Author R.J. Belle

It’s been four years and four months since my Pops died by suicide. I vividly remember those early days and weeks and months when I thought I’d never be able to breathe again, never be able to function again, when I couldn’t see a path forward. Waves of grief still roll in from time to time, a continuous reminder of his absence, but today I can see a path forward. About a year after Pops’ death,…

Year Three: The Music of Your Absence

When I was younger, I had an odd little habit called Song of the Day. Back when the standard mode of listening to music was via cassette tape or CD, I would choose a song and play it on repeat, all day long.  All. Day. Long.  I’m not sure I understood then why my Song of the Day ritual was essential to or for me, but I do now.

The time immediately following the death of my Pops, and for months…

The Place

There is a place I go

when my heart is weary

and all I want is sleep

It is sometimes chaos

like a hundred angry voices

in a battle for control

where all you find

is your own voice silenced

and the fear is overwhelming

It is sometimes pliable

like a weightless feather floating

atop a cool lazy river

where all you find

is peaceful calm rolling

and the lull is hypnotic

  There is a place I…

Christmas, Grief, Puppies, and My Two Dads

My Pops loved his dog; she was his best buddy. About a month before his death, he was separated from her, and I didn’t consider the impact that must have had until after he died, but I’ve thought about how that must have felt to him many times since. I wish I had paid more attention then; I wish I had facilitated their reunification; I wish so many things. Mostly, I wish I could have done…

Two Years To Live For those who feel like there is something wrong with them—the way they feel and think, or the way they grieve—this magic-lineless, unicorn-free piece is for you.

I read a lot of articles about suicide and mental health. Most are penned by people who are either mental health professionals or those who have lost a loved one to suicide. I’ll often reach the end of an article or blog post and find myself feeling as if I’m not doing this grieving thing the right way; like something is wrong with me. While I know it’s important to offer hope, I believe it can…

There was a time when I loved holidays. All of them. I loved them as a child, as a parent, and just because. I loved planning and cooking, shopping and decorating; I even loved the clean-up after the fun had left a tornado of mess strewn about my home. Being excited as a kid and an adult, and seeing the excitement in my children’s eyes was the best.

I cherished the family I had, even with the…

Happy Birthday, Pops.

Oh, how I wish you were here to celebrate. You’d shrug it off as just another day, but I know you loved it when we made your day a special day.

They say it gets easier. They lie; it doesn’t get easier, but it does get different.

adjective, easier not hard or difficult; requiring no great labor or effort free from pain, discomfort, worry, or care providing or conducive to ease…

Please Don’t Take My Memories Away

I was sitting out on my porch early this morning drinking coffee. I opened up Facebook and immediately went to the On This Daymemories feature. I scrolled through a dozen memories while holding my breath, but no pictures of him appeared. I scrolled through again searching old posts to see if I could locate a comment made by him. Nothing. I went back inside the house, locked myself in the…

I think about what my Pops must have felt at the end; I think about that a lot. I’m not talking about the very end, although I think about that too. I’m talking about the months, weeks, and days leading up to his death. His death by suicide.

This world can be a cruel place, and it’s difficult for some to find their way. We live in such a disconnected society despite our ability to “connect”…

What You Stole & What You Didn’t

This morning began like many others. My daughter, Bella, and I went to town early to grocery shop, buy flowers, and visit the cemetery. We skipped through several songs on the way to his spot trying to find a song that held special meaning. We parked in the same place, and went through the same routine; Bella carried the jug of fresh water, and I gathered up his bunches of fresh flowers and the…

I Saw You Today

Yesterday was one of those days; I saw you everywhere.

I saw you in the homeless man sitting on a bus stop bench. From my stopped position at the red light, I watched as he gave his food to the woman sitting beside him. His eyes were clear and kind. His mannerisms; soft and gentle. His hair—a crazy, tangled mess of steel gray, just like yours. The light turned green, and I had to pry my eyes away…

Suicide Loss ~ The 12 Steps That Saved Me

Suicide Loss The 12 Steps That Saved Me

On August 13, 2016, my Pops died by suicide. He sent a text saying goodbye and died. He died alone at a nature preserve in southern California. I hate the three sentences above. I miss him every day.

Following Pops’ death, I did a lot of reading and spent countless hours researching suicide. The statistics are staggering. Those of us left behind have a long journey to get close to something that…

Logic and Suicide Prevention

I was driving the other day and had the 6lack station playing on Pandora. A song came on, and the lyrics caught me off guard. I replayed the song three times.

I’ve been on the low

I been taking my time

I feel like I’m out of my mind

I feel like my life ain’t mine

Who can relate?

I looked at the display on my dash, and although I didn’t recognize the artist by name, I knew the title right away. 1-…

Grandpa, Graduation, and Dragonflies — After Suicide

Today marks ten months since my Pops died by suicide. Although every single day brings the sting of grief—the ones when we celebrate something important are the most difficult. One week from today will be a big one. It will signify the end of elementary school for my youngest daughter, his youngest grandchild.

Pops and Bella share a special bond, they always have. He has kissed her boo-boos,…

There is also the what of things. I ponder a lot of things now that I never spent much, if any, time thinking about before. Before he died by suicide. Many of those thoughts are far too raw and painful to share. But some, well some that seem so trivial steal every ounce of my energy. They consume me. I wonder what happened to the Chargers hat he always wore, was he wearing it that night? I remember him opening it on Christmas – he loved that damn hat. I have at least ten pictures of him wearing that hat. I wonder why he liked it so much; was it the colors or the design? Did he like it because it was a good one, one he wouldn’t have purchased for himself? I look at photos and stare at the expression on his face, searching his eyes; what was he thinking? Did he know how loved he was? Does he know he’s still loved? I remember the way we teased him about ordering shrimp and how he always referred to it as ‘fish bait’ but I’m not sure why he hated shrimp so much, and I think about that too.

I often wonder what his dreams were. What did he secretly wish for his life? Was there anything he wanted to do or learn? Was there a destination he imagined traveling to one day? I think back to conversations we had, and I analyze them now – every single word. Was there more he had to say but held back? I wonder if he wished things for us that went unspoken. Sometimes his eyes appeared blue like a calm sea, and sometimes they were bright green, I wonder how he would have answered if asked his eye color.

After I go through the when and the what of things, I inevitably get lost in the why, and it’s dangerous territory. I try with all my might not to stay stuck there for too long. What is too long? An hour? A day? A lifetime? I can’t answer that for myself or anyone else. I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome in that dark place, and usually, by the time I recognize it, it takes heavy machinery to remove me from its depths. The days that follow always feel flat and empty. It’s hard to be around others, and it’s hard to do anything that resembles living. But I do. I try. The why’s are the worst mainly because they’re irrelevant at this point, but also because no matter how many times I circle the questions, from whatever angle, using any fabrication or reconstruction, there will never be answers. Never.

In the nine months since his death, I could have created life. I don’t know why that strikes me as profoundly as it does. I will take it as a sign that it’s time to breathe life back into myself. I can’t stay stuck here because if I do, then his death will continue to subtract from living. I’d like to find a way to make his death equate to something significant, something positive. It’s hard to write that, and the mere suggestion that something positive could come from his death by suicide causes a feeling of disloyalty. That’s my heart talking and feeling. My brain knows that the only way to make Pops’ death by suicide become something of value is to use his story, our story, to assist others. And I do. I try.

#StopSuicide #YouMatter #ChooseHope

If you or someone you know is contemplating suicide please reach out, someone is always listening. You are not alone. National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-8255 ​ Have you lost a loved one to suicide and need a resource? American Foundation for Suicide Prevention can help.