Page 55 of Trusting a Warrior

“This is beautiful,” Lani ventured. “I was afraid it’d be another church basement.”

Maura smiled. “I had a client once who lived in a condo in this building. He arranged for us to use this room at no cost, because what suicide survivor wants to meet in a church basement, or a conference room in a hospital? That implies there was something wrong with our loved one, or with us, when instead we’re simply friends, sharing food, drink and conversation.” She took a sip of her iced tea. “So, my dears, how has your story changed since we last met?”

The discussion flowed easily, and just like Maura promised, there was plenty of laughter to go along with the tears.

“As your homework assignment until we meet again,” Maura said at last, “I’d like you to think about the word acceptance and what it means to you.”

“What does it mean to you?” This came from a man whose twenty-year-old daughter jumped off the Coronado Bay Bridge the morning after they’d had a bitter argument.

“Well, for me it means making peace with the unknown and accepting that I’ll never know the why of Vincent’s suicide. Ending his life was a decision Vincent made, and even if I don’t agree with it, I must respect it the same way I respected the decisions he made while he was alive.”

When the man’s face crumpled, Maura went on gently, “But acceptance is going to look very different for you, Bruce. Maybe it’s forgiving yourself for the words you said to Christie the night before she died. Maybe it’s forgiving her for—”

“For not giving me a chance to fix it?” Bruce’s voice was ragged. “For dying without letting me say, ‘I’m sorry’?”

Someone handed him a tissue as Maura nodded. “Yes. Maybe that’s what acceptance will mean to you, that you forgive yourself for not realizing mental illness might’ve been the reason for Christie’s erratic behavior and drug use. That by confronting her about it that night, you were only doing what you thought was right at the time.”

As Bruce sobbed, Maura glanced around the room. “For others of you, acceptance might simply be conceding that even though your loved one’s life ended, yours goes on. There’s no right or wrong answer here, but I can tell you firsthand, there is a measure of peace that comes along with identifying it.”

A little while later, as Lani slipped her empty plate and dip bowl into a plastic bag to take home, Maura approached her. “How are you feeling?”

“Drained,” she admitted. “But a little more grounded, I think. It does help to know I’m not alone, and I’m grateful that at least my last memories of Tyler are good ones. We didn’t argue, or say awful things to each other, things that I have to try and live with now.”

“Yes. I think we could all look around and very easily say to one another, ‘I’m so glad I’m not you.’” Maura smiled. “But out of that realization grows the gift of empathy, of compassion, too. Gifts we can then use to help others, especially other suicide survivors.”

She walked Lani to the door.

“As always, my dear, be a little extra good to yourself today.”

Instead of heading to her car, Lani walked along the narrow path to the beach. She slipped off her sandals, relishing the cool sand between her toes.

The roar of the ocean wrapped itself around her, the thundering power behind it making her feel insignificant, yet so profoundly glad to be alive. She took deep breaths of the salty air.

“You know what I’m finally realizing, Ty? That I can miss you, and still be grateful for the path my life has taken.” She closed her eyes briefly. “It’s so weird to think that I’m standing here, in this moment, in this place, only because you’re not.”

Rhys. The military. Her baby. All of these ripple effects.

“In so many ways I love my life, too. I got to be with Rhys, and watch him grow up and become the wonderful, caring man he is now. Would he be that man today if it wasn’t for you? I’m not sure.”

With a sigh, she dropped to sitting in the sand and leaned back on her hands to watch the frothing waves.

“Part of the complexity of suicide grief,” Maura had said, “is the realization that good things, that blessings, can also come from it. As hard as that is, doing our best to embrace those blessings helps honor our loved one’s memory.”

Lani closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the cobalt sky.

“Maybe this is what acceptance looks like to me, Ty. Learning to accept the hidden gifts your death has given me and using them to make me a better person, a better mom. Maybe it means being grateful for the path my life has taken, no matter how much I wish it still had you in it.”

One lone tear slid down her cheek. “I miss you, and I’ll always love you. But I think, just maybe, there’s a chance your baby sister grew up a bit more today.”

Pushing to her feet, she dusted off the seat of her capris and ambled toward her car, another tiny piece of the wall around her heart chipping off and falling away. Instead of scaring her this time, though, she welcomed it.

Of course there’d always be pain, and sometimes it’d be sharper than others, but maybe now it wouldn’t define her. Maybe now she wouldn’t be so afraid to let a little happiness in, a little peace.

Before she started the engine, she checked her phone, and her tummy gave a flutter at the sight of another text from Geo.

“Oh, I’m sorry. From ‘Bosch.’” She giggled and opened the pic. In it, Bosch had his head cocked to one side as if he was listening to something important. It said, Guess what? I jumped out of an airplane three times in a row! How was your day?

She smiled, and replied, It was a good day, Bosch. It was a really, really good day.