It was 1975, He had just turned 25 on new years day, and was freshly diagnosed with Manic Depression. And was known to self medicate with whatever drugs he could get his hands on. He had finally gotten a steady job as a bus driver. He was a father to a 13 month old little girl,and he was married to a devoted wife.
Though she would account of many incidents of battery and emotional abuse. I do recall hearing my mother being slammed up against the wall. And as an infant I would shut down in fear (the deer in front of an oncoming truck) I would develop this coping mechanism as I grew and encountered other abusive situations (apparently typical of survivors of suicide-murder) I encounter bouts of guilt as I was not a healthy baby. - I was born with a lack of oxygen, and later we discovered my thyroid non function - I was in and out of hospital in my first few weeks of life. I am sure my father used that against my mother when I wasn't there.
One night he decided to mix a few drinks and probably dropped some acid as well as taking his medication. It was a deadly decision that almost cost the life of not only himself but his wife and daughter(me). After the drinks he went home and became physically abusive to my mother, and threatened to burn down the house with us in it. I would hear all this in my crib in the neighbouring room
My mother was smarter(and sober) and grabbed me from my crib and ran to the neighbours, the first set of neighbours were not home, so she ran to the next, in which she was confronted by him shouting and blaming his low self esteem on her, and wielded a sawed off gun pointing at himself. She had gotten me to safety with the neighbours taking me in. My mother was in the depths of the drama, the fear, and the fighting. She hadn't known I was propped up in a window by the curious kids.
He turned the gun on himself and shot himself in the stomach that night. Everyone was shocked. Not only had I witnessed the violent suicide of my own father, but I was dropped and abandoned for a time while everyone was running in different direction like decapitated chickens in shock.
My mother needed to be drugged up with valium due to witnessing such a violent act. We Somehow did make it to Vancouver so he could be cared for in the larger hospital, and my grandparents could care for me while my mom would be spending time by his bedside praying, talking to him, and when he finally died due to the gangrene infection, my mother needed to be medicated yet again. I needed her but she didn't have the strength then to acknowledge my presence. I remember having a rest with her in the big bed in the guest room of my grandparents, I woke calling to her, climbing up on her and not getting a response. I didn't understand what was going on, I was just an infant who lost her daddy, and scared she was losing her mommy too.
My grandfather stepped up to the role of father for me. And doted on me when I came to visit or if they came to visit us.
But to lose a father to a violent suicide disrupted my sense of value- I wasn't a good enough person or he would have wanted to live, I didn't understand these highs and intense lows until later in my life where I became diagnosed as having borderline personality disorder. In my therapies I discovered my sensitivity to sudden loud abrupt noises that would find me cowered under tables not feeling sure what time frame I was in. There are self help groups for the parents or spouses left behind. Although 7,000-12,000 children( Hopkins Chilterns Center) lose their parents to suicide. There are approximately 20,000 homicides in the United States annually. In 2002, 8.6% of
victims were killed by their spouse, 5.5% were children killed by a parent, 7.4% were killed by a family member, other than their spouse or parent, and 7.3% were killed by their boyfriend or girlfriend. The vast majority of these deaths are related to domestic violence.Fathers who kill children and then themselves often meet the criteria
for domestic abuse of their partners, including contact with the police. Even many suicides
by women are thought to be associated with battering.( survivors resources)
There are no groups for the children left behind- it is either not acknowledged that people who take their lives could possibly even be parents. I see groups for those who were the spouse,partner, or parent of the suicide victim. But never a group for the child (adult survivor). Or is it just too hard to talk about. Is it that group could never be acknowledged because if we acknowledged that it occurred we have to acknowledge that we let a group that have been left unattended to.
Yes as children we are narcissistic in our reactions to the suicide - we take on a level of blame- if only. I am also guilty of those as I got older. I was also having nightmares, had fears of rooms that were long and dark. But I couldn't put words to everything. This issue seemed to fall through the cracks, people didn't want to admit to the possibility that i was a witness to this horrible event. They just wanted to concentrate on my development due to my rare genetic disorder. Because they didn't detect it soon enough - it was suspected i may have mental retardation- i had a physical challenge. But i was more than intelligent enough. And this may have made me more of a fighter in my life. I knew there was something out there that wanted me and my mother to live. And I have had to be persistent in my story until finally as I came to the end of my teenager years a psychologist finally believed me as she noticed some of my other fears and anxieties came out. It was clear I had a complicated history, and that I would feel isolated when people would learn how my father died but that through a change in hormones from a pregnancy I developed a mental illness. People are scared to hear of this possibility that we could possibly inherit a mental illness. But we had already battled most of our lives with post trauma anyways. (What is one or two more to top it off) i tried joining a group where they had child survivors and I was reprimanded for being honest. Again a way for me to feel isolated and strange for my situation. I stand out, I try to move forward but a part of me is stuck and cannot move forward because this infant is unable to cry- she is that deer suddenly trapped in the middle of the road with oncoming traffic of bright lights and screeching brakes. She must be quiet as the situation was life threatening. And the advocating mother in me says - I will not keep this topic a taboo.
I spent years dealing with various psychiatrists (partially due to my being born with a rare thyroid condition) and when I was old enough to tell my perspective even small segments I was accused of lying, of telling something I may have heard in gossip. I was only 13 months old when it happened. How could I have remembered that event.? The question is how could I I was at an age where I didn't have a vocabulary so my coping mechanism to shut down physically and emotionally. I learned at the age of 38 that I dissociated in 7 forms to cope with the trauma.
The last straw was when my husband had hit me while I had my son in my arms because I slammed the door and locked it to protect myself and get my son to stop his screaming. I was triggered to relive these events in new detail that i would never thought possible.
This brought me to two clinics where I would spend a total of 15 months trying to get back on my feet again. Yes I felt suicidal many times but I stopped myself and asked for help- I did not need to repeat history and leave my children short of a parent.
I started the bizarre behaviours marking my post traumatic stress disorder - these 7 forms of dissociation found me unsure of my time span( usually triggered by a sudden loud bang), days where my left side behaves as though I have had a stroke, or times where a tornado basically rips through a room breaking things and me in a corner debating on whether or not i should injure myself so I could come back to reality.
It has taken a team to help me learn to trust, and to understand why 38 years my body behaves this way and that I should be nice to myself at this time of year. And yes 39 years later my body still knows what happened but now I have someone to help me through the rough days I had a wonderful group of nurses, doctors and therapists that do believe me and helped me tolerate my environment better. And I thank them wholeheartedly.
Gemma Luescher-Verseckas
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