July 3, 2025

This is actually my second “Day 12” post: I deleted the first one because out of my wounds, I may have wounded another. As I heard John Mark Comer state, “our wickedness is fueled by our wounds.” I was childish in venting my frustrations with a person to the public, and I owe that individual and anyone who read my first post an apology. This is not the time, place, or space to address something of that nature. Especially because I know that person is hurting, too.

It’s heavy. It’s burdensome. Thoughts and sentences and simple human interaction, right now, are hard for me, it’s hard for my family, and it’s hard for our entire community. We all need grace, and grace in abundance.

Most of the time, I simply feel sick. I have no appetite [but don’t worry, I am eating], I feel nauseous and out-of-it and sad. I feel grateful, I feel sad, and I feel numb. Humans are so complex, how is it that we feel so much at the same time?

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We have been provided for in every way from the generous people from our church: “Give us this day our daily bread,” comes alive when each meal is delivered, with each meal perfectly supplying enough for my family each day. That has been beautiful and heartwarming and uplifting. People have been the hands and feet of Jesus each day, serving us, providing for us, ministering to us, and caring for us, and it has been astonishing and incredible to experience.

I cannot over-emphasize how grateful I am for our community and how in-awe I am for how we have been treated and loved.

I’ve never felt more provided for or taken care of than I do right now. “God is near to the broken hearted and saves the crushed in spirit” Psalm 34:18. I believe that now more than ever, despite my inevitable deconstruction. I believe it’s far easier to dismiss God than to have faith and trust in him under circumstances like these — this is when faith and trust becomes real.

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Daily Tip for Communicating with Someone in Mourning — Specifically Suicide Survivors

Saying “It doesn’t matter how they died,” is dismissive. When someone takes their own life, there is no natural cause, no illness, and no accident to blame.

Someone bereaved by suicide can only blame the person who committed the act, and his/her self. Suicide creates an arduous mental cycle. For me, it plays out something like this…

• I’m angry at my mom, she did this to me

• I’m confused. Why didn’t she reach out? Anyone would have helped her, I would have helped her

• I’m sad. She was in so much pain. What was she hopeless about? Why was she despairing?

• I’m confused and wounded. I don’t know what it’s like to have or to lose a child, but I cannot imagine she would give up life with her three living children because she was so desperate to be with her son. Her son, my brother, who also took his life.

• I’m sad, and I’m guilty. Did she know I loved her?

• I blame myself. Why didn’t I notice her? Why didn’t she want to confide in me? What did I miss?

And the cycle repeats. These are thoughts are examples of how suicide survivors think and process this type of death: grief from natural causes does not require this mental load. Thus, when one says that “it doesn’t matter how she died,” it points to their ignorance of the psychological impact and damage suicide survivors suffer.

Yes, all death is painful and comparing types of deaths certainly does not help anyone, but please try to understand the differences between a natural death and someone taking their own life.

Acknowledge the suicide survivor’s pain, and acknowledge your own pain. Vulnerability leads to life, bypassing of any type (spiritual bypassing, avoidance, denial, etc) leads to death. Take care of yourself — bypassing is not worth it.

July 3, 2026

Ah yes, Day 12. This was the first time I posted something critical about our former church. A few things sparked it: I had not been contacted, they held a women’s only suicide-specific night of healing, and the pastor did not mention her name or death to the congregation.

The lack of contact was very strange to me. My director from work, whom I barely knew (boss’s-boss’s-boss’s-boss) had reached out several times, but my pastor who I saw weekly never did. Nor did anyone from the executive staff — not until about two weeks ago, when they sent a kind card and flowers in honor of my Mom’s one year anniversary. I wonder if they mentioned her name at church that week.

The women’s only night of healing was a good idea… for women, but it completely neglected all men, as if my Mom’s life did not impact any men. I often wonder, had a man died, would they make it a night of men’s-only healing? Also… my family wasn’t invited to the event. And also… I’m her only surviving woman — the rest, the majority of her survivors, are men. Our lack of invitation hurt, then the lack of a place for the men in my life to go also hurt. It felt dismissive of male grief.

People weren’t ready for this information, though. When I first posted it, people called my family members panicking about it. That put guilt on my family members who didn’t write the post, and that wasn’t fair.

Things only got worse from here.

What I’ve observed, is that from outsider’s perspectives, it is always the griever’s responsibility to show grace. It’s the griever’s responsibility to reach out to people who hurt them. It’s the griever’s responsibility to consider the people who caused hurt’s feelings. It’s the griever’s responsibility to play the mental game of making sure no one else has hurt feelings. God forbid someone hurts the griever — that someone obviously didn’t know what to say or do… so it’s the griever’s responsibility to deal with their ignorance and excusable behavior.

Sigh.

This day marked beginning of a very big crack, splinters forming a great divide, a desolation that time does not mend.

I forgive them, and I thank them for reaching out a couple weeks ago and for the flowers.

The funny thing about pain is that you only experience it because you care. I loved these people, and I don’t believe love ever goes away. Circumstances can just change how you express it.