enough.
Enough of being here on my own.
Enough of people whispering about me like I wasn’t there.
I decided to pick myself up off the floor and take something to help me sleep instead, hoping that when I woke I would feel better. But as I shook the container of anti-depressants into my hand, half the bottle spilled out, instead of the one pill I needed. I remember staring at the handful of pills thinking how easy, painless it would be to take them all. But then I wondered what would happen if they didn’t do the job. What if I was stuck in a vegetative state for the rest of my life? That would be worse than my life now, so I emptied the entire bottle of pills into my hand because that would surely do the job. While trying to muster the courage to take the contents in my hand I started to sob.
Sob because of the finality of what I was about to do.
Sob because I missed Matt and Katelin.
Sob because I wanted to be with them.
But then…
Sob because my mom and dad would find my lifeless body and they would never recover.
As I sat on my bed, hand filled with pills, my little guardian angel came to save the day. Frantically licking my face as he had done countless times before, Charlie reminded me that he needed me too. I poured the pills back into the bottle and curled up with him, crying myself to sleep.
That was the first—and last time I ever considered taking my own life.
A couple of months after Matt and Katelin died, my mom dragged my drug induced butt out of bed and off to a support group for parents who had lost a child. There were no support groups for people who had lost a child and a spouse. Guess it wasn’t common.
Go figure.
I’d listen to women and men tell their stories of losing their children, but there was one story that touched me so profoundly that I doubt it will ever leave my heart. Her son was a typical, healthy, twelve year old boy until he was diagnosed with leukaemia. For months, she held a vigil at his bedside as she watched him losing his battle. Nothing she could do would ease his pain, but she was there for him every second of every day. And when the day came that he took his last precious breath in her arms, she mourned the loss of her precious child as any grieving mother would. It’s a club that no one wants to belong to and those of us in the club hope we never have to meet a new member. Her husband had left her years earlier and relinquished all rights to her son, so with his passing she was alone in the world. Like me, her friends all started to disappear one by one.
I remember talking to her at the end of a meeting once. I asked how she had the strength to go on. She was very matter of fact when telling me her son would want her to go on, help people, and that’s exactly what she did. She decided to go back to school to become a counsellor, working with terminally ill children and their families. I often wonder what happened to her and if she was able to find peace by helping others.
The feelings of guilt I’ve harbored because I lived and they died are not nearly as consuming as they used to be which tells me now might be a good time to get out among people again; to find my place in society again.
Tyler suggested I start slow no matter what I do and ease myself in by working a shift or two, at the coffee shop we frequent to see how I would do before jumping into anything too emotional. He also suggested I stay away from customers while carrying hot drinks.
Smart ass.
But I don’t know…
Am I ready?
I LOVE WAKING up to the Southern California sunshine in the morning. I decide it might be a good idea to take Charlie and my morning mug of steaming goodness outside for a little sun before the day gets too hot. As my little man happily runs and sniffs around the penned pet area, I sip my deliciously creamy latte and open my tablet to start the hottest book of the decade.
What is it about men in suits?
Jenna told me I had to read this book or we
Enough of being here on my own.
Enough of people whispering about me like I wasn’t there.
I decided to pick myself up off the floor and take something to help me sleep instead, hoping that when I woke I would feel better. But as I shook the container of anti-depressants into my hand, half the bottle spilled out, instead of the one pill I needed. I remember staring at the handful of pills thinking how easy, painless it would be to take them all. But then I wondered what would happen if they didn’t do the job. What if I was stuck in a vegetative state for the rest of my life? That would be worse than my life now, so I emptied the entire bottle of pills into my hand because that would surely do the job. While trying to muster the courage to take the contents in my hand I started to sob.
Sob because of the finality of what I was about to do.
Sob because I missed Matt and Katelin.
Sob because I wanted to be with them.
But then…
Sob because my mom and dad would find my lifeless body and they would never recover.
As I sat on my bed, hand filled with pills, my little guardian angel came to save the day. Frantically licking my face as he had done countless times before, Charlie reminded me that he needed me too. I poured the pills back into the bottle and curled up with him, crying myself to sleep.
That was the first—and last time I ever considered taking my own life.
A couple of months after Matt and Katelin died, my mom dragged my drug induced butt out of bed and off to a support group for parents who had lost a child. There were no support groups for people who had lost a child and a spouse. Guess it wasn’t common.
Go figure.
I’d listen to women and men tell their stories of losing their children, but there was one story that touched me so profoundly that I doubt it will ever leave my heart. Her son was a typical, healthy, twelve year old boy until he was diagnosed with leukaemia. For months, she held a vigil at his bedside as she watched him losing his battle. Nothing she could do would ease his pain, but she was there for him every second of every day. And when the day came that he took his last precious breath in her arms, she mourned the loss of her precious child as any grieving mother would. It’s a club that no one wants to belong to and those of us in the club hope we never have to meet a new member. Her husband had left her years earlier and relinquished all rights to her son, so with his passing she was alone in the world. Like me, her friends all started to disappear one by one.
I remember talking to her at the end of a meeting once. I asked how she had the strength to go on. She was very matter of fact when telling me her son would want her to go on, help people, and that’s exactly what she did. She decided to go back to school to become a counsellor, working with terminally ill children and their families. I often wonder what happened to her and if she was able to find peace by helping others.
The feelings of guilt I’ve harbored because I lived and they died are not nearly as consuming as they used to be which tells me now might be a good time to get out among people again; to find my place in society again.
Tyler suggested I start slow no matter what I do and ease myself in by working a shift or two, at the coffee shop we frequent to see how I would do before jumping into anything too emotional. He also suggested I stay away from customers while carrying hot drinks.
Smart ass.
But I don’t know…
Am I ready?
I LOVE WAKING up to the Southern California sunshine in the morning. I decide it might be a good idea to take Charlie and my morning mug of steaming goodness outside for a little sun before the day gets too hot. As my little man happily runs and sniffs around the penned pet area, I sip my deliciously creamy latte and open my tablet to start the hottest book of the decade.
What is it about men in suits?
Jenna told me I had to read this book or we
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