Mourning Requires Compassionate Witness

Lavender and Light together become enduring symbols of peace, healing, and transformation

‍After someone we love dies from suicide, we may find ourselves desperately searching for something—anything—that might bring a little comfort to our shattered hearts.

At first, I remember feeling as though an elephant was sitting on my chest. Panic came in waves. My thoughts spun so fast they reminded me of a ceiling fan turned to its highest setting—you know, the setting where the whole unit begins to shake and wobble.

Those first weeks and months were not about “healing.”

They were about surviving.

Getting through the morning. Getting through the afternoon. Finding a way to sleep. Trying to eat. Trying to quiet our bodies enough to take one mindful breath. Trying to find our footing in a world that suddenly felt completely off balance.

And then we begin looking for help.

We may reach out to therapists, only to discover that finding someone who understands suicide grief can be surprisingly difficult. Perhaps the complexity of the loss feels outside their expertise. Perhaps they simply aren’t sure how to help.

I met with an inexperienced therapist who initially agreed to work with me. After two sessions, she called and told me she could no longer see me.

I had already experienced devastating loss. Now, the person I had reached out to for help was telling me she couldn’t help me either.

It hurt.

As painful as that was, it opened the door to finding the perfect therapist.

What has your experience been when you reached out for help?

Finding People Who Understood

Eventually, I found a suicide loss support group.

It wasn’t ideal.

The room was overcrowded. The chairs were uncomfortable. The space felt claustrophobic. And, for some reason, I still remember what that room smelled like.

But something important happened there.

For the first time since my losses, I sat among people who didn’t need me to explain why this grief felt different.

No one judged the questions we asked.

No one seemed frightened by the things we needed to talk about.

No one expected us to make their grief more comfortable for them.

We shared an experience none of us would have chosen, but one that connected us in a way few other people could understand.

There was relief in simply being able to speak our truth.

Have you ever attended a suicide loss support group? What was that experience like for you?

Unfortunately, our group didn’t last long. COVID-19 shut down the world; our in-person meetings ended, and at that time there was no Zoom group to take its place.

Perhaps the most important thing I learned in that group was this:

Healing does not happen in isolation.

It happens in relationship.

Sometimes healing begins when another human being is simply willing to sit beside us in our pain without trying to fix it, explain it away, hurry it along, or tell us how we should feel.

That is peer companioning.

Why Being With Others Matters

Research gives us important information about suicide grief. It tells us that people grieving a suicide may experience traumatic grief, depression, post-traumatic stress, prolonged grief, isolation, and many other difficult responses.

But if you’ve lived it, you probably don’t need research to tell you that this grief can affect nearly every part of you.

Your body.

Your thoughts.

Your emotions.

Your relationships.

Your sense of safety.

Sometimes even your understanding of yourself, your faith, or the world you thought you knew.

And then there is something many of us weren’t prepared for:

The reactions of other people.

People don’t always know what to say after a suicide.

Some disappear.

Some avoid saying our loved one’s name.

Some ask questions that hurt.

Some search for explanations or someone to blame.

Some experience blame from their own family.

And sometimes we begin protecting other people from our grief.

We stop talking.

We tell only part of the story.

We say we’re doing okay when we aren’t.

And little by little, our world can become smaller.

That is one reason peer support can matter so much.

Peer support doesn’t require having the answers.

It is the profound experience of being with another person who recognizes something about the wilderness you are walking through because they have walked a similar terrain.

Sometimes what we most need to hear is simply:

“I relate to that.”

Those four words can mean:

You aren’t the only one.

You aren’t too much.

You don’t have to explain.

I’m still here.

What I Have Learned

Over the years, grief has taught me many things I never wanted to learn.

I’ve learned that grief has no expiration date.

I’ve learned there is no “too early” or “too late” to walk into a support group. Your loss may have happened two months ago or twenty years ago. Your story still matters.

I’ve learned that every person I sit with teaches me something.

I’ve learned that grief continues long after the rest of the world assumes we should be “back to normal.”

I’ve learned there is no “back to normal.”

I’ve learned how to live in a life that has been changed.

And somewhere along the way, I moved from needing to receive hope to being able to offer it.

Creating the Virtual Companioning Circle

My own experiences after suicide loss—and everything I have learned since—are part of what led me to create the Virtual Companioning Circle.

I keep thinking about what my own heart needed during those early months.

I needed a small, safe place.

I needed familiar faces.

I needed to know what to expect.

I needed people who weren’t afraid of my grief.

And sometimes, I simply needed somewhere I could show up without pretending to be okay.

Virtual groups can offer something we didn’t have when COVID first closed our support group: a way to find one another even when geography, transportation, physical limitations, or “grief exhaustion” makes leaving home difficult.

The Circle is intentionally small.

We meet consistently so trust can grow.

We have gentle structure, so you know what to expect, but there is also room for whatever you bring that evening.

No one is expected to have the right words.

No one is expected to tell their entire story.

No one is expected to “move on.”

Sometimes you may need to talk.

Sometimes you may need to listen.

Sometimes simply being present is enough.

These are the things my own heart needed after loss.

A support group cannot take away our grief.

Nothing can.

But perhaps we can help one another carry it.

If You Are Reading This…

You may have recently lost someone you love to suicide; it may feel as though your world has stopped while everyone else’s continues moving around you.

You may wonder whether anyone could possibly understand what is happening inside you.

You may be exhausted.

Angry.

Numb.

Frightened.

Confused.

Guilty.

You may experience several of those feelings before noon on any day.

There is no single right way to grieve a suicide.

And you do not have to carry every part of it alone.

Healing does not mean forgetting the person you love.

It doesn’t mean leaving them behind.

Perhaps healing is slowly learning how to carry love and loss together.

Both can exist within us at the same time.

And sometimes hope begins in a very ordinary way.

We click a Zoom link.

We see the faces of people who understand something about why we’re there.

And someone quietly says:

“We’re glad you’re here.”

If you are wondering whether the Virtual Companioning Circle is a place for you, I invite you to read more about it and then start with a conversation. We will talk about where you are in your wilderness of grief and whether the Circle feels like the right fit.

If it does, I’ll help you take the next step and register for your first meeting.

It would be an honor to walk beside you as you find your own way through this journey.

I wish you peace,

Janice

‍References

‍Systematic review referenced for virtual and peer support interventions: https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC11956734/

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"Companioning is about being present to another person's pain; it is not about taking the pain away."
~ Dr. Alan D. Wolfelt

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