CHAPTER FIVE

''Most of all I felt anger at God"

PFC JAMES V. GARDNER, U.S. Marine Corps 
By Arlene Ball, 

OBITUARY

        PFC James V. Gardner, USMC died October 1, 1991 of a self-inflicted gunshot wound in Silverdale, Washington.
        He was born July 9, 1973 to David and Arlene Gardner in Ely, Nevada. His father and a brother, also named David, preceded him in death. He grew up in Cedar City and graduated from Weber Basin High School in 1990. He was a member of the LDS Church and a Life Scout. He entered the Marine Corps in November 1990 and was serving in Marine Security at Bangor Naval Submarine base at the time of his death. He loved the Marine Corps and believed in the ideals it served.
        James was a quiet sensitive boy who was dearly loved and he will be missed. He was mischievous and fun loving, but a serious, deep thinker. He loved Christmas, his friends, his mother, and his brother and sisters. Maybe he didn't love himself enough to accept his own imperfections and the unpredictability of life.
        While James chose to take his own life, we believe he was received by loving arms on the other side and that our Savior, who feels all our pain, knows and accepts James as the valuable child of God that he is, that his existence still holds validity and purpose.
        We as a family ask all families to show each other a little more love today, in honor of our precious son, and cling to life as a gift from God.

        James had been dead almost twenty-four hours when two Marines knocked on my door. There were no premonitions, no warnings from the spirit that something was wrong. When I saw the military van drive up and two uniformed men get out, I was talking on the telephone. I felt a slight chill, but dismissed it because I had been expecting someone from the military to contact me for a routine security clearance.
        I was cheerful and unsuspecting as I watched them cross the lawn and walk up the steps. I met them at the door with a "Hi" and a smile. That must have made it harder for them. They asked if I was James' mother and I said, "Yes, is he okay?" They didn't answer my question, just asked if they could come in. A stillness came over me and I repeated, "Is my son all right?" Again they replied, "Please ma'am, if you would just let us come in and talk to you." I felt as if someone had hit me in the back of the neck with a board and the shock came in waves. The Marines caught me as I collapsed. They carried me to the couch as I sobbed questions. They explained that he had shot himself. I was shaking so hard and in so much shock that I couldn't tell them my husband's number at work. I could see the soldiers' faces swimming above me, trying to talk to me, tears in their eyes.
        They finally reached my husband at work and told him that James was dead. When he came home we sat on the couch and held each other in disbelief. My first husband, (James's father) and an older son, had been killed 18 years before in a drowning accident. Bill and I were married when James was nine, and his two children, Jared and Jessie, were five and three. James, Jared, and Jessie had bonded as siblings. Sarah, now age five, was born to Bill and me later. It never occurred to us to keep James's suicide from the children. When Jessie came home, Bill quietly told her and she began to sob in his arms. We explained to Sarah in as simple a manner as we could that James had chosen to take his own life. We told her that we didn't know why, but that James must have felt very sad inside and that he was with Jesus now. "This is like a huge nightmare," Jared said that night. Despite the shock there was a gentle feeling in our home. We all loved James and there was no feeling of shame or embarrassment.
        I couldn't sleep so I went downstairs into James' room and called the Marine Base to see if there had been some mistake. The commanding officer called me back and said no one knew why James had killed himself, there was no note, and no one was aware of any problems. 
        I began to plan his funeral. At the time of my first husband's funeral I was in deep shock and so inexperienced that the funeral didn't pay adequate tribute to those I'd loved. I didn't go through the necessary grieving rituals. This time I made plans that would allow our children and James' friends and close relatives to honor him and say good-bye in a way that would allow closure for all of us. I wrote his obituary at 2:00 a.m. The words flowed into my head. I didn't try to hide the fact that James had killed himself. To do that would be to disown my son. I wasn't ashamed of him and I wasn't going to act as if I were. It was hard for my husband to accept my honesty and openness, but I knew I was right and insisted that it be printed as I had written it. That proved to be a good decision. It helped us to avoid a lot of questions and enabled our children to deal with it in an honest, open way.
