Healing and the Pain of Traumatic Loss
These may be my most meaningful words shared here at Tandem PHL. It means the world to me that you take the time to read them.
I would note, if depression and/or suicide are triggering topics for you, you may want to skip over the middle of this post, down to where it says SO WHAT NOW in bold. I’m sending you all my love as you make choices to prioritize your path towards peace.
I am no stranger to grief or loss, but loss by suicide is a different kind of pain. Writing this is deeply personal and deeply painful, but I am keenly aware that God has graced me, not just to speak and write about my experiences with loss, but to endure through the sorrows gifted me in the steady hope that I may encourage someone else in their journey along this shadowy path.
CALEB.
One of my closest friends from 8th grade through high school graduation was a spunky kid named Caleb. Caleb was a foreign exchange student from El Salvador who moved to the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania to live with my Spanish teacher and her family and attend our private Christian academy. Our school was so small that we had no choice but to be friends. This same beloved Spanish teacher was also the aunt of many in my close friends group, so this pretty much meant Caleb was “family” from the day he showed up in my first period class. Caleb was smart, energetic, empathetic, detail-oriented, and a clean freak. He had a negative zero level of swag but he stood out and I loved it. From 8th grade to my senior year we had every single class together, from the first bell in the morning to the last bell at dismissal, and I knew God sent him to be my friend for all those years.
There were no pretenses or ego with Caleb. He had integrity and was a loyal friend. I think often about how he’d do things, like finding scratch paper for everyone before a math test and passing it out so no one had to go scrounging at the last minute. He knew I hated having lines on my scratch paper so when everyone else got a page ripped from his own personal notebook, he’d collect a sheet of blank printer paper for me from beside our teacher’s desk. It was these little things I still cherish the most about my friend.
One of the things I loved most about Caleb was his unashamed nature to be completely himself. He dressed differently…way ahead of his age and time. No one else in 9th grade was shopping at Zara in 2008. Even when Caleb was clowned by classmates for dressing like he was going to walk the runway right after he clocked out on Wall Street, he never made others feel small for being behind on what he saw as higher fashion. It was below his character to ever speak poorly of others, even when they deserved it. His perspective on the world was wide and I adored that about him. He saw beyond the small town we were stuck in and had a “sky is the limit” view of things like business and culture.
From the day I met Caleb, his heart was set on going to flight school and becoming a pilot. It was never a question of if, it was when. He used to always say, “Jenna, when you’re traveling the world and making an impact, I’ll fly you anywhere you want to go.” I think of this incredibly kind statement he used to make often and it still causes a lump in my throat to this day, over a decade later. This is the reason I have a paper airplane tattooed on my left wrist.
Following high school we went our separate ways and kept in touch loosely on social media, which was just taking off at the time. Caleb enrolled at Liberty University and began pursuing his passions.
I honestly chuckled to myself at this point in writing because how do you transition from fond memories of a person to “well and then they ended their own life” *scratches head* #insertgrimace here.
With regard to Caleb’s passing, I don’t have much to share, and what I do have feels dishonorable to plaster here for the world wide web to consume. What I will say is that the struggle with depression is a dark and shady pit many people fall into. I think what scares me most about depression is that once you’re in the pit it can be very difficult for the people around you to see you, find you, or help pull you out.
Life on this earth was sorrowful for Caleb and I can only find solace in knowing he no longer suffers. I think fondly of his family, parents, siblings, and specifically his sister Jen, with a special type of love in my heart.
SUICIDE IS WEIRD.
It’s a horrific way to end one’s pain and suffering while simultaneously causing a tidal wave of those exact things for the people left behind. Suicide loss is a grief I wouldn’t wish on anyone, and in 2013, I was inconceivably unprepared for how to navigate it when Caleb passed away. I cried in my room for days, barely ate, and was so full of rage at Caleb’s honor service that I spoke to no one and left as soon as I could.
I’ll pause here to make the obvious statement that loss is an inevitable part of life. It’s an unavoidable guarantee that each of us will experience the loss of a loved one sometime during our time on earth. In my experience, what amplifies the pain of loss by suicide specifically is how it leaves you feeling like so much doesn’t make sense. When my grandfather passed away the night before my birthday in 2020, I could make sense of it. Yes, it ripped the wind out of my sails and the breath from my lungs, but at least I could understand how and why. My late grandfather, Poppie, as we all called him, was elderly and his health failed him. He was at the end of a life well lived. One full of friends, family, and love, and God called him home.
