Suicide kills (My Experience Of Bereavement)

Member Name: mattydalton

Product:	My Experience Of Bereavement
Date:	10/07/02 (287 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: None

Disadvantages: Loss of close friend

Having thought carefully about how to write my thoughts and reflections here, I have decided the best way in which I can portray the line of events, and my feelings, is if I relate them to you in story-form. For the sake of protecting the identity of everybody I will call the subject of this piece of writing John, referring to everybody else through their relationship with him.

Once upon a time there lived a young man called John. He was very similar to myself in many ways, possibly a reason for our friendship. His parents separated while he was young, and rarely spoke. He was from a comparatively poor background, yet attended a private school, and his main love was football.

John's father, I was told, refused to pay John's mother any money, and she constantly had to deal with the threat of losing her home, however she struggled on to keep her beloved son in the best education she could afford. However, the differences between his mother and father caused much friction in the family. John resented his father, he told me on occasions, and from what he told me, understandably so. John rarely saw his father, a relationship he was more than happy with. John also had very little to do with his father's side of the family. I only met his father twice, once at his house when I visited his mother to offer my condolences, and the second time at his funeral. As I do not know the man, I cannot pass judgement and will strive to remain impartial.

At school, John was both an outcast and an inspiration. Like myself, he was viewed as a scally, as he didn't have designer labels, spoke with a so-called scally accent, and very rarely had money. However, he was a constant source of comedy and brought smiles and laughter to our lives everyday he attended. He would regularly use phrases off comedy shows like 'The Fast Show' and 'Harry Enfield' etc..to much delight. Even when being ticked off by a teacher, he would have them laug
hing. John also had a hard side, and could treat people very harshly if they upset him in any way, but then nobody is perfect.

Anyway, John had a reasonably happy life, and enjoyed his schoolwork. He had aspirations to be a football journalist, and some of his writing was just brilliant. He would spend hours alone making football programmes, encapturing bits of real life like the antics of Gazza and other recent topics of interest/controversy in the footballing world. Some of the finished articles were simply hilarious, and he loved to be the centre of attention.

John was never really one to complain about circumstances, but shortly before his death, he revealed to myself and a couple of other friends that he was no longer able to see his uncle, who lived in Prenton, on the Wirral. This was quite a bombshell to John, as he idolised his uncle. You see, due to the friction between his mother and his father, his mother stopped him seeing his uncle, as he was his father's brother. John was a massive Tranmere fan and he used to love his trips to his uncle's on matchdays. He would go round before the match, have a cooked brekkie and then go the match. Afterwards, they'd have a quick couple of pints in the local before he had to head back home. As a deprived child, these times were times that he valued.

One day, both myself and John played in a football match for the school. We lost 3-1. John was the keeper, I the centre-back. I remember leaving the pitch with him and he was blaming himself for the goals. As it was, he had played brilliantly and kept us in the game. I told him this but he wouldn't accept it. Anyway, with that he said 'see you tomorrow' and cantered off across the field to get his stuff and go home. That was typical John, always a perfectionist when it came to football.

The next day, one of the few days I made it to school on time in my last year, there were two people missing from the classroom.
One was John. Our form tutor had been in a sombre mood for the whole of the half hour I'd been there. It was obvious something was wrong, but we just put it down to him having a bad day. Once all the form had assembled, our tutor hushed for silence as he had something very sad to tell us. The look on his face was a look of sheer despair and fear. He was lost and didn't know how to tell us what he knew he had to.

'As you've noticed, someone is missing today....'

'John" I thought, hoping for the best, maybe he had a cold.

"Last night, John had a terrible accident.' He struggles to keep a stern lip, 'Last night, John tragically took his own life. His mother came home and found him hanging from the tree in their back garden'.

At this point, his resolve finally cracked and he openly wept. Having never been one to share my feelings, I got up and asked if I could be excused. I went and sat outside on my own. Within time, a couple of friends joined me, then a few more. Pretty soon half the school was walking around with tears in their eyes, the younger lads not knowing quite what to make of it. They didn't understand. On the whole, everybody was very supportive. A very relaxed attitude was taken towards work for a short while. Nobody was forced to carry on. Myself, I participated in very few. What's the point in trying if your mind isn't there.