        During the next week, as we prepared to bury James, I felt fairly calm and strong, although the pain would hit periodically. I instructed my family and friends not to touch me when I cried because then I felt like I had to stop. It was hard for them but they did as I asked. I think I was guided and strengthened through those awful days, although at the time I felt very alone.
        James' girlfriend, Shanna, said she received a letter from him talking about marriage plans. Marriage plans? He had told me he was breaking up with her! A pattern of secrets and inconsistencies began to reveal itself as time went by. It was very confusing, but it demonstrated James' confused frame of mind, his ambivalence and pain.
        I discovered other things that James hadn't told me. He'd found tumors on his testicles and feared they might be cancerous. They were benign, but he still feared he'd be sent home. It had been his dream for years to be a Marine. Perhaps it appeared to him as if his dream was ended. He was the last in his group to receive his security clearance because his health exams had delayed it. The day before he died, he'd gotten into a shoving match with another Marine and lost badly. He'd had a hard time dealing with the humiliation. I could only speculate on his frame of mind, but I knew that appearances were very important to him. I felt awful knowing that he'd been so worried and hadn't been able to confide in me. I'd thought things were fine. Regret was and still is my constant companion.
        Because James died in the military, there had to be several investigations and an autopsy. His body was flown in on Sunday night, accompanied by two Marines from the base. When we went to the mortuary I asked to see James alone. That body in full Marine dress blues didn't look like my son. But I took off his gloves and knew they were James' hands. I sobbed and held him and asked, "What have you done to yourself? Why did you do this?" I sensed his presence in the room very strongly and I felt that he was in the Savior's care. I stayed in the room for a long time, touching him, trying to warm his hands, talking to him, and crying. 
        In addition to guilt and bewilderment, I felt angry. Not anger at James, but anger at the military because they had so little explanation and the investigation would take months. ("Months? Months? I won't survive months!" I said, but I have.) Most of all, I felt anger at God. I'd been trying to live a good life. I'd been trying to serve others. I was far from perfect, but I was trying hard and I'd prayed often for James. God knew what it would do to me. Why didn't he protect James? Why didn't he at least give me a chance to say goodbye? I deserved it after burying my husband and other son. I thought he must not love me. People say to me, "God didn't do it, James did." I know that. But does God have a hand in our lives or not? If not, why do we bother to pray? Rebellious thoughts filled my mind during those agonizing days.
        We decided not to open the viewing to the public, not because James' face was damaged, but because I felt his family and friends needed more private time to say their goodbyes. That also was a good decision. We gave his loved ones as much time as they needed to be alone with his body. Sarah wanted to see his whole body, so we removed the flag and opened the lid, took off his shoes and let her see and feel his hands and feet. I tried to be very natural about this, while expressing my own shock and sorrow in a way that would allow her to deal with her brother's death as a child, not
as my support. She was solemn, but not horrified. I believe this was the proper approach for her. She has been able to cry and question and understand as much as a child can. We talked with our children prior to the funeral and afterwards, discussing the reality of the resurrection and the spirit world. Elder Boyd K. Packer's analogy of the hand and glove was helpful to us. (See "An Apostle Speaks to Children," Friend, July 1973)
        By the day of the funeral, I was exhausted from planning as well as dealing with visitors. I was trying to be gracious and calm and peaceful. It was a nice funeral, a tribute to the special person James was. My sister's children sang a medley of songs, and at the end her son sang a solo dedicated to me. It was a beautiful song about mothers. All I could feel was a bitter anguish. If I'd been that kind of mother, my son wouldn't have shot himself. King David's lament at the death of his son, Absalom, echoed through my mind: "O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom, would God that I had died for thee, O Absalom my son, my son!" (2 Samuel 18:33)" I felt a soul mate in King David.
