Don’t Suffer in Silence

I haven’t written a blog post for a while; I find that Bartopia is the least natural of my writing endeavours at the moment and so it has been benched. However, it seems the perfect platform for what I need to express now and, as such, it gets to pull the jumper on and run back onto the field.

I’m grieving. It hurts… and I’m dealing with it the way I deal with most things of an emotional nature: I’m pretending everything is ok. It’s more than that though. I dismiss my own feelings, avoid talking through things and bottle things up. Even this, while I’ll talk about what I’m going through, will be superficial and will gloss over the significance of things and their impact on my well being.

Halfway through last month I lost someone who had always seemed superhuman to me. My Nan raised 9 children to adulthood, had 21 grandchildren, 11 great grandchildren and housed over 30 foster children – a truly remarkable person. I miss her dearly.

Thursday was my Poppa’s 90th birthday – we’d hoped Nan would hold out to see it but she never made it.

Saturday was the anniversary of my birth dad’s death.

A year ago a friend, “Sax”, took his own life. Later this week marks a year since two families from my footy club lost people important to them – a father for one, a daughter for the other.

Last year, while much of this was still fresh, my workplace was also rocked by grief. Tragically, a car carrying four students crashed killing two of the occupants. I hadn’t had a lot to do with these kids but I knew all of them in some way, shape or form. My pain at that stage was not from grieving for the boys who passed away, but from seeing the students I was still responsible for going through a world of hurt.

The anniversary of that crash is just around the corner.

Again, I am concerned for my students. Yep, I get that I’m projecting or whatever, that I’m seeking an escape from my own issues by focusing on the issues of others… it’s what I do best.

I’ve spoken to the school about the possibility of talking to the students at an assembly. It’s complicated, and their hands are tied by departmental red tape, but we’ll offer what we can. I’ll offer what I can too. That’s fairly limited, obviously – all I can really offer is a familiar face with an understanding ear, someone who knows a little something about what they’re going through.

Grief is an individual thing, we all process it in different ways. But grief is also a bitch. It sneaks up on you, hits you when you least expect it.

I’m not worried about how the students will cope while they’re at school. We will have extra staff on hand, trained in counselling. They will have friends and trusted adults they can lean on. My concern is next year when that safety net is taken away. My concern is late at night when they’re laying in bed feeling isolated and alone.

I’ve seen the dark side of grief. One year after my aunty suicided, my uncle took his own life.

I don’t want the people in my care thinking that’s their only option. It cannot be an option for me. I won’t let it be an option for anyone whenever I can prevent it.

There are agencies out there invested in supporting people with mental health issues, including the affects of grief. There are people out there willing and wanting to help.

Don’t suffer in silence.