... We can recognize the journey is different for each parent, sibling, friend, family. I don't know the depth of loss my friends are feeling for their son. I do remember the pain of watching my brother's battle with mental illness, and the anger, confusion, and loss I felt after his suicide. I remember the guilt I felt after physically restraining him during his first episode of psychosis and hospital admission while he accused me of betraying his trust. The fear I carried until my late twenties that I was genetically predestined to follow his path. I know we must all confront different versions of grief. We can remember to care for the circles of community that are supporting and suffering. We forget how much young death sends shock waves through a community. We can be kind to each other. We can remember joy. It is absent at first, a garden scorched. Yet even in the early days, the smallest shoots can be found. Fleeting moments of laughter as eulogies and remembrances are assembled, photos and memories shared. We can follow their lead and protect these glimpses of respite. If we are patient, if we nurture these moments, we can take pleasure in a changed happiness that returns in the years to come ...
Language: en
LA - en SN - 0098-7484 UR - http://dx.doi.org/10.1001/jama.2018.15664 ID - ref1 ER -