Five months have passed since I got the call. "I want to make sure you're sitting down," my friend said. "I have some really bad news." What an understatement that turned out to be. Shocking, tragic, gut-wrenching news would have been a more accurate description. How else could you possibly begin to describe the suicide of a beautiful, vibrant, 17 year-old girl?
The girl she was telling me about was the daughter of a mutual friend who was my former roommate and work colleague. I hadn't seen the girl, or her mother, in a couple of years. Like so many relationships, it had become more about keeping up with each other on Facebook, family Christmas cards, and once in a blue moon phone calls. Nevertheless, they are people I care a great deal about and Jocelyn's death has shaken me deeply.
Yesterday, I spent some time perusing her Facebook wall. There have been daily postings from family members and friends telling her how much they love and miss her, how certain songs bring her to mind, and how they wish she was there to do certain things with them. My own daughter, who is the same age and just started back to school, posted how she wished Jocelyn could experience her senior year, too, and all the excitement that goes along with it.
Interestingly enough, no one seems to have expressed any anger. Yet, anger is exactly what I'm feeling at this point. I barely knew the girl, but I'm mad, even though I probably don't have any right to be. I'm mad at the people who were apparently subjecting her to cyber-bullying. I'm mad at her for what I'm betting was an impulsive decision borne from her own anger and pain. I'm mad that she didn't stop and think and pray it through. I'm mad that God didn't do something to intervene. I'm mad that her little sister doesn't have her big sister to look up to and share life with anymore. I'm mad that she didn't tell her parents about the bullying, and instead robbed them of the opportunity to watch her finish growing up, graduate, go to college, get married, be grandparents to her children. They adored her and I know they would've moved heaven and earth to help her!
There's more, but it's all wrapped up in my own junk that seems unfair to dump on her. Junk like guilt for feeling mad at a hurting, emotional, 17 year-old girl. Junk like reading her mom's blog about her own pain while I was at the beach with my family, crying my eyes out over the raw grief she was pouring out and feeling angry that she had to suffer that. Junk like the tentacles of fear that have started creeping in and tugging at my psyche when my own teenage daughters let their emotions get the best of them. "Is it just a rant? Do I need to worry? Should I check on her in her room?" Junk like the anger that has resurfaced towards my father-in-law for taking his own life 17 years ago, three months before the birth of his first grand-child, my oldest daughter. Remembering the hurt in my husband's eyes when he said "Dad's never been there for anything else in my life, I don't know why I would've thought he would be here for this," and desperately wishing I could take that pain away from him. So much junk...
I really needed to write this because writing is therapeutic for me. It's the best way I know to sort out my feelings, to name them for what they are, stare them down, and hopefully move past them. But I debated this time whether to do it in this public forum. I love this girl's family and the last thing I would ever want to do is cause them anymore pain. I pray that if my grieving friend reads this that in her own writer's heart she will understand.
I decided on the public post because I believe that sometimes we think it's wrong to feel and express anger over tragedies. Suicide, especially, leaves us all feeling awkward and helpless and unsure of how to respond or what to say. Maybe what we need is permission to acknowledge and voice those feelings, and if that's what this blog gives to someone else then I can feel good about that.
And should someone considering suicide happen to stumble across this post, know that you would be leaving a trail of pain and heartache and confusion that reaches much farther than you can even fathom. There are so many resources available...ask for help! And please, please, please remember that where there is life, there is always hope.
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Winds of Change
My heart just walked out the door. It's Kaelie's LAST first day of school, which means first day of senior year for her and first day of freshman year for Hannah. To mark the occasion, I thought I would post something that I wrote 12 years ago after Kaelie started kindergarten.
I must have spent the entire summer in a state of denial. My firstborn was about to start kindergarten and it didn't bother me in the least. My husband practically broke down in tears at every mere mention of it. "Oh, but she's so excited and so ready for it," I would say.
