Yesterday’s post about my father’s suicide received a lot of positive attention both here on the blog and in conversations on Facebook.
It was wonderful to see the dialog about mental wellness and suicide open up around me, but what was equally striking was the number of private messages I received in which people privately expressed their experiences with suicide. Those who reached out via text and email wanted to share their thoughts and memories, but confidentially.
That’s exactly what XIZOZU’s all about. The ability to honor an event or emotion, while still keeping it secret.
Personally I think it’s important to broaden the conversation about mental wellness, grief, trauma, and suicide, so I’ll talk about, or write about, my experience of losing my dad. Others aren’t there yet. I totally get that. Everyone processes grief differently and there’s no universal way to do it.
Above is one of the XIZOZU™ I will be likely wearing for the next few weeks. Its one I wear often. It honors the loss of a loved one through suicide. It’s where I can direct my affection, and sometimes draw bit of strength, anytime I’m move to, especially when I touch it.
Honor your own achievements, challenges and loss with your won medals.
In designing XIZOZU Medals of Honor I have to explore some of life’s most gut-wrenching events, and present them in a meaningful design, intended for people who would rather not have earned them.
And while I am reasonably comfortable with death as a broad concept—you know, when it’s quietly slipped into like a favorite robe after a long and fulfilling life. There are all those other instances of death that are impossible to grasp and that make us different people. The loss of a child, of any age, tops the list.
Having no children of my own I can’t come close to comprehending the depth of such a loss. How does one take that unimaginable the first step on the path of recovery after losing a child? There is no road map for this kind of loss. Everyone must wander through their own dense fog of despair in whatever way their heart urges until it finally begins to lift. The inner strength required to simply lift one’s head and look at the world after such devastation is incalculable to me. But somehow remarkably, people—parents—do it.
During design research for my Loss of a Child XIZOZU medal, I came across thousands of pages and posts about working through the grief of this tragedy. (I link to many of them here.) I had to sit in a lot of my own discomfort while reading the poignant personal stories of parents emerging after deeply traumatic loss. Admittedly, my unease didn’t even register on the human heartache scale compared with those I was reading about.
By reading this post: What I Wish More People Understood About Losing A Child, I gained a clearer understanding of the role of those supporting a grieving parent. The author, Paula Stevens, who has experienced this agony herself, offers suggestions for ways to support bereaving parents. Her brief straightforward list is rich in first-hand advice on ways we can best comfort those struggling with this grief, including the importance of understanding that it’s not something that ever fully heals.
I learned how how important it is that their children not be forgotten. That they are kept alive through memories; that they are talked about. After several weeks of producing designs that only came close or outright failed, I finally created one that honors the parent, the child, and the sacred connection they’ll eternally share. It was among the most challenging things I will ever attempt.
As it should be.