My heart broke, properly, on this day in 2013. I’d had relationship breakups before then, but this was different. I remember some of it in incredible detail, and other parts are vague and blurred, like an impressionist painting. The sense of sadness and trauma remain but have been softened by time. My heart recovered, but it’s never been the same. The cracks are filled with gold kintsugi. This repair has allowed me to continue, but the damage is permanent and I treasure it with gratitude. My life is wonderful and I’m happy, but I’m changed.
Today is the 13th anniversary of Michael’s death. The event being the turning point or crux of both my life and my book. I’m still in the process of looking for a home for my story, which is frustrating. But, I want to tell the story, and eventually someone will want to read it.
Delving into why suicide is such a fraught topic is one of the themes in my book. The stigma and shame associated with death by suicide is overwhelming. I receive feedback from people suggesting it’s not a viable commercial subject to publish. I see so many books about grief that are fictionalised versions of the truth. Are we, as humans, not able to tolerate reality anymore?
A lovely friend of mine teaches English Literature at university level. She has told me that students are now receiving trigger warnings on works such as Romeo and Juliet, as the dysfunctional family dynamics in the story may upset them. How does one build resilience if one is not subjected to sadness and hardship. And, surely it is preferable to do so through feeling empathy while reading.
So, 13 years later I’m probably more cynical. I’m definitely stronger, wiser, and more grateful. I know and appreciate that if Michael could have been here, he would be. I accept that he’s not. I miss him.
I’m now love and am loved by the most wonderful human, Stu. Mya and Steph are happy and doing well. There is life after trauma and grief. It may have started as a wild ride, with four teenagers, and a lot of complexity. But it’s now quiet and calm and I wouldn’t change it for anything.
Read more about my experience of writing about suicide, Is Suicide a Dirty Word?
Kylie Eklund-Denman 