Then it hit me, about a week before school was to start. All the carefree time I had had with her for five years was about to end. FOREVER. That's when the guilt set in. You know the kind, typical mommy guilt that you know is silly but you just can't help feeling because after all, it's one of the requirements of motherhood. "Oh, I didn't do this with her. Oh, we didn't get to do that or go there." No matter that I had given up a successful and rewarding career and traded my designer wardrobe for spit-up-stained and sticky finger-smeared t-shirts. I was going to feel guilty about not doing enough because doggone it, I was a mother and I was entitled to all the guilt I could muster.
I got over that. It was the morning her daddy and I walked her to the bus stop in front of our house. It felt like walking a plank. Suddenly all guilt was gone and the only thing I felt was raw fear.
"What if the bus driver is a maniac? What if she gets lost? What if she drops her lunch tray or dawdles too long and doesn't get to eat? What if her TEACHER is a maniac? What if she breaks her neck on the playground? What if someone hurts her feelings and I'm not there to take the hurt away? What if, what if, what if..."
There she was, looking so small and sweet in her little blue and white checkered dress with the red appliqued apples ("because teachers like apples, Mommy"), the bow in her hair and the pink Barbie backpack.
And suddenly there IT was, that very large yellow bus looming before us. She started to charge up the steps before I could even say goodbye. She wasn't even looking back. I had to yell her name for one last kiss and "I love you." Then she was gone, and so was my life as I had known it for the last five years. I hugged two year-old Hannah a little tighter and blinked back the tears.
In the days since the fear has subsided. She comes home from school beaming with joy, and charges down the bus steps to my waiting arms as eagerly as she charged up that first morning. She's still my baby and every day I thank God for the love we share and the arms that He's given us to wrap around each other.
Through this, God has also taught me a lesson in loosening my grasp. Even though the winds have changed and for seven hours during the day she sails off in a different direction from me He is still with her, watching over her and guiding her all day long.
We're reminded of this in Hebrews 13:8. "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever." What a comfort, Just as He is there for her at school all day, He's there for me and for all of us, whenever we loosen our grip on our lives and let Him be.
I must have spent the entire summer in a state of denial. My firstborn was about to start kindergarten and it didn't bother me in the least. My husband practically broke down in tears at every mere mention of it. "Oh, but she's so excited and so ready for it," I would say.
Then it hit me, about a week before school was to start. All the carefree time I had had with her for five years was about to end. FOREVER. That's when the guilt set in. You know the kind, typical mommy guilt that you know is silly but you just can't help feeling because after all, it's one of the requirements of motherhood. "Oh, I didn't do this with her. Oh, we didn't get to do that or go there." No matter that I had given up a successful and rewarding career and traded my designer wardrobe for spit-up-stained and sticky finger-smeared t-shirts. I was going to feel guilty about not doing enough because doggone it, I was a mother and I was entitled to all the guilt I could muster.
I got over that. It was the morning her daddy and I walked her to the bus stop in front of our house. It felt like walking a plank. Suddenly all guilt was gone and the only thing I felt was raw fear.
"What if the bus driver is a maniac? What if she gets lost? What if she drops her lunch tray or dawdles too long and doesn't get to eat? What if her TEACHER is a maniac? What if she breaks her neck on the playground? What if someone hurts her feelings and I'm not there to take the hurt away? What if, what if, what if..."
There she was, looking so small and sweet in her little blue and white checkered dress with the red appliqued apples ("because teachers like apples, Mommy"), the bow in her hair and the pink Barbie backpack.
And suddenly there IT was, that very large yellow bus looming before us. She started to charge up the steps before I could even say goodbye. She wasn't even looking back. I had to yell her name for one last kiss and "I love you." Then she was gone, and so was my life as I had known it for the last five years. I hugged two year-old Hannah a little tighter and blinked back the tears.
In the days since the fear has subsided. She comes home from school beaming with joy, and charges down the bus steps to my waiting arms as eagerly as she charged up that first morning. She's still my baby and every day I thank God for the love we share and the arms that He's given us to wrap around each other.