        The Marines provided a military ceremony at the cemetery. It was conducted with all the dignity and majesty they could give, presenting me with the flag and playing Taps. I was grateful for the respect with which they treated my son's body and memory.
        During the next few weeks, our lives took on a pattern. In the morning I would cry and in the afternoon I would pull myself together and try to mother my family. I had very little to give anyone emotionally. I still felt so much anger with God that it was hard to pray. I begged God to give me a vision, just to let me talk to James for one minute, to see him, to hear his voice. I finally forced myself to go to the store, feeling as if I were naked before these people who surely knew what a failure we'd been as a family. People were strange, some genuinely kind and caring, expressing their sympathy. Others walked quickly by with a big smile and a "Hi, how are you?"?not waiting for an answer. Some people just don't know what to say. Others didn't even know he was dead. I think that it's up to the survivors to bridge the gap at times like this and make it possible for others to share their feelings with us, rather than holding a grudge. It's impossible for someone who hasn't experienced this type of loss to truly understand. We need to allow ourselves to feel the resentment and hurt, but it's better to give others the benefit of the doubt.
        The holidays came soon after James died. Christmas was James' favorite holiday so we built a snowman on his grave and put a small artificial tree there. I felt close to Jesus because I was so certain that James was in his care. Christmas was an opportunity to show my gratitude. (Somehow I felt like I was on speaking terms with Jesus, but not Heavenly Father.)
        I held up until after Christmas. I tend to be reclusive, especially if I'm hurt, so I retreated into a shell. This was very hard on my husband, but he tried to be understanding and supportive. It frightened him and the other children when they came home to find me still in my nightgown, hair uncombed, sitting in the television room watching "Geraldo", eating junk food, and sobbing that I had nothing left to live for. I felt so lost, such a failure, and James was so totally gone.
        I began to contact other mothers of suicide victims and to take some comfort from their total empathy. I bargained with God, begging him to let me wake up in a morning past, to some point where I could change things, from the time James was a baby until the day he died. I fantasized how I would live each minute over and do it better. All of my mistakes were so clear. I did maintain some perspective, enough to keep living. A lot of people have sad, terrible lives and they don't kill themselves. That thought got me through an hour or two. I struggled with my own desire to die to be with him. I still do. I would never consider suicide now, but I still long to be with him.
        While I tortured myself, I shut everyone out except my Sarah. I had little to give, even to her. I went through the motions of going to church. People would say how strong I was. They didn't know the agony I was feeling, the bitterness, or the despair. What a struggle it was just to get up and get dressed in the morning. I read accounts of near death experiences again and again. I wanted to know where James was and what he was doing. I was obsessed. I made plans to fly to Seattle to visit the base where he'd died and see the actual spot??that cold bathroom??where my son breathed his last. I worried how I would appear to his friends. Would they think I made him do it? Would they think he was justified?
        I dimly realized during this period that I was losing my mind to grief. My doctor prescribed antidepressants and I began taking them before my trip to Seattle to visit the Marine Base where James died. I was able to remain calm and controlled throughout the visit. 
        My daughter, Jessie, and James' girlfriend, Shanna, accompanied me. We spent five days in the area. I attended the ward James would have been a member of and arranged to meet with his bishop. I gave him a picture of my son, his obituary, and a funeral program. I told him that James was in his ward and that I didn't blame him or the ward for his suicide or lack of activity, but I didn't want him to die anonymously: "the 18?year?old Marine who committed suicide." The high councilman who spoke that day talked about finding these young servicemen as soon as they arrived on base, making contact, and befriending them. 
        After I came home from Seattle, my attitude started to change, in part due to the medication, and in part to a new therapist who forced me to deal directly with my feelings. She had me write a letter to James. I wrote eight pages. I read it aloud in his room, I read it aloud on his grave, I read it over and over and felt cleansed of the tiniest part of my pain.
