It’s Just a Profile Picture

It’s just a profile picture, right?

The concept seems so simple. Post a pic that reflects who you are. Update it with fun new versions of you. Update it with the seasons. Update it with the latest cause you support. Keep things fresh and current. If only it felt that easy for me.

Author’s note: This blog discusses suicide and loss. If you are thinking about suicide, are worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, you can reach the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline by dialing 988 or (800) 273-TALK.

Before I really get going, I’ll be the first to admit to not being a huge social media person. Yes, I’ll make an occasional post on Facebook and/or Instagram, but I’m not one to document everything I do with my days. And I’ll freely admit to being too old to want to post reels of any sort.

That said, I do enjoy being able to virtually stay in touch with many others who time, distance or situation would otherwise have removed from my life or may have never brought into my life. I still feel a sense of connection to many high school and college friends even though I haven’t actually seen most of them in decades, and my running, cycling, skiing, and triathlon communities exist largely online.

I last changed my Facebook profile picture about 5 years ago. Why so long? Well, the short answer is I haven’t been able to mentally make the change. Simply put, the photo that’s been out there for all these years – the same cover image you see above – is the last photo taken of just me and my oldest daughter, Rivena.

The Back Story

The date was October 28th, 2017. Rivena had been living in a residential mental health treatment facility for almost a month at that point. We had taken her to a facility about 8 hours from our home in Colorado to help her find a path forward following a series of multiple “stabilize and release” episodes in Denver-area mental health care centers. Rivena’s reality during that period was that she battled severe depression and suicidal ideation on a near-constant basis. In layman’s terms, she seriously questioned her self-worth, and had made it clear to those around her that she would prefer to leave her daily suffering behind.

By the time the photo was taken, Rivena had been making progress toward her mental health, but we’d had very little contact with her. After the heartbreak of dropping her off so far from home on October 2nd, her contact with parents, friends, and others was seriously limited during those first couple weeks. The thought was that she would be better served by getting a fully immersive treatment experience. Needless to say, when the invitation for a family visit was extended, we jumped at the chance to see her. We loaded up the car, picked up my in-laws, and made the 8-hour drive to experience a family weekend together. We were so happy to see her.

The facility where she lived and was undergoing treatment was fairly locked down. While the residents could technically check themselves out at any time, if they wanted to continue their treatment, they each were required to give up access to phones and computers, and visitation – even by their house phone – was limited to certain days and times. So, while we did have the chance to speak with her a few times during that first month, it was very difficult to get a read on exactly how she felt or how she was really doing. When we finally were able to lay eyes on her again, our own extreme anxiety began to turn to optimism… something we hadn’t felt for months. What we found was a person who was living again – perhaps not thriving, but at least living. She had made other friends in the facility, and there was a hint of positivity to her that we had not seen in quite some time.

In an environment where everything is so tightly regulated, the concept of free time, and especially free time outside the walls of the facility, was basically non-existent. That’s why, after a few closely moderated family sessions together as part of the scripted family weekend program, we were thrilled to be given the opportunity to take Rivena out with us for several hours on a Saturday afternoon. It was a beautiful late fall day, but not living in the local area we had no idea what to do with our time. It was Rivena who suggested we could take an easy hike to a waterfall… her group had done a supervised outing to what she described as a special place in the mountains not far away.

Armed with the memory of her group outing, a quick Google search gave us the location she had described, and we headed out for what truly was an idyllic afternoon hike. For at least a few hours, things felt almost normal – for all of us. It was just Rivena with her parents and grandparents taking a walk in the mountains on a cool, sunny fall day. There weren’t any counselors, no therapists, no doctors, and no walls. It was just us. As family. Enjoying the outdoors together.

And she was right. The trail was exactly as she described it. It led to a beautiful natural waterfall. And that’s where, after we took a few group selfies, I asked Rivena to take a picture with me.

If you’re a parent, think about how many times you have asked someone to take a picture of you with your child. At that stage, we’d had 25 years of those pictures. I had no way of knowing that the one taken that day, at that spot, would be our last together.

Rivena died by suicide three months to the day after that photo was taken. This Saturday marks five years since her death.

Growing Pull of Inertia

Four days after her passing, as we made the horrible news of Rivena’s death public, I changed my Facebook profile picture to this final photo of the two of us. And it has remained unchanged to this day.

To anybody who might be thinking, “so what,” I agree with you. It shouldn’t matter what your profile pic on a random social media site is. You shouldn’t read too much into it. But in this case, I can’t help it. Seeing her with me every time I happen to be on the app, even in some small way, keeps her memory alive. And the truth is I have been unable to make myself change it.

Why is that? That’s a question I’ve asked myself a thousand times. I think it comes down to trying (in vain) to hold onto any shred of her that is still tangible. But it comes at a cost. And for me, that cost is perpetually feeling stuck.

I wrote at roughly this same time last year about trying to move forward. In fact, I used forward as my word for the year. It implied progress. It spoke of direction. And here I sit, another year down the road, in approximately the same mental position I was in twelve months ago.

“How Old Are Your Kids?”

So much has been written about how Americans suck at dealing with grief and loss that I won’t try to replicate it all here. But the reality is we don’t do a good job of handling death in general; and it gets especially bad when that death comes either: 1) as the result of one’s own hand, or 2) in a non-natural order. So, as parents who have lost a child (albeit an adult child) to suicide, we’re doubly screwed.

The discomfort of the innocent conversations that begin with “how many kids do you have,” or “how old are your kids” can’t be overstated.

Both Kim and I have come up with our own way to answer that one. It happens so frequently that we’ve had to get used to it. And it basically comes down to something along the lines of… “We have two kids. Our youngest is 26 and lives here in the Denver area, and our oldest should be 30 but she passed away about five years ago.”