This made sense to me.
I can also somewhat make sense of unexpected tragic losses…as odd as that seems. Freak accidents happen. People get sick out of nowhere and pass away. Horrible murders take place. We crash our cars, bikes, planes, and every other kind of vehicle we can build. Unfortunately, our free will as humans allows each of us the ability to make decisions that sometimes take the life of another person. As wild as it sounds, I can still make some sense of it. This doesn’t make any of these scenarios less painful, but at least I can wrap my mind around them.
When someone you love decides their only choice left is to end their life of their own volition, the aftermath is wrapped in a feeling I can only name as great confusion. And even those words don’t feel accurate enough. With Caleb, I never knew nor saw it coming. But to be intimately involved in the mental health battles of someone you love dearly and experience their loss cuts deeper than any knife. It’s a hollow pain that can make you sick.
DIAMOND.
This one feels almost too painful to write, but I will try.
Diamond quite literally was my person. If “soulmates” exist in platonic friendships, I’m more than 100% sure that she was mine. And I knew it from the very first moment we met. Diamond was easy to love and I suspect I am far from alone in how I felt about her.
Nearly a decade ago the evening church service we were attending had just ended, and my friends and a few pastors I was with decided to grab something to eat after. Our crew was quite large so we started piling into any car with a driver that shared our destination - a local diner that stayed open late. I found myself in the middle seat of an unknown sedan with my pastor’s wife on my right and a dazzling new human on my left. Her name was Diamond.
Our group pulled up to the diner within minutes, sat down, and when the waitress turned to Diamond to take her order the words that came out of her mouth left me stunned.
“I’ll take a slice of cheesecake and a side of bacon.” she said, in signature electric confidence.
Our entire table laughed with joy at the nature of her meal request and I decided right then that she was the kind of girl I wanted to be friends with. It was 2016.
I pray every human gets to experience the kind of friendship Diamond and I built over the years. Our bond wasn’t normal and I won’t ever let myself think otherwise. She was the kind of person who made you feel capable of absolutely anything and that you could be your ugliest self with no judgment. She was my biggest fan, cheerleader, tear catcher, and the sister I never knew I needed. When something horrible happened, she was the first person I’d call. If I had amazing news, met a new guy, got a promotion, needed prayer, experienced a miracle, or had an outrageous idea - again, she was my speed dial. She was Myspace Top 5, iMessages pinned texts, and IG close friends through and through. On top of this, Diamond was an even more electric leader. Not only did she know how to equip and lead others, but she was always on a mission towards humility and trying to become more like Christ, despite the uphill battle. We did it all together. The number of concerts, green rooms, backstages, conferences, front rows, and work events we’ve snuck one another into likely racks up into the hundreds. Diamond was the kind of person that you wanted on your front row whether you were doing something epic or something scary. If she was speaking on a panel, I’d be there praying with her before and debriefing after. If I was organizing a conference, she’d be right there in the reserved seating with a smile and a huge hug for me no matter how the event ran. I can remember countless times, after she moved from Pennsylvania to Texas and then home to Detroit, that I’d barely mentioned an important day or event and the next thing I knew she had a flight booked. We had secret handshakes, and code names, and our voice notes back and forth contained a criminal level of humor and wit. We used to laugh so hard my sides hurt. Each time one of our flights landed we’d send a “boots on the ground” text to the other one and I know for many years my name in her phone was simply “boots”.
Diamond showed up for others no matter what it cost her and I can never repay what it meant to me. She was safe. She was warm. And she was fighting.
Not long after becoming friends, Diamond told me about her consistent struggles with her mental health and it only made me love her more. I was shocked at her honesty and trust in me. As we unpacked her battles over time, I was nothing but appreciative that she shone a light on her darkness as often as she could in an effort to overcome and live in freedom. She spoke, when appropriate, about how she navigated her battles, in a way that was refreshing and gave permission for others to unpack their own demons.
I cannot pretend to know what it’s like to navigate torment in your mind or to have a brain that will not obey you no matter how much you will, pray, and medicate. My broken heart breaks again when I allow myself to fully consider the scope of what Diamond allowed me to know about her. She taught me how to hold space for some of life’s darkest things. It was sobering to know that she was keenly aware of the load she bore herself. Diagnosis, genetic disposition, traumatic life events…a person can only lift so much before they buckle. And to buckle again and again was an exhaustion I remember Diamond often describing to me. We talked freely about days she needed to check herself in for in-patient stays and about what had triggered certain episodes.