        In February, my husband and I attended the temple for the first time since James died. During the session, I meditated on the nature of Heavenly Father. How could he love me and still permit James to take his own life? The thought came to me, "Arlene, you believe in Jesus. You believe that He loves you, that He cares about mankind and that He tells the truth. You must believe Him when He tells you that God is good, that He also loves you." Those words struck me with unusual force and I began to pray from a different point of view from that time on. One week later, my close friend's husband was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I agonized over tragedy in my friends' lives, but I also realized that God wasn't picking on me only. I was able to rise above my own grief and try to support and empathize with my friends.
        I requested all of James personal effects from the base and the investigation results, including the pictures and videotape taken at the scene of his death and the clothes he was wearing. For some people, this might not be a good decision, but for me it was the right thing to do. I felt like I needed to know everything and see everything in order to make it real and put it behind me. Five years later, there is still some question as to whether James actually did commit suicide. I have joined with other parents across the country to improve the investigative process and make sure the government does everything they can to determine the cause of death in James' and others' cases. I haven't done this to deny the possibility of suicide. I feel in my heart that he did take his life. It seems to be the nature of suicide to leave survivors continually wondering. Having as much information as possible helps remove some of the confusion.
        I have made many new friends among the "sorority" of mothers who have lost their children to suicide and I've strengthened my previously existing friendships. They have become more precious to me because they have stood by me in my sorrow.
        My children still grieve for James and his loss is felt keenly in our home. My two older children met briefly with a therapist. We are seeking the Lord's help in all of our struggles. We may never reach complete resolution in this life. James' friends and older cousins have also had difficulty dealing with his death. Two of his friends missed so much school in the months following his death that they were unable to graduate with their class. A pervasive sense of sadness has bonded us. We worry about the tendency to view suicide as a viable option when the chips are down.
        We still pray for James every day, knowing that he needs our prayers just as much as he ever did. I believe that one of the consequences of his act is to see our suffering. How awful it must be to see your loved ones suffer so and not be able to offer them comfort. However, I believe that God is far more merciful in these circumstances than we can ever comprehend.
        The pain of his loss is still with me. I believe it always will be. Sometimes the ache hits me with the sharp clarity of those first few days and I cry aloud with the impact. I think every day about why he did what he did and agonize again over my mistakes that contributed to his decision. I must face these mistakes with brutal honesty in order to heal. I know that there is a fine line between honesty and eternal self-punishment and I am trying to forgive myself. I wanted to be a good mother. I wanted the best for my son. His choice was not my choice.
        The worst mistake I made with James was the atmosphere I lived in. I was afraid to let him hurt or suffer or experience fear. I tried to protect him from life and perhaps did not instill within him the courage to try or to fail. As I pray and listen to the spirit, the strongest message I receive is to try to put aside fear, to enjoy life, to trust in the goodness of others, and to expect good from life.
        I have spoken several times with Elder Marion D. Hanks, whose generously compassionate spirit and kind words have comforted me immensely. I know that we cannot judge those who commit suicide, but must trust in the loving goodness of God to deal with them in a fair and merciful way. Elder Hanks has a small plaque in his office that expresses the idea: "To know there is a God is to know that all the rules will be fair and that there will be wonderful surprises."
        I have found a poem that sums up my current attitude. I do not know the author, but I offer it as a message of hope to all who may suffer the same agony I have lived through with my family, and survived.

