Category: Grief Recovery

I’ll Bet You Didn’t Know

I’ll bet you didn’t know that I’m a suicide survivor.

But first, I want to share a happy memory of my husband, Pablo. It’s fall, my favorite season. We lived in Metro Denver, CO, and often planned trips to visit some national parks nearby. This trip was to see the Grand Canyon during Thanksgiving week. But first, we stopped at Zion National Park.

The flaming red maples along the Riverside walk at Zion National Park in Utah stirred my desire to remember this day, 11/22/2007. I stopped to take this photo as Pablo continued walking. I wonder now what was going through his mind. What emotions were stirring? Did he enjoy the quiet grandeur as much as I did?

What prompted me to do this now?

Although my Substack publication is about grief, I don’t mention that suicide is a part of my grief. I’ve never written publicly about being a suicide survivor.

My husband, Pablo, took his own life a little over ten years ago in September 2014. I thought the different therapists I saw after his life ended, the suicide survivor group, and the more recent grief recovery coaching would have worked some miracle healing.

It didn’t.

There are no miracles in grief healing.

The healing process has been slow, often hindered by my choices of avoidance, stuffing down emotions, and allowing guilt to invade my thoughts.

But a few painful realizations and aha moments mark my journey stepping up the staircase of grief toward joy.

One of the aha moments was realizing that writing about my relationship with my husband and his suicide might help someone alter the course of their lives positively.

The synchronicities continue

I’m reading these two books because I am also on Substack. Paul Crenshaw’s book, This One Will Hurt You,  is for a Book Club with Jeannie Ewing, and I was led to buy A Year to Clear.

I’m reading Stephanie Bennett Vogt’s book because I’m starting another home decluttering. I didn’t realize how much clutter was still in my home and my heart. Today, I start Day 9 in A Year to Clear.

suicide survivorAs I start each essay in This One Will Hurt You, I experience an element of fear. Will this one hurt me the most? Or will it make me laugh, like Of Little Faith did? Fear or not, I move forward. Life can be challenging, but we choose how to meet those challenges.

And Pablo still reaches out

Today, he feels nearby.

As I was writing this post, I looked up at the clock on my computer and saw 10:23 a.m. Pablo was born on October 23rd, and this time catches my attention multiple times each week. Today, it feels like a message from the other side: Pablo is with me, telling me it’s okay to share our story.

Does your loved one reach out to you beyond the veil?

I’d love to hear your tender experiences in the comments.

Today is His Birthday

When we are grieving the loss of a loved one, it’s tempting to think about their last day, especially for suicide survivors. I prefer to think about their first day, their birthday, and how we celebrated. Pablo and I made so many beautiful memories. And a lot of them included Cuban food.

I frequently see 10:23 displayed on my phone, and I saw it twice daily in the weeks after his death a little over ten years ago. I always say, “Hi, Pablo!” Because I can think that today is his birthday, and I will never forget him.

Today is his birthday.

This year, however, the day snuck up on me. Yet, it must have been on my mind last Sunday when buying deli meat at Publix. I almost said aloud, “But I want a REAL Cuban sandwich!”

So, I looked up my Cuban Pork Roast recipe after stepping away from the counter and updated my list to include bone-in pork butt and sour orange juice. Before Hurricane Helene, I had real sour orange juice in my freezer. But it didn’t survive the week without electricity.

Pablo would have used a fresh ham, but it’s just me, and I wanted something smaller. A bone-in Boston Butt is perfect. And I had seen the ‘sour orange juice’ bottle on the International Aisle at Publix. As I took it off the top shelf, I couldn’t help but look at the ingredient list: orange juice, grapefruit juice, and more that told me it wasn’t sour orange juice. But it would have to do.

My pork roast was 3.1 pounds, so it was easy to halve the ingredients.

Pablo’s Cuban Marinated Pork Recipe

6-8 lb. pork roast

12 garlic cloves, divided

¾ – 1 cup sour orange juice

1 tsp. ground oregano

Salt and pepper, to taste

½ – 1 cup Spanish (white) cooking wine

1 onion, sliced

Start 1-2 days before serving. Peel and crush all of the cloves of garlic.  Use the point of a sharp knife to make deep slits all over the meat. Combine garlic, oregano, salt and pepper. Insert garlic mix into slits in the meat, pushing down with your finger.  Put meat in a large Ziploc bag and pour citrus juice and wine over the roast. Place the onion slices on the meat. Let the roast marinate in the refrigerator for 8-24 hours, turning occasionally.

