A Test of Willpower and Fortitude

Someone recently asked me how I cope with such a devastating loss due to murder-suicide. My answer? “It’s really a combination of things.” Intensive trauma therapy, supportive antidepressant medication, a faith community, accountability to my partner and my surviving child, Alcoholics Anonymous and the 12-Step program, service to others who are struggling, perhaps a bit of innate resilience, sharing my story, and triathlon.

One of the biggest turning points in my grief recovery came when I was invited to participate in a 165 mile fundraising bike ride. Trust me when I say, I loved riding a bike but I hadn’t owned one in quite some time. They found one for me to ride, and just three weeks later, I was cycling from Miami to Key West. Those two days broke me in half.

It was the first time in five years, since the tragedy that something came even remotely close to what I experienced the day I heard the words:

“Your baby is dead. She killed her.”

After that, those same friends encouraged me to join them at a 5K run and not long after that, another invitation to join a sprint triathlon training group in my area. On a whim, I agreed. Eight years after saying goodbye to my daughter, I completed my first Ironman the weekend I turned 50. Only a small percentage of the population ever competes in a triathlon, and even fewer complete an Ironman in their lifetime. Those were statistics I knew nothing about until the night before Ironman Maryland in 2022. I remember thinking, If I’m already part of the less than 1% who survives the murder-suicide of a child, then maybe I can survive this too.

It was a test of pure willpower and mental fortitude.

We swam 2.4 miles through jellyfish, cycled 112 miles into relentless headwinds, and then “ran” 26.2 miles. (To be honest, I walked much of the marathon.). It took me 15 hours, but I crossed the finish line two hours before the cutoff.

Most days, I forget how strong I really am. I forget what I’m capable of pushing through. Because despite everything I’ve shared and everything I continue to do to help myself, I still struggle.

I still have mornings when getting out of bed feels hard. I still struggle to feel genuinely happy. And despite my best efforts, I still live with the fear of the next unexpected loss.

Today, that journey has become my purpose. As a licensed mental health counselor, survivor, speaker, and board member of the Murder-Suicide Loss Network, I’m committed to helping ensure that no survivor has to navigate this kind of loss alone.

If you’d like to know more or are interested in my story, please feel free to contact me @jacquelynjamason@gmail.com.

“I am not here to fix what happened, I am here to change what happens next”.