I still sharply remember one of the days she texted me to say “Jenna, please pray God heals my mind.” I called her immediately and we prayed. I tried to make her laugh and we talked about life. That was all I could do.
In all of it, what broke my heart the most was that Diamond told me she despised feeling like a burden to those around her. We never once saw her that way. She hated needing to be checked on, hated needing support, hated not being able to lead and manage herself, and her brain told her it wasn’t okay to need others to help her live. We talked about this quite often and I never stopped reminding her how we all need other people to remain healthy and well, regardless of our mental state.
By the summer of 2022, I started to get truly worried. When you love someone you know their patterns, and I could see worrisome patterns from halfway across the US. At one point in late May, I asked Diamond to give me the contact information of a few people who lived near her in Detroit who could get to her within 10 minutes if we needed them to. She gave me names and phone numbers without hesitation. We spoke nearly every day in May and one of her last messages to me was to thank me for consistently checking in. I know she loved me for it and hated that I needed to.
June 16th, 2022. It was one of those very friends who called me with the news. I hung up the phone and went into the weirdest version of shock I’ve ever experienced. All I knew was I had to leave my house. Not only did I leave the house, I drove my car all the way into the next state, pulled into a random gas station, bought a strawberry ice cream bar, and called my Dad sobbing. I could barely get the words out to explain to him why I was in tears. It was like a grenade had blown a hole right into the side of my soul and left me gaping wide open. As asked, I spent the rest of the day contacting specific people in Diamond’s community letting them know the news so that they wouldn’t have to find out on social media. The next 48 hours were an utter disaster and a chaotic mess.
As I’ve stated previously, a public blog entry is hardly the place to go sharing the details of how someone you love ended their life. And to be honest, the details still haunt me. Again, in an effort to honor Diamond, her family, friends, and others involved, I won't expand on that much further here.
When Diamond passed she left clear instructions for her community to not hold any sort of funeral or memorial service, so in my own small way, sharing here about our friendship and her life is my way of honoring her memory. If you read this far, thank you. It means so much to me.
SO WHAT NOW?
Ending this entry feels impossibly incomplete, much like the lives of the friends I’ve lost. At the time of writing this, it’s been over a year since Diamond passed away and I’ve only now gotten to a place where I could put anything into words. My experiences with traumatic loss have left me with more questions than answers about this life but I am sure of one thing - never once did God intend these outcomes nor has He left my side since. My faith has been a shelter through storms I never thought I’d see the other side of.
A scripture verse that has continually brought me peace is Psalm 23:4 “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil.”
I know that as long as I continue to walk, valleys are just a part of the journey and grief will simply have to come along for the ride.
Side note, to the reader who feels as though they are currently wading through a dark valley - keep walking. Don’t pitch your tent in that valley.
Lastly, I want to note my sincerest thanks for the kindness and love shown by my community, family, and friends. From insisting I get out and ride my bike when I wanted to wallow in sadness to sending care gifts and reminding me I am prayed for and loved. Words are not enough to show my gratitude over these last few years. Community is truly a life raft and finding people you can be authentically vulnerable with will keep you afloat in deep water. In 2020, when my Poppie passed away, I distinctly remember a handful of friends surrounding me as I cried into my flowers and gifts. “It doesn’t feel right to celebrate my birthday,” was all I could muster.
They demonstrated a master class on holding space for me and it’s a moment I look back on in life where I felt most loved.
Death by suicide happens far too frequently for me to think I’m in any way alone in the aftermath of this kind of loss. As cumbersome as grief can be, professional counseling, journaling, dedicated prayer, healthy hobbies, and a commitment to doing my own inner work have kept me in a place of submitted surrender to God and steadied by an inner joy that can only come from Him. I feel far from overcome.
Additionally, I have been diligently working on a special project that will be released later this year to honor survivors of traumatic loss.
Thank you for reading this. I am hopeful that you’ll stay connected to Tandem PHL for further encouragement in purpose, habits, and life.
With all the love in my heart,
Jenna Marie
Forever missed.
“ All Praise to the father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merficul father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubles, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.”