When ready to roast, preheat oven to 325°F. Line a roasting pan with a large sheet of heavy-duty aluminum foil.  Place meat with fat side up onto the center of the foil. Pour the marinade over the meat and create a pouch with the foil to keep the steam and the marinade in. Roast until internal temperature reaches 170°F (approximately 35-40 min/lb.). Allow the meat to rest for 15-20 minutes. A boneless roast may require an additional 5-10 minutes/lb. to cook properly. Reheat in a 300°F oven for 45 – 60 minutes until warmed through.

How did it turn out?

This was the best Cuban roast pork I have ever made. I cooked it an hour longer than the recipe called for, which seemed to be a good thing. The meat is tender and flavorful.

Last night, I had a plate of pork, black beans, and white rice. Today, I made a Cuban sandwich. Both times, I raised my glass to Pablo. And then, I spent some time remembering our times together and his stories, which always made me laugh. The stories often revolved around fishing.

I also remember us sitting at Heathrow Airport’s Havana Club Rum bar. It was good rum, but it came with bittersweet memories. Pablo was born in Havana. One uncle worked in the cigar industry, and another uncle was an executive with Bacardi. The entire family fled in the early 1960s after Castro came into power. None of them settled in Miami. At first, their new lives began in Tampa, Florida, with the cigar factory and Bermuda, the new home of Bacardi.

In the early days of our relationship, when we got together for dinner with his parents in Tampa, making a pitcher of frozen Bacardi Daiquiris was guaranteed.

Later, when Mojitos became the rage, I asked him why we didn’t make them. He said no one in his parents’ circle drank them in Havana. It was always daiquiris.

I can’t remember the last time I made daiquiris, can you?

How Keeping a Diary Helps Both You and Your Loved Ones

Journaling is beneficial for airing your feelings. It is a private musing where you can write anything your heart desires. I highly recommend it, but diaries are helpful, too.

How keeping a diary helps your grieving process.

The photo above shows three of the forty-five diaries my mother kept. Although they have been in my possession for almost two years, I began reading them yesterday, Saturday. On Friday, I started feeling extra sad about the ninth anniversary of my father’s death, and I wanted to read what Mom wrote in her diary on that day.

The three of us were together at the dinner table when Dad experienced extremely labored breathing. As he sought relief, he experienced dizziness and difficulty standing and walking. I physically supported him as well as I could while Mom called 911.

Each year at this time, I read my story of his death and the aftermath, My Father’s Love: You’re One of the Good Ones, remembering how grief has its ups and downs.

What did Mom’s diary reveal about her grief?

Mom was a very private person who kept her feelings close. Her diaries are filled with minutia about what she ate, who called, or who she saw at the local cafe in The Trading Post. Mom never spoke about that day, but her life was irreparably changed as she wrote, “Swede started gasping and died at 5:45 pm.”

Perhaps writing this helped her organize her life in an orderly fashion she could manage, just as the daily recitation of meals helped her close each day before heading up the stairs to bed.

She read her entries occasionally after finishing the last book she borrowed weekly from the library. She noted the book’s title in her diary when she finished it. In addition, she kept a running list of all the books she read to avoid re-reading one.

Mom was a voracious reader, finishing six a week.

When she noted something each day, it was important to her. That is how I saw that her loneliness and grief were gnawing away at her personal security. She recorded how many mice she had caught in traps or if she had seen a mouse. Finally, in desperation, she got some rat poison, and the mouse problem was resolved.

Next came plumbing problems, with a stopped-up upstairs bathroom sink and a toilet that quit functioning. The final blow was her inability to lift up the heavy cattle gate at the driveway entrance. She was good about asking local friends to help her, but she began to feel like a burden. Swede would have taken care of all those problems when he was alive, so it was no wonder that she called out to me for help.

“I can’t live alone anymore, Dawn!”

I responded as quickly as I could, coming to help with everyday problems and then bringing her home with me, where she remained until she fell six years later.

How could it have been easier for Mom?

Communication was almost nonexistent in my family. We talked about lightweight subjects unless it was current events or the bonehead play in the latest college football game.

It might have been different if I asked simple questions.

“What was the highlight of your week in your diary, Mom?”

She might have tried to avoid answering, but I could have creatively pursued a fuller reply. Of course, I can’t relive the past, but I can act differently in my other relationships.

I’ll continue reading Mom’s diary entries, remembering events, and feeling her spirit around me. I know she loves me and enjoys hearing my voice when I comment on a new discovery of her love.

Now, her diaries are helping me in my grief.