te next year (and not my fathers suicide) a truck ran a stop light. It was pickup with a homemade angle iron grill guard. I flew though the air. Fortunately, I landed on my hard head so I lived. :) But I was in a degree of pain. My ball and socket joint was brokena nd some of my muscles had come off in my arm and should ad chest and back and pulled little piecesof bone with them. I was so distrated about this and trying to crawl out of the raod before I got hit that I barely noticed the man who paused to rob me of my child support money I was gong to give my son's mom on the way home. I twa sprettymuch thenormal thing for a pedestrian who gets hit. Lay in the hospital for 7 or 8 hours until they determine all the interanl injuries and figure out what they can give you for pain. Actually there as more, but this is the story of my fathers suicide and what it did to me.

So I am in the hsopital. THere were some things on my mind besides my fathers death. I was in this room in front of the nurses station. I could not push a buzzer, but I could sure talk and let them know if I needed something. I still had nightmares of dad's suicide, I still woke screaming trying to stop him. I think the nurses got tired of my creams each night and they gave me more morphine after the first night. I still awoke screaming. Finally after a week or 2, one nurse asked me about it. I explaiend it was not the pain of my body, but the pain of my heart haunting my dreams with my fahers suicide. They then got the doctor to get me a sleeping medication. I slept. Only 10 or 11 months after my dad's death, I slept all night. The next day I realized that the reason I was feeling different was because I had slept al night. A milestone first since the suicide. Things were getting better. Or course, Idid not know about the medication change so I could sleep.

It happend again. The 2nd morning of a full nights sleep and my life was filled with hope that maybe there would be life after suicide. I was thinking of that when myson's mom called asking to speak to him.. He was not there. To keep it short, when she let him off to come and visit mem, he had been aducted from the lobby. I had lost my father to suicide, my home furnishings to my preacher, my health to a driver, and my son to who knows what. I called a few friends who all blew me off. He doctor who came in for my days surgery apologized that he had to do the surgery. This laugh overtook me and I asked him, "is my life so miserable you are do not want to give me the surgery to prolong it." I was really thinking that this my be my realse from my torment. He soon disillusioned me that he was sorry about adding to my pain with his physical cutting. He then left with the surgery still scheduled.

FInally in desperation I turned to God. WHen things are going good, I could easily thank God, but when I am in need, God is the last plae I turn. I did not say I was smart. I will never forget that prayer. I opened my mouth and these words came out, "Thank you Lord for removing everythig in my life that might keep me from you." My mind was going NO NO NO, I want my son back. My mouth continued one way, my mind another way. Eventually mymind listened to my mouth and I came to a relucrane acceptance. But at the end when my mouth worked the way I wanted it to, I did add my line to the prayer that if it would be possible I would want my son to be OK.

This is not about prayer, nor hospitals, this is the story of surving my fathers suicide. When there is a suicide of a loved and idolized one, life continues as normal and suicde becomes a part of it. In this case I had reached a limit. Have you ever driven and your mind been on somethign else? You drive OK, you get there, but you have no memroies of the trip unless someting major happened. That was the next 4 years of my life. My mind had gone into overload and I was someplace else. I ony have memories of the exterme things that penetrated over those 4 years of my life. Mainly those 4 years are gone forever I was not there and did not live them, My body just made its way through.

Oene of the memories if the day I got out of the hospital. I am settig on the floor, trying to tear opena loaf of bread and open a jar of peanut butter to get something to eat. I only had one working had so I was sturggling with it. I happened to look at my watch as I was doing this. I had not had it on since I had gone the hsopital. It was the 1 year anniversary of my fathers suicide. And I set there on the floor and in my weakened state I could not contain it and I started to cry, Somewhere, the strong man who everyone could lean on, who could always do what needed done, and help everyone carry their burdens had changed and I cried.

Skip forward 4 years. Have to skip forward sine I do not remember most of those years and the things I do remember are hurting to me and of no benefit to anyone whp has read this far.

I thought I had been having heart attacks. I had increased my insurance for my son and hidden it from everyone. I was sent home from work one day after an attack. 4 years, 11 months and 2 weeks after my fathers suicide. I had vowed never to put my son through what I had been through. He would never have to live with me commiting suicide. There was a curve on the way home. I stopped at the crossroad before it. I filled my pipe, and as I smoked my last pipe, I spoke to my father letting him knwo I understoof why now and would be joining him. I had mae a habit of cleaning my fingernails with a large highcarbon (nonstainless) steel hunting knie as I drove. As I pulled out from the side road, I put this knife that had been purchased and prepared for this moment against the steering wheel and the point into my chest. I accelrated to the curve and to the tree that lay straight ahead for the cars that had nopt made the turn. The accident was prepared. I was going about 80 or 90 when I reached the curve. As I left the raod, my foot came off the gas, but I was leaning hard enough to hold the knife. The car slowed in the long grass, and I did ot pust the accelrator again. I am not sure why but I only coasted to the tree. I feel that as one my mouth had been taken over and the worng words came out, my foot was taken over and the worng action occurred. And I was setting against the tree, this knife in my chest and I started to cry. The 2nd time in my adultlife I cried in self pain I have cried for others hurt, but that is differet) and both times over the loss of my father, Then finally when I could see again I turned around. I was preparing to do the one thing I could not do. I was not going to hint arounc something onmymind,m I was heaed back to my boss. I walked in his office. There were others there, I ignored them. I was set to do the hardest thing I have ever done in mylife. I walked to his desk and said, "Please help me.".

This is too much, I canot write more now. part 3 later
demorcan demorcan
61-65, M
4 Responses May 17, 2012

oh so sorry, this is so sad, What can I do? I'll pray for you OK? you know when your mouth didn't say what you meant to say? I believe it was your spirit talking to the Holy Spirit or God or Jesus- seeing they are all the same. my heart is aching for you. May God get you where he wants you. And may it not hurt so much!

Tk you bringing this out for us to read. You strong person..

Thank you for this long and sad story. First of all as a pastor I am horrified that a pastor would say that you have too much. You had lost your only son, your wife had left you. The pastor took away your means of support by taking things you needed to help others. This is not a man of God, but a wolf in sheep clothing. <br />
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I am actually surprised you did not end up committing suicide because you were a victim of suicide twice. You were strong on the outside but I am not so sure on the inside. <br />
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Now wonder you spiraled but message me if you need me I am an ordained pastor and I will not use religion only my love for others to help you. Not all of us is like that pastor who is so selfish.<br />
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Here is what it should have been like. Mr. Demron, how are you holding up?. I have noticed that your wife has left you and I am truly sorry about the loss of your son. What are you doing tonight? Would you mind if I took you out for dinner? We are not going to talk religion just as brothers loving one another.<br />
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I have done this more than once. Where I am serving I receive no income and I volunteer here as a pastoral counselor. If you need to talk please message me and I understand if you do not want to trust me. <br />
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Pastor Jim

After reading how far down you spiraled, & the things you could not do, I believe you're here for a reason. I'm proud of you for asking your boss for help. Asking for help is the hardest thing for anyone to do, especially the strong man who everyone leans on.