Through this, God has also taught me a lesson in loosening my grasp. Even though the winds have changed and for seven hours during the day she sails off in a different direction from me He is still with her, watching over her and guiding her all day long.
We're reminded of this in Hebrews 13:8. "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever." What a comfort, Just as He is there for her at school all day, He's there for me and for all of us, whenever we loosen our grip on our lives and let Him be.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Gettin' Sappy
If anyone had told me that a trip to the Snappy Lube for an oil change would inspire a blog post, I probably would've just laughed. But that's exactly what has happened, so here goes...
Let me begin with just a bit of background. In just three more months, my Honda Oddyssey will be 10 years old. It's the longest I've ever driven one vehicle, but it's also the first I've ever purchased brand new. When my husband and I bought it the day before Thanksgiving in 2002, it was after weeks of waiting to see if the Honda dealer near us would ever get a red one. The day I saw it through the showroom window was the day we brought it home. But it didn't stay there long because three days later we strapped in our girls, then ages 4 and 7, and took off on a road trip to Disney! It was the first of many trips and adventures in that van, and I guess that's why the unexpected question from the Snappy Lube service technician sent me on a sappy trip down memory lane.
"You've kept that van in good shape. You gonna be looking to sell it anytime soon?"
"Should I be," I asked? "Well no, those Hondas will run forever if you take care of them. I just wondered since you've gotten some miles on it if you might be getting ready for something new."
"Nah, with a daughter starting college in a year I don't want a car payment," I replied. "I'll probably drive this one until it's falling apart around me!"
I paid my bill and left, and as I began to pull out of the parking lot the realization of what I had just said hit me full force. I braked and turned around to look behind me, half expecting to see two little girls coloring or playing with their Polly Pockets. I blinked at the empty seats, knowing full well that Kaelie was hundreds of miles away on a youth group mission trip and Hannah was hanging out with a friend. How has the time gone so fast?
For the rest of the drive home, I was flooded with memories of time spent in that van. Countless trips to visit grandparents at opposite ends of the state, to Georgia to visit family and friends, beaches in the Carolinas, twice to NYC and again to Disney, Thanksgiving in Pensacola, and more trips to volleyball, softball, and soccer games and tournaments than I can even begin to count.
So many good times, so many wonderful memories. As I drove I found myself smiling as I reminisced over all the travel games we played to keep young children occupied. The songs we sang and the laughter we shared. And yes, even the "don't make me pull this car over" moments! I thought about the day we got our puppy, Ginger, who turned 9 years old last spring, and the joy on the faces of those two little girls as they climbed into their seats to bring their new friend home. I pictured the van during the many times that it has been filled with kids, and laughed again at some of the funny conversations I've overheard from behind the steering wheel.
I also let my mind wander to more diffiuclt times. Heated arguments, driving to and from funerals, sitting numbly in the passenger seat as Joey drove me home from the doctor's office after learning I have MS, wondering if our lives would ever be the same. Tearfully worshiping on more than one occasion as music from my favorite contemporary Christian radio station came through the speakers to soothe my anxious soul.
As my mind continued to wander, I noticed the places on the steering wheel that my hands have worn smooth. I remembered watching Kaelie's hands nervously gripping the wheel in the same spots as she learned to drive, all the while nervously gripping the passenger door armrest myself! Now she drives her own car, and she's not in the van with me nearly as often. I've realized just how much good conversation has taken place with her there, and the need to work harder now to create those opportunities. At the same time, I'm also appreciating the one on one time with Hannah, and the conversations that we get to have. That vehicle has been the scene of a lot of good talks...and tears...and laughter.
Of late, the van has been transporting us to various college tours. In another year we'll be loading it with all of Kaelie's stuff. It will take my baby girl away to some dorm room on some campus somewhere, and it will carry the rest of us tearfully home without her. And very soon after, Hannah's hands will take their place on the smooth spots of the steering wheel, and I will once again nervously grip the passenger door armrest while teaching her to drive.