I thought that time could never reconcile me to my loss,
I thought to the end of living, it would be my cross- 
A heavy weight that I would have to carry to the last. 
But time was kinder than I thought; grief died, and sorrow passed.
I thought I'd lost forever all my joy in lovely things
Wood and gardens, dawns and sunsets, leaves and waves and butterfly wings.
I never thought my heart would leap to greet a friend once more
And listen to the welcome sound of footsteps at the door.
Once again, within the magic web of life I'm caught
Time, indeed, was kind to me, for time, its healing brought.

        Private collection of Karen Posey, deceased.

        My prayer is that God will bless all of us in this situation and that time will be kinder than we can now imagine. I pray that we will have the strength to endure with faith in the future and in the eternal goodness of God.

Arlene Ball

"THE BISHOP'S SON"

By "Thomas"

        I've gone through a lot of things in my life that were hard to bear; my younger brother was killed in a car accident, my youngest brother died from diabetes at a young age. I also lost a sister and both of my parents, but my son's death was the hardest thing I've ever had to deal with.
        Gary was probably my best friend. We spent a lot of time together. When he was little he liked sports and I coached his baseball and basketball games. I loved watching him play. A little later, he learned to bowl and found he had a natural ability for the game. I always went with him to his tournaments and shared his happiness when he won. He won a lot of trophies and our happiness overflowed when he bowled his first 300 game. For this he got a beautiful ring that I sometimes wear to feel that happiness again. 
        When he was little he went to Primary and scouts, and participated in the Roadshows. (He loved being in the Roadshows) Gary attended a different elementary school than his friends did because of the way the boundaries were drawn. The older he got, the more out of place he felt. He graduated from Primary but then he gradually quit going to Church.
        When he went into high school he tried sports and tried to be friends with the others who played, but he never felt included in the activities. One group of students who accepted everyone was the "Parking Lot" crowd. When he found this group, for the first time he felt he had friends. They smoked and drank and did some drugs, but they accepted him. The more he went around with this group the less interest he had in school. He dropped out altogether at age 16. He had several jobs but they didn't last long. He really didn't know what he wanted to do.
        When he was about 20, Gary met and married a girl he loved a lot. For a while they were really happy and he vowed to give up the things that were bringing unhappiness. Life was good. He loved his wife, liked his job and was happy. Then some of his old "friends" started coming round. He started drinking again and his life began to deteriorate. He and his wife divorced and he moved back home. We had always been close, but during this time our relationship deepened. He enrolled at the YCC and completed high school. He got a job he liked and things were good, but he was lonely. He wanted a family of his own. Both of his brothers had families and he was very close to their children. In fact, he was their favorite person. He tried very hard to be someone they could look up to and be proud of. It became harder for him as he wanted children of his own so much.
        During this time we spent a lot of time together. When he was working nights, he'd wake me early and say, "Come on, Dad. Let's go for a ride." He'd get coffee and I'd get hot chocolate and we'd just ride around. He loved riding on country roads or in the mountains. It really didn't matter as long as we were together. He decided to make some changes in his life again. He quit smoking entirely and began a body-building program. He looked and felt so much better and actually began to like himself, but he was still lonely. As the loneliness would build, he'd eventually find some of his old friends, usually at a bar. The next day he would feel regret and vow it wouldn't happen again.
        The day before he died, we helped with ward clean-up-day. He worked so hard and enjoyed being with the other guys there. He came home, got cleaned up and went to a street festival in Ogden. I didn't hear him come home, but it was late. 
        The next morning I went to Bishop's meeting and then my wife and I attended the other Sunday meetings. It was about 4:00 p.m. when I got home. My wife asked me to go downstairs and get him for dinner. He didn't wake when I called his name. When I turned on the light, I saw him lying back on his pillows and that he had shot himself in the heart. I reached out to hold him but his spirit had gone. Thoughts raced through my mind-with my Priesthood, I could heal him-if only I was good enough-so I gave him a blessing. I was bishop of our ward at the time. I remembered how Jesus had raised the dead and I wanted so much to have the faith to bring my son back to me. I went to the stairs to tell my wife, I said: "My God, he's dead. Gary's dead!" And I literally felt my heart break. 
        After that things were pretty much a blur. Our other sons were on vacation so they had to be located. The police came and my wife and I were taken to a neighbor while they removed his body from our home. My counselors in the bishopric, Paul and Allen, did everything possible to make it easier, and there was a great out-pouring of love from the ward members.
        I was standing at the foot of his casket when I realized that he was just 33 years old, the same age the Savior was when he died. I had a great feeling of empathy for our Father in Heaven who had watched His Son die on the cross.
        In the weeks that followed, Sundays were very hard. It was only the love of the ward members that sustained us. 
        I never became angry with God, but sometimes I felt angry with Gary for leaving me with such emptiness. We were such good friends and it seemed so unfair. But even that I understand. He just got tired of starting over. Suicide is so hard for me to understand. Many think that those who take their lives are doomed to hell. I don't believe that. I think God is much wiser, kinder, and more loving than we can imagine.
        We, as God's children need to open our hearts to those who feel they don't fit in. Gary longed for acceptance by the neighbors and other ward members, but he never felt it. As with so many, the nicest things said about him were said after he died. One of the things that make a suicide so hard is knowing the depth of despair that they must feel. They think it is the only way to find peace. As the parents we always tried to fix things so he could be happy but we had to realize that this time we couldn't fix it. All we can hope is that he has found his peace.
        It's been two years now since he died and gradually I am finding ways to cope. There will never be a day or an hour that I don't think of him and miss him. The many kind sets of friends help me so much. A sister who lost a son in much the same way Gary died brought us a picture of the Savior holding a young man in His arms as He welcomed him home. It makes me feel better each time I look at it. 
        Another friend brought a small birdhouse with tires and tools scattered around and a sign that reads "Gary's Car Repair." She knew of his love for cars. 
        On my desk sits a card with a poem that eases my pain when I read it. We put part of it on his headstone.

Don't think of him as gone away,
His journey's just begun.
Life holds so many facets.
Earth is only one.
But think of him as living
In the hearts of those he touched.
For nothing loved is ever lost and
He was loved so much!

