A Mother's Side of Suicide

"It hurts like hell. Every heart knows its bitterness. My two friends followed me when I got the call. When I entered the hospital, the doctor said, ‘Your son committed suicide.’ At first, I didn’t cry. I was shocked. I said I didn’t want to see anything or hear anything. I was angry. I was mad. That son of a B…. It’s selfish that he didn't think how it would affect me. How could somebody be so selfish? Then I met another friend who said one of the nurses told her ‘some loony jumped from the fourth floor of the hospital's parking lot.’ That’s my son, I said. 

"When the Chaplain said I should collect his personal belongings and a guy said, ‘Sorry.” That’s when it hit me. I started to cry. It’s something I have to live with for the rest of my life. I feel sad sometimes. I relive everything when his birthday comes each year. I relive the pain of giving birth to him. I say, Robert, where are you? How could you do this to your family and friends? 

"The crying decreases with time. I don’t cry as much anymore, but sporadically I cry. I cry on Sundays when I go to church. It’s not as bad now. The Sunday night he shaved. He looked so good. He had this glow and I said, you should look like this all the time. Monday morning he said he couldn’t sleep. He called 911 and they took him to the hospital. He wanted stronger medication to sleep and they didn’t give it to him. He must have felt that nobody cared. Some people do it intentionally, you know. I ask God to forgive him. Nobody thought Robert would commit suicide."

(This is a mother's side to Suicide - an interview.  The pain is real. Talk to someone if you ever feel really sad.)

It's Free Today - Let Me Die

Suicide is more prevalent than we would want to acknowledge. My next post on Monday will address the topic. You will hear from a mother on how she feels after losing a child to suicide.

In one of the stories in Let Me Die, I wanted to die. Really. At a tender age when I didn't grasp what suicide was and is today, I wanted an escape from life.

Let Me Die is free on Kindle today. It's a short read and you will learn the reason why I wanted to die because I was angry I could not change something about myself.

On this blog, my aim is to address the not-so-nice-things people are afraid to address. I want to bring awareness with hope that we can get healing. Writing is one route to healing. Grab a pen and start the process of healing by writing your pain away.

Here is the link on Amazon - Let Me Die.

"Live Like You Were Dying"

Terry Fox, Thunder Bay, Canada

Myrtle Beach, South Carolina

Can you "live like you were dying," meaning having fun or doing "things" you wouldn't have done, yet you do them because you have a terminal illness? Some people say it depends on the situation. Some dying people become kinder and more loving. Some, like Terry Fox, do great things. 

I ask, do we truly know how they feel?  Do they honestly tell us what they think?

In the true sense of the phrase, I declare that many dying people do not try to live as though they are dying. They just live. The man who's given two weeks after a medical diagnosis cannot truly live as if he's dying.  Thoughts of death make him a living dead even as he laughs. He has no control over his fate.

Dunn's River, St Ann, Jamaica

I'm not saying that some dying people do not enjoy their final days. And maybe I'm even presumptuous to attempt writing about this topic. But I've seen much and I've heard many stories.

Washington, District of Columbia

When my mother first realized her thyroid cancer had become a roaming parasite in her body, I bought the "Live like you were dying idea." I told her to buy clothes, travel (go to places she did not know), enjoy life, and cherish the last moments. Being with her and doing all of those things felt weird because I knew and she knew, and I had never forgotten why we were doing certain things. Death conquered our minds.

CN Tower, Toronto, Canada

Disney World, Florida, USA

I now see some of those things she did as masquerades over feelings. Masks. The masking of blank stares and sadness her slow death did not reveal until the the cancer, in its final stage, hovered like a hawk over carcass. Under my mother's masks were fears and tears and pain and sadness, feelings too glum to express.
When my radio coach discovered a lung transplant was not possible to replace his cancer-infested lungs, he surrendered to death. His soul died. I observed him. Happiness walked out his door. He lived moment by moment. 

Oxygen Tank

When my 37-year-old sister's cancer pounced like a tsunami, raging from chest to head, unspeakable sorrow flowed from her eyes as she waited to die. When the doctor gave my mother three months, life ran away. Her spirit died before her physical death.

Pain Pump

Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm foolish, maybe I'm confused, maybe I'm grieving, maybe I'm just grappling with my own mortality. Still or for now, I don't think dying people live as though they are dying--in the true sense of the phrase. Dying people live thinking they are already dead. You see, all eyes are on them. Everyone waits to witness the last minute, the last second, the last breath, the goodbye ritual. Dying people know we wait to dispose their bodies.
Please tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm taking a simple approach regarding a complicated matter. Tell me what I'm saying does not make sense. Enlighten me. Please. (Previously posted here: Conceive Writing

Here's an article about dying: The Waiting