Releasing the Pain of a Son's Suicide

When I reach out to a friend who is in need, I don't always know whether what I have done has helped. Some time ago we were visiting with one of my husband's old high school friends. "George's" bi-polar teenage son had committed suicide eight years before. George's son, who had shot himself in the family room, died in his arms.

We were vacationing with George and his wife at Big Bear. Even though I didn't know George very well, I could tell that he was walking around with a heavy heart. After we were together for a couple of days, I got up my nerve to ask him if he wanted to talk about his feelings surrounding his son's death.

With a blank face, he started telling me what happened. He went into considerable detail, but it's not necessary to share all the gory particulars here. If it were a movie, I asked him, how long would it be, and what would be the title? He replied that the title was, "Shock and Horror," and that it lasted two to three minutes.

When he imagined the movie of his son dying, he felt terror, panic, and helplessness, and reported that the intensity of his emotions was between 3 and 4. He experienced these emotions manifesting as tightness in his chest.

After several rounds of tapping, I asked what was going on for him. He said he was experiencing the pain of losing his son, and the intensity was still between 3 and 4. We did another round, and the intensity went down to a 3, and he said he felt more relaxed. After two more rounds of tapping, he flashed back to turning his son over and seeing all the blood. He described the shock and panic he felt as completely overwhelming. He recalled telling his wife to call 911. Having been trained as a medic in the Navy, he could see that his son was dying. He felt as though a lightning bolt had struck him. He explained that ever since, at least once a day, he felt struck again by that lightning bolt, and it kept the memory alive. He said he feared forgetting the pain, that if he forgot the pain he might forget his son, and that the ongoing agony had become part of who he was. A few more rounds of tapping cleared the tightness in his chest, and brought the intensity down to a zero.

Tonight my husband got a phone call from George, wishing him a happy birthday. It had been months since they'd talked, and almost a year and a half since I had worked with George. He told my husband how much he appreciated me taking the time to work with him, and that after our session the lightning bolt never came back. As I sat quietly, meditating on the miracle of EFT, I felt tears of gratitude trickling down my cheeks. I only wish that everyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one could find the peace that George has.