--E. Brenneman

UNDERSTANDING THE HEALING PROCESS: ANGER AND BLAME

        Of all the stages in the grieving process, anger and blame can be the most difficult for a survivor to understand and for others to accept. Typically, individuals move from the denial stage to the anger stage when they begin to realize that their loved ones' deaths were suicides. Losing someone precious hurts and seems unfair, especially when it would seem to be preventable. Survivors often believe they or someone else should have prevented this loss. There is a tendency to assign blame. Survivors of suicide may feel anger towards the suicide victim, their family, their church leaders, themselves, and often toward God. Anger and blame may also be directed at institutions such as hospitals, a church, the military, the police or the government.
        Behaviors associated with the anger phase of grief include blaming, yelling, resentment, and periods of rage and bitterness. Anger can become so intense that it can split families apart, alienate friends, and push the survivor away from God and religious activities. You may think, "I have been a faithful and good person my whole life. Why would God allow this to happen to me?" It is not unusual to question personal religious beliefs in this stage. Beliefs you have taken for granted for years are now closely examined and questioned. Intense loss such as suicide can cause a rational person to become irrational, or a religious person to become confused and turn away from Church and friends temporarily. 
        Because of this roller coaster of emotions during the early stages of grief you, the survivor, may feel yourself becoming very scatterbrained, unorganized, or unable to make simple decisions. In addition, a survivor can expect periods of denial and shock to occur or reoccur.
        It is natural and appropriate to explore and acknowledge these feelings of anger and blame, because by doing so you are better able to work through this phase of grief. Instinctively survivors tend to reject the way their loved ones chose to end their lives. You may be angry with the deceased for checking out of the relationship and breaking your heart. Remember anger indicates there has been an investment. We don't get angry with someone we don't care about. So anger is not the opposite of love but a dimension of it-a sign of a love deeply wounded. Recovery from the suicide of a loved one is a monumental task for the process of mending a broken heart is painful and slow.
        It is important to know that if someone really wants to die, you can't always stop them with your words, prescribed medication, psychiatric hospitalization, your love or your prayers. Mentally you may realize that, but it will take a while to convince your heart. 
        Handling anger appropriately can help you survive and reenter life or it can become destructive. It depends on how you channel it. As you allow yourself to feel anger, the hurt usually becomes less intense and good memories will eventually surface. Be aware that persistence of intense anger over a number of years can often be a clue that you may not have resolved the first phase of grief, denial and shock. When anger rages unabated, it is often misdirected anger that cannot be alleviated with the passage of time, because the person is not facing the true source or target of their angry feelings.
        The Lord has made it clear what He would have us do with anger: "Behold, this is not my doctrine, to stir up the hearts of men with anger, one against another; but this is my doctrine, that such things should be done away" (3 Nephi 11:29,30) This command from the Lord presupposes agency. It is an appeal to survivors to believe that anger can be removed. Prayer is helpful in eliminating anger.
        Ultimately, anger can be healed through a willingness to forgive your loved one and yourself. Although you may not believe it is possible, you'll be able to forgive. Right now the anger and other feelings you are experiencing are probably so intense you may have no desire to consider forgiving yourself, the deceased, God or anyone else. That's typical. It's not easy seeing a loved one take his or her life. Today, you may believe that someone has to be responsible for the suicide, and maybe they are. But your ability to forgive will come as you seek the Lord's spirit in prayer. To forgive is a tremendous burden lifted and typically is done little by little, and with enormous effort. A spirit of forgiveness toward those who may have or seemed to have wronged you is the very essence of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Each of us has need of this spirit.
        Hard to do? Of course. The Lord never promised an easy road. Learning to let go of your anger and blame can be very painful. The price is high, but the rewards attained are worth all they cost. During this phase, don't get upset if you have mixed emotions and take "one step forward, two steps back." This is normal. Accept the behaviors of anger and blame as part of the healing process and a sign of change. The Lord himself turned the other cheek, He suffered Himself to be buffeted and beaten without remonstrance; He suffered every indignity and yet spoke no word of condemnation. As He hung on the cross, "Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do. And they parted his raiment, and cast lots." (Luke 23:34 emphasis added) Yes, eventually you too can forgive them, all of them!

HELPS FOR HEALING

The following ideas have been found helpful to those dealing with anger and blame.

¨ Recognize anger when you are experiencing it. Identify those people, institutions or others (including yourself) whom you feel are to blame for your loved one's suicide. A survivor might write it down.

¨ Discuss your anger and blame with an understanding friend or talk about it with God. Tell why it is so difficult for you to let it go and forgive.

¨ Share your anger and resentment to the deceased by writing a letter about what they have done to you and your family. Make sure you include how much you'll miss them.

¨ Turning to the Lord in earnest prayer can remove angry, bitter feelings and let the Comforter fill your heart with sweet forgiving.