So I begin a new year without George. All still raw yet also feeling like an eternity already. I found work a distraction eventually, a structure to adhere to. It took time probably a month or so before that happened. I still struggle with life continuing relentlessly. The world does not stop spinning. It doesn’t acknowledge your loss for much more than the brief time when your son is found hanging from a tree and has to be removed. All that is there now to remind of the devastating loss is a candle and flower tribute which lie close to where his van was found and a little bit further away from where he was found by the Mountain Rescue team in the early morning hours of 26th Sep 2024.
I have had two weeks off over the Christmas break. Not a choice, as the company I work for closes altogether over the festive period. Life continues to feel surreal and full of paradoxes. I am in it; this life, but don’t want to be. Yet ‘do’ all at the same time. Impossible surely, it must be simultaneously but in rapid succession. The feelings, sometimes, no most of the time overwhelm me if not distracted. The worst time, bedtime every night. I recognised the desperate desire to now not be here myself. It scared me and continues to do so. The sudden overwhelming desire to just not be here. I began to drive to work one morning, not long after losing George and came to the doctors surgery. Realising I had been silently panicking and crying since leaving for work. I needed help to stay alive myself now. I see no point to much. The staff were incredibly empathic the GP not so. I had had a gp phone me daily, a female doctor who was empathic but this man struggled. I remember him saying he would refer me to the mental health team, my response being do what you feel must. I felt reprimanded as he said there was little point if I wasn’t going to engage with them. I honestly didn’t know what I needed. I wanted someone else to take charge, take decisions from me, make it right. Save ME. After leaving the surgery, I felt like I still hadn’t got a safety measure in place in case I should be overcome to follow George. I wasn’t brave like George. I knew I wouldn’t be able at this point to hang myself, choosing overdose as a more cowardly approach in my opinion. (It’s not, I know) I just wanted the pain to stop. Despite volunteering myself for another dose of antidepressants which I hoped would take away this desperate, all consuming death wish and taking something prescribed to help me sleep, since losing George I don’t sleep easily, peacefully or refreshingly. I haven’t since 25th of September. I keep to routines, try not to sleep in the day, take the baths the limit to social media and screens. All those things recommended. It is still a time I think incessantly of George. Flashbacks and a fear to close my eyes for the first few weeks was exhausting but now I am just aware of him not being ever in my physical life. The pain is still acute and still exhausting differently.
The morning of the night before, where George had been found dead after a harrowing, wet, cold, foggy night of searching my mobile rang, a call from The National liason Service Cymru . I now know them to be a service who help people like myself and all those affected by suicide. It’s a ripple effect, only its a big ripple, a tsunami effect. When someone dies it’s difficult and affects people close but somehow if a person dies through suicide and additionally young the effects and affected are much deeper, far wider and profound to many members of the community. I picked up somewhere the phrase ‘they have effectively murdered themselves’ A community is affected by that. I received care, love and support from unexpected places. I am treated differently mostly with the look of pity, utter loss of words which many acknowledge and don’t even try to give. There are no words became the words and they are right there are no words to console me.
I can only speak for myself, I cannot speak for how others feel . It is for them to express in their own way. So forgive the constant referral to myself, my feelings and what happened and is happening to me. That’s where I refer to myself and actions as selfish. I hope maybe my words may bring comfort to someone who is only beginning this horrendous journey. The admission to a club no one ever wants or hopes to join. I don’t wish to be selfish. I want to be kind, like George, to help as George did despite my pain just as he did. I am just finding my way.
This leads me onto those first few days or weeks where you try to make sense, try to act grown up, try to take charge of the spaghetti threads left of life once you realise it’s real. There is stuff to do, funerals, coroners, police statements and people. People who need to know what’s happened. Being young, social media savvy and popular, with his own business Georges world was far bigger than I could ever imagine. I decided to make a social media post on my newly created Facebook presence, made out of necessity prior to the loss of George, to join groups rather than a desire to join face book society itself.
It began. The outpouring of love for my son, the devastation his loss caused to their memories, lives and relationships with him. Friends, colleagues, teachers, clients, specialists even solicitors, estate agents customers who had met George only once maybe. I was moved far beyond overwhelmed, but it gave me a raft to lie on. These messages, letters, cards and texts were at this time personal and to me. I realised the help they were giving me could help others struggling with his loss. Setting up his memorial page continues to this day to recount memories, songs, videos that bring some comfort to us all as a collective group. But then with no idea how enormous it would become I began to feel selfish wanting them to stop sharing in my grief, my son. I briefly, fleetingly resented sharing him so soon. Then the enormity of his achievements overtook my need to keep him only for myself. I resumed as I had always done but with renewed vigour to be overwhelmingly proud of my son.
I knew he was a kind, gentle, funny, hard working, generous man but had no idea to what extent. People recounted stories of his kindness and generosity to them personally. He had given homes, jobs, food, money but above all his time to so many. He truly was remarkable. All the time, battling his own demons and being abused throughout his life by bullies and thugs but also good people doing bad things to him, taking their lot out on him. He didn’t retaliate, seek revenge. He sought justice, which unfortunately he didn’t receive. His words to me and others that day were “I can’t be arsed anymore” which came through on the text as “I cannot be asked anymore” speaks volumes. He was exhausted from trying to do and be the good, wholesome, right thing. He had no more to give not even for himself.
Be George.Be Kind. 