As the days passed, I found myself believing it more, but at the same time not believing it. I plucked up the courage to go and visit his mother at her home. I went with a friend, and I spent my last five pounds on a bunch of flowers for her. We rode up to her house, a good ten miles from mine. While there, we remembered the good things, and actually laughed and smiled most of the time. Then his father turned up and the whole atmosphere changed. There was no more laughter, very few smiles. After a while, I plucked up the courage to

ask his mother if I could see him, as she had said he was in the house. I just wanted to have it right in my head, to know it was true. I couldn't accept something I couldn't see.

We ventured into the next room, and I was guide to a coffin, containing a very dear friend of mine. His appearance was very strange, his skin almost plastic-like. It is a very hard picture to describe and I can't even begin to think of words to describe the scene. He was dressed in his school uniform, and I expected him to sit up any minute and tell us it had all been a prank. Sadly, this never happened, but at least I knew in my mind that he was really dead. I left the room and shortly after left the house to go home. By the time I left with my friend I was dark, we had to ride down country lanes and I had no bike lights. None of this bothered me, I wasn't really with it anyway.

The day of John's funeral came and the church was packed out. One thing that sticks out in my mind about that day is the amount of press lurking across the road, taking sneaky photos of us. Do they have no feelings? I was 16, like many of the people there, and none of us had experienced this type of trauma before. It was a very harrowing experience for me, and I'm sure for many others too. I stood up to say a few words and was surprised to find that I managed to hold my tears. Many others didn't. One thing that did touch me about the day was the fact that John Aldridge, manager of Tranmere at the time, attended the service, and brought along a couple of the players with him to give John the send-off he so richly deserved.

From that day on, life became a struggle for me. I lost interest in school, rarely attending. I started drinking a lot at weekends, aswell as when skiving school. I was even known to regularly carry a bottle of vodka and coke round school with me when I was there. I tried to go back for the sixth form, but only because of the head-teache
r. He was the best head-teacher I could ever have wished for. Fully supportive of you, even when you were wrong. He was a man who loved his job. I received a very touching letter from my head, pleading with me not to leave school. I reluctantly agreed to go back for the sixth form, but left again after two weeks. I just couldn't handle it.

Rows developed with my parents over how I was throwing it all away(I now realise that that is entirely true, sorry mum,dad) and how they didn't understand what I was feeling. Of course they had some idea, but how many 16 year old kids do you know who would accept that fact in the circumstances. My relationship with my mother and father deteriorated, until eventually we just couldn't live together. I moved out shortly after my 18th birthday and proceeded to get worse. I moved on from drink to drugs. I had already done pot, but now moved on to pills and speed. I went mad on these until only seven months ago when I gave them up. Furthermore, July 19th saw me give up the last of the evil drugs, nicotine. I haven't looked back since.

What I'm trying to say is that no matter what form your bereavement takes, you can go one of two ways. You can become stronger within time, or you can simply fall apart. For a while, I thought I was going to end up as the latter. Now, I feel I have ended up the first. Bereavement takes many different forms and people deal with it in many different ways. Half the time though, my grief was spurred on by drugs. This only made it worse, and I became obsessed with his passing. It interfered in every aspect of my life. It pulled me away from my family, restricted relationships with people, and lost me many friends.

I don't know whether I have actually ever dealt with my grief or not. I have always laughed my feelings off. For example, when people asked me why he had done it (and yes I do believe it was suicide by the way), I would just tell them I didn't kn
ow, as he hadn't told me yet. Laughing about it was my way of dealing with it, I suppose. I guess I must have dealt with it though because, believe it or not I have been trying to think of the date that he passed and I still can't remember for certain, but I am sure it was Wednesday 4th March 1998. This makes me feel slightly guilty, as I should remember the date of my best friend's death, but does it make me a bad person, or does it simply mean I have come to terms with the grief, and put his death in the past? I am not decided on that one, I'll let you decide.

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