This Is The After
Trauma split my life into two parts, and I’m finally ready to talk about it.
“Anything that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone.”
― Fred Rogers
October 17, 2009 will forever be etched into the fabric of my life. Even 12 years later, I can still feel the world beginning to shift leading up the anniversary of that date.
It’s as if the universe knows it’s coming around again so it gets a little darker. It rains and thunder claps, lightning pierces the sky. Tears fall from the sky because my eyes will never have enough.
The before was then and this is the after. The before will never know what happened, but the after can never forget.
On October 17, 2009, my father tried to end his life.
He had been struggling with a job transition that he just couldn’t manage. My father had worked for the same company for as long as I could remember. He has photos of me at their company holiday parties and I couldn’t have been older than 5 or 6.
My father was one of those rare cases that loved his job. He was in the travel business and he was good at what he did. I remember him coming home from work and bursting through the door because he had such an exceptional day at work.
He was outgoing and friendly. He was knowledgeable and helpful, people raved about his service. He was the representative you wished would answer the phone. It was like he was born for the job.
He told me one time that he had known what his job would be even when he was a kid. As someone who has always struggled to find my place, his was a refreshing attitude.
Although he traveled extensively when I was a kid, his employer had finally settled him into an office job when I was a teenager. He was home for dinner by 6 every night and we were the class rural family. Life was normal but comfortable.
In 2007, the United States was hit with one of the worst economic declines in history. It was the largest economic downturn since the Great Depression. The housing market collapsed while the unemployment rate skyrocketed.
Much like the start of the current pandemic, job security was no longer an idea. People were afraid to lose their jobs, their homes or both all the time. Businesses were boarded up and homes were foreclosed. It was unlike anything I had ever seen.
Some industries were able to recover with Government bailouts and tax breaks. The Obama Administration introduced a stimulus package to ease the financial burden. However, to the average American it wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t enough to save the travel industry either and it would take several more years for airlines to begin making a profit. If you can’t pay your mortgage you’re not exactly in a hurry to book that pricey flight to France anytime soon.
As a result of restructuring and consolidations, my father was told his position was eliminated in late 2008. He was devastated. He had devoted more than 20 years to his company and he didn’t even get so much as a thank you or “we’re sorry,” just that this was how business worked.
He suspected that his seniority played a big role in his termination. A much younger employee was hired not even a month later. Although his job title was different, it was essentially the same position. In the business world, younger means less experience. Less experience means lower salary.
It was heartbreaking to watch my father struggle.
He must have sent out 10 resumes a week to get 1 call a month for an interview. I expect his experience level gives away his age rather quickly. He was now well into his 50s, but starting over again.
He was out of work for much longer than he anticipated and I think that influenced his decision to take the first employment offer that was extended to him. I don’t know, maybe he was optimistic, or maybe he was desperate.
He jumped in but with hesitation.
I knew my father had always been resistant to change, but what I didn’t know, he was struggling on the inside as well. Men weren’t allowed to talk about their feelings in the decades that raised my father.
I suspect his father's generation was more of the same.
Around the same time I learned of my fathers previous struggles with his mental health is when I learned he had resigned from his new position. I think with so many new things thrown at him, he just couldn’t keep his head above water. The loss of 2 months within months was more than he could handle.
On the night of October 17, after dinner something felt strange. I had been struggling myself because I was a new mom. My son was only a month old and I wasn’t adjusting as well as I had hoped. I would later be diagnosed with PPD.
I didn’t hear the news until the next day, I think that was on purpose. When my mother told me what happened, it was as if everything stood still. There was no sound, there was no color.
“He’s okay, but we almost lost him.”
Those words will never leave my memory.
A day later he was admitted to a psychiatric hospital for what felt like years but really was only weeks.
When I visited my father in this cold, sterile environment, nothing felt real. I had never seen him look so small, so defeated. As we cried, he told me all the things he regretted.
Traveling, not making enough money, not being there for us and my mother. An endless string of regrets poured out along with years of shame and neglect.
The weeks following were spent trying to make any sense that I could of what happened. It’s only when I learned of my fathers harsh childhood that I began to understand what he meant by “years of neglect.” An absent father and an unrelenting mother, but that’s not my story to tell.
Selfishly, I thought I could never forgive him for what he almost accomplished. It was only when I was diagnosed with my own mental health issues that I realized it wasn’t selfish at all.
People who struggle with mental illness think the world would be better without them. They worry they are a burden on friends and family and would do anything to take that burden away. And healing is not a linear process by any means.
Sometimes when I think back on what happened, it feels far away. Like I’m watching a movie about someone else's life and not my own. Sometimes it feels like yesterday and it still hurts.
I think it will always hurt.
Even now as I’m writing this, my father is struggling with another career change. He retired last year and this may be his hardest hurdle yet. He struggles to finds things to fill his day after working for so long. It scares me.
I am genuinely terrified.
Mental illness is serious. It is literally life or death. It doesn’t matter how many people check on you, or how many people express their concern. It doesn’t matter if you’re happy or content.
I don’t know how to help him through this and he is too proud to tell me. Doctors, therapists, counselors, he’s run the gamut and I’m worried he will give up. Depression is a liar.
It tells you, you are worthless and your life means nothing. It makes death seem attractive because it will end your suffering. It doesn’t warn you of the aftermath.
Although he seems to be managing okay these days, I am constantly worried. My brain can never go back to the time before I didn’t know. There is only this after.
This after feels cautious and scarred. It feels rough around those unrelenting edges because I have seen too much. It feels exhausting because it knows all too well that trauma is hiding just beneath the surface.
I can only move forward, but sometimes the forward feels too heavy.
Thank you for allowing me to share this story, as this is the first time I have ever talked about it with anyone outside of my family.