I’ll say here and now, I’m sorry to have watched you squirm if you’ve heard either Kim or me say those words. But this is our daily reality. It doesn’t go away. It doesn’t get better with time. Yes, the pain of it becomes more tolerable and less acute, but only because our own survival instinct dulls the brutality of it. What you don’t see in the uncomfortableness of these encounters is what happens to us once we are back in the privacy of our own space. Each time it happens to one of us, we’ll recount the interaction to the other and talk through how it felt. Tears are common. There is typically an F-bomb or two. And we end up mentally categorizing whoever the encounter was with into either the “safe to share” or “keep things surface level” camps.

Note that both camps are OK, and both are necessary, because we want to be around others and totally understand that many people just aren’t comfortable with our reality. We know we can’t be picky. But it’s a short list of those who can handle the depth of our truth.

The Challenge of Loss

So, where to go at this point? I started writing this blog to support Rivena. After she died, I decided to continue writing, both in the name of promoting kindness in her honor and as a form of therapy for me.  With that in mind, let me take a headfirst dive into the topic of how to deal with someone who may be grieving.

Like I said earlier, we as a society are not good at handling loss. Not because we don’t experience it. But because there is an expectation to keep a stiff upper lip and keep plowing ahead. Even the so-called bible of psychiatry, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (or DSM-5) in 2022 put anything beyond six months of normal grief response into the category of a mental disorder in its own right. Check it out for yourself… try a Google search for something called Prolonged Grief Disorder. It literally puts a medical timeline on grieving.

What kind of bullshit is that? For all the talk about trying to de-stigmatize mental health, the DSM-5 does exactly the opposite here by slapping a label on something that doesn’t need one. You lose your firstborn to suicide and tell me things are OK six months later. Or six years. Does it mean that I am clinically depressed? No. It means I lost my daughter despite trying desperately to help her and I still think about her. Every. Single. Day.

 

A Few Tips on Being Around Someone Who is Grieving

But I digress. How can I turn that into something kind? Let me give a few pointers to those of you who have not yet experienced significant loss of a loved one. I share these because I would be the first to admit to having been hugely uncomfortable around anybody who had suffered deep loss before losing Rivena. Yes, it can be ugly and uncomfortable. And yet, it’s the very act of feeling that profound kind of loss which makes us human. If you live, and love, then you will grieve.

So, I share the following out of love. I wish I had been able to learn these without experiencing the loss that precipitated my own understanding , but such is life. In no particular order:

1. There is no timeline on grief. Even those who appear to hold everything together most days can get blindsided by a memory, an image, or a situation that can stop them cold. Be gentle if you happen to witness this.
2. There is nothing linear about experiencing loss. Forget what you think you know about the 5 stages of grief. That doesn’t mean someone grieving won’t feel the emotions associated with each “stage,” but I can attest to the fact that it is entirely possible to experience all of them at once. Don’t expect a neat progression.
3. If someone tells you they’ve lost someone close, avoid the primal urge to change the subject. The best thing you can do is ask about their loved one. What is her name? What was she like? As uncomfortable as it feels for you, the person who just shared about their loss lives with it every day, so you’re not bringing up a bad subject. Trust me – if they don’t want to talk about whoever they lost, they’ll tell you. What’s more likely is you will give them an opportunity to tell you about someone they love. This is healthy. And extremely thoughtful.
4. Reach out at a random time to let them know you’re thinking about them. A text, a call, a visit… I can’t describe just how meaningful this can be.
5. Know that for those who’ve experienced loss, it can be really hard to want to be around others. If you’re on the other end, keep inviting them anyway.
6. You can’t fix things, and you can’t make it better. Don’t try. Don’t feel like you’re expected to. Just be willing to sit with someone in their grief.
7. Don’t EVER equivocate… if what you’re about to say starts with “at least,” please stop there. See #6 above.

This is in no way a comprehensive list, but it’s not a bad place to start if you are new to this. If we’re lucky, we all will be on the receiving end of compassion after loss. Because like I’ve already said, grief is the inverse of love. One can’t exist without the other. If you love, you will grieve. If I can offer one lesson, it’s to recognize that experiencing grief is normal. Give yourself permission and the kindness to grieve however you need to.

Change is Hard

Getting back to where we started today, I’m still stuck on the profile pic. And in many ways, I’m still stuck in neutral on getting back out there personally and professionally. The truth is that the things that mattered before don’t matter the same way now. Yes, Kim and I have found ways to keep going, both together and along our own paths. After a couple years of travel not being an option thanks to COVID, we did a ton of traveling last year. We experienced new things in Fiji, Canada, Germany, Switzerland, St Thomas, and all over the US, meeting family and friends, both new and old, all over the world. And yet that damn profile pic stays.

I’ve come to the point where I want to change it, but don’t want to appear to be leaving Rivena behind. I hesitate to let go of anything that still connects me to her. My guess is those of you who have gone through significant loss already (if you haven’t yet, you will – it’s one of the great truths of life) can relate to what I’m saying. Whether it’s leaving a room exactly as a loved one left it, leaving clothes hanging in the closet, not painting over the growth chart on the back of the door, or any one of a hundred other connections to that person you love who no longer walks this earth, me keeping that profile pic is along the exact same lines.

It’s no surprise, then, that it’s been so hard for me to come to terms with the fact that I need to change that damn picture if I really do want to find my way forward. It’s one more obstacle that prevents me from making that forward progress I wrote about last year. The two simultaneous truths about it are that:

1) No amount of me remembering that day with Rivena will bring her back, and

2) Changing that photo doesn’t mean I am leaving her behind. It’s just me giving myself permission to move ahead.

With that, I give you me at the Matterhorn in Zermatt, Switzerland, October 2022.

But hey, it’s only a profile pic…