Yes, a lot of life has happened in that red 2003 Honda Oddyssey. But God willing there's oh so much more to look forward to, and I'm determined to savor every moment.
Wow. All this from an ordinary visit to the Snappy (okay, "sappy") Lube. Who knew?
Let me begin with just a bit of background. In just three more months, my Honda Oddyssey will be 10 years old. It's the longest I've ever driven one vehicle, but it's also the first I've ever purchased brand new. When my husband and I bought it the day before Thanksgiving in 2002, it was after weeks of waiting to see if the Honda dealer near us would ever get a red one. The day I saw it through the showroom window was the day we brought it home. But it didn't stay there long because three days later we strapped in our girls, then ages 4 and 7, and took off on a road trip to Disney! It was the first of many trips and adventures in that van, and I guess that's why the unexpected question from the Snappy Lube service technician sent me on a sappy trip down memory lane.
"You've kept that van in good shape. You gonna be looking to sell it anytime soon?"
"Should I be," I asked? "Well no, those Hondas will run forever if you take care of them. I just wondered since you've gotten some miles on it if you might be getting ready for something new."
"Nah, with a daughter starting college in a year I don't want a car payment," I replied. "I'll probably drive this one until it's falling apart around me!"
I paid my bill and left, and as I began to pull out of the parking lot the realization of what I had just said hit me full force. I braked and turned around to look behind me, half expecting to see two little girls coloring or playing with their Polly Pockets. I blinked at the empty seats, knowing full well that Kaelie was hundreds of miles away on a youth group mission trip and Hannah was hanging out with a friend. How has the time gone so fast?
For the rest of the drive home, I was flooded with memories of time spent in that van. Countless trips to visit grandparents at opposite ends of the state, to Georgia to visit family and friends, beaches in the Carolinas, twice to NYC and again to Disney, Thanksgiving in Pensacola, and more trips to volleyball, softball, and soccer games and tournaments than I can even begin to count.
So many good times, so many wonderful memories. As I drove I found myself smiling as I reminisced over all the travel games we played to keep young children occupied. The songs we sang and the laughter we shared. And yes, even the "don't make me pull this car over" moments! I thought about the day we got our puppy, Ginger, who turned 9 years old last spring, and the joy on the faces of those two little girls as they climbed into their seats to bring their new friend home. I pictured the van during the many times that it has been filled with kids, and laughed again at some of the funny conversations I've overheard from behind the steering wheel.
I also let my mind wander to more diffiuclt times. Heated arguments, driving to and from funerals, sitting numbly in the passenger seat as Joey drove me home from the doctor's office after learning I have MS, wondering if our lives would ever be the same. Tearfully worshiping on more than one occasion as music from my favorite contemporary Christian radio station came through the speakers to soothe my anxious soul.
As my mind continued to wander, I noticed the places on the steering wheel that my hands have worn smooth. I remembered watching Kaelie's hands nervously gripping the wheel in the same spots as she learned to drive, all the while nervously gripping the passenger door armrest myself! Now she drives her own car, and she's not in the van with me nearly as often. I've realized just how much good conversation has taken place with her there, and the need to work harder now to create those opportunities. At the same time, I'm also appreciating the one on one time with Hannah, and the conversations that we get to have. That vehicle has been the scene of a lot of good talks...and tears...and laughter.
Of late, the van has been transporting us to various college tours. In another year we'll be loading it with all of Kaelie's stuff. It will take my baby girl away to some dorm room on some campus somewhere, and it will carry the rest of us tearfully home without her. And very soon after, Hannah's hands will take their place on the smooth spots of the steering wheel, and I will once again nervously grip the passenger door armrest while teaching her to drive.
Yes, a lot of life has happened in that red 2003 Honda Oddyssey. But God willing there's oh so much more to look forward to, and I'm determined to savor every moment.
Wow. All this from an ordinary visit to the Snappy (okay, "sappy") Lube. Who knew?
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