When Sue’s partner Glenn died by suicide, her world collapsed.


What followed – the silence, the paperwork, the pain — was almost too much to bear. But in the raw aftermath, Sue found a way to express what couldn’t be said aloud: through poetry. Now, she shares her story to help others feel less alone in their grief.

My partner, Glenn, died in June 1999. Tragically, he took his own life and, for several reasons, his body was not found for four days. My trip to the coroner’s court and the ensuing process I had to go through to identify his body was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, and I hope I never have to experience such a thing again.

Glenn’s family and I met with the funeral director, as families do at such times, and were looking at brochures and pictures of coffins, flowers etc. We chose the simplest of coffins, because Glenn loved making things with his hands out of wood. It seemed appropriate to pick one that was simple but beautiful, just as everything Glenn had made. Glenn was also a perfectionist about anything he did. We used to tease him that anything he made would remain standing after everything else around it had fallen down. After we’d picked his coffin, his brother quipped: “Yep, but if Glenn had made it, there’d be two inch bolts every six inches all around it!” And in the midst of this incredibly painful time, we found ourselves laughing!

Glenn had also left instructions that he wanted to be cremated, and have his ashes scattered in the Thompson’s River in country Victoria – a place we used to love camping. When the funeral director asked us about the cremation, Glenn’s brother-in-law suddenly laughed and said: “Well, he wanted to be cremated. If we have to go up to Thompson’s River, we’ll have to camp. What do you reckon, we could have a HUGE campfire …” And again, we found ourselves laughing together and even making up stories such as building a raft to send Glenn’s spirit down the river like the Vikings used to do!

This might be called “black humour” but ours was NOT light-hearted or disrespectful laughter! There are no words adequate to describe our pain and grief. But in the midst of our pain, for a few moments we turned our faces from darkness back into sunshine. Our laughter and the sharing of ‘silly’ stories were helping us hold onto our courage with both hands and start to heal.

Over the following months, there were many moments like this. We shared both our tears and our laughter, as we shared stories about the funny times, the great times, the joy of being with Glenn, as well as our pain and grief at losing him. For us, these were truly conversations that heal.

Some time later we made the trip to Thompson’s River to scatter Glenn’s ashes in the way he wanted. Around our campfire that night we again shared lots of stories – remembering all the things Glenn had meant to us. Some of us told stories the rest of us remembered; others told stories the rest of us had forgotten. Woven through all of them were both pain and joy. For me, the fact that we can experience pain and joy, tears and laughter, at one and the same time is one of those wonderful paradoxes of our life’s journey.