David’s suicide drew an invisible line between the world and me. I lived grief day by day, endless days, wondering how I would survive the following one, burdened by my anguish. There were moments of tears, of agony, even moments of laughter which a psychiatrist said was bordering on hysteria – my way of grieving.
Many people avoided me, crossed the road when they saw me, did not come up to me in the supermarket. Some made me feel as though I should sweep up my heart and pack my love for my son away because I would no longer need it. I was told that he would live on in my memory but ‘live’ is exactly what he would not do.
I was told; “He’s at rest, in God’s hands,” yet in God’s hands I’d watched him suffer. Will God be gentler now? I’d sought God only when in desperate need, only to find his door slammed in my face. I had bargained with Him on and off for so long, believing that if I obeyed all the rules, He would protect me and my family, but things don’t work that way.
“Why didn’t you take your son to a herbalist” someoneasked.
“You should have watched over him 24 hours a day,” said another.
“Why didn’t you change his medication?” asked a third. And that was when I made my escape to the peace of our garden.
