I’ve come to loathe the 17th each month, being the counter of moons that I am these days. 21 months last week since Reuben took his life, and despite meandering through the day fully aware of it, it wasn’t until I checked messages from him, in the weeks before he died, that it smashed into me. What on earth was I thinking? That maybe that day (of all days) I could handle it? What a dingus.
His absence is incredibly sad. Every day I miss him, despite being able to smile and see joy around me, there is an aching chasm. His decision to leave feels like a massive rejection at times, and there’s no getting over it.
My only option is to find ways to live with it flayed along my back, nestled in my shrivelled womb, and wrapped around my heart. I know this will be with me for the rest of my life.
There are no other children, there will be no grandchildren, and it’s unlikely there will be any whÄnau of origin at my wake (if I live to be an old crone). This experience is an incredibly lonely one, as a single parent.
Last week, my poetic memoir manuscript was once again rejected, too raw for current publishing models it appears. BUT the good news is that the wonderful publisher gave me a generous tonne of encouraging feedback, and has invited me to expand it into a creative non-fiction book! Not everyone’s idea of dinner conversation, although given our suicide stats in Aotearoa New Zealand it should be.
Since Reuben died, I’ve remained open, real and authentic about what this grief process is like for me, as his Mum, his No.1 fan, and his friend. Often, when I put my feelings out into what feels like a void, I am surprised when someone responds, and then another, and another.
I’m so grateful to Reuben’s friends who’ve stayed in touch, honouring us both with aroha – thank you. I’m grateful to my MÄ and the handful of friends who’ve not shied away from my grieving process, when others have chosen to distance themselves (which I understand too – no blame there on my part). And I’m grateful to those who I’ve met online, either through being suicide bereaved or mesh injured.
I’m reposting a video reading I did for Paula Green, at NZ Poetry Shelf, with a few of the poems published about grief. https://youtu.be/E_7QyhEaduY
It’s not light and fluffy, or zen-goddess, reflecting on this kind of death. And while I have a deep connection to spirituality, since Reuben’s death I’m finding that this side of things can often be projected onto me like a handbrake, or a minimising response, or even worse…avoidance. I don’t need anyone to fix the unfixable (nothing can bring him back), and meditating twice a day along with thinking positive thoughts doesn’t always work. I’m doing the best I can to keep my head above water, but most of the time it feels as though it’s only the tip of my nose that is out and shallow breathing, while the rest of me is submerged.
All I know is that I must continue to feel what I’m feeling, acutely aware that it’s uncomfortable (to myself and others), and do my best to remain upright.Ā This lark isn’t for everyone, I get that.
Soon I’ll begin the expanded writing I’ve been encouraged to do. And I hope the end result will be of use to others, as well as encouraging discussion, in a society where suicide is still shrouded in layers of shame and silence. Therefore, I’ll aim to keep sending my unashamed voice into the void ~ Reuben would want that too, I’m sure.Ā
Massive shout outs and aroha to all you lovelies who continue to create, despite the rejections. Solstice blessings headed your way xx
Iona Winter 
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