After Everything That Has Happened, You Made it Another Year.

July 19, 2016.

My mom and I have never been the closest. There always seemed to be something that held us apart in the slightest way. We had an understanding that whenever one of us was upset, the other would leave them alone. While we always knew that we could talk to each other, we rarely did about the things that were bothering us unless it just came up in conversation. 

Everyone in our nuclear family was kind of detached from each other. My brother and mom always seemed to have this unspoken tension. Things would occasionally explode, and we would start all over again.

I was rarely around. I was still in high school, finally becoming an upperclassmen, and I had basically just gotten my license. My schedule was crowded with community theatre rehearsals and trying to spend as much time with my friends as possible. It was summer and I was just trying to do what every other kid did. Little did I know what would await me when I got home. 

Mom and Kyle fought.. A lot. They were both extremely hard-headed and refused to back down, which always resulted in screaming. I learned to keep my door shut and ignore it most of the time, but this time I couldn’t. 

It got quiet which meant that they had given up for the night and mom was going to sleep.. Only she wasn’t. I don’t remember a lot of what happened next, but what I do remember is more yelling and crying. 

She really did it.

The next 25 minutes were crucial. I called 911, Kyle began trying to piece together everything that had happened, and we prepared for the worst. The ambulance came and they took her away without asking any questions. They had to. 

The officers that came with stayed back to ask the questions that the paramedics didn’t have the chance to. They tried talking to us, reassuring us that they are going to do everything possible to help her. I don’t think I could ever get the image of her being carried away while foaming at the mouth out of my head. 

You never think about the moment that could take away your parent until it’s there. Her moment was filled with dirty looks and incoherent sentences.  

I remember calling Nana first. It was late and she was probably getting ready to go to bed, so I knew that she wouldn’t answer, which means that I had no choice but to call Papa and wake him up. For those of you that don’t know, most of my family lives in Illinois, so it’s not like I could just drive to the next town over to tell them. 

My Papa is a very strong man and I have never heard his voice falter once, until I told him what had happened. They live about two and a half hours away, so I didn’t expect them to get to us as fast as they did. We spent the next 24 hours in the ICU waiting room hoping to hear anything. 

Within that time frame I got zero sleep, made many phone calls, and watched the door like my life depended on it. But it didn’t, hers did. With each person that walked through, I felt my heart drop into my stomach more and more. 

You never want to see your parent the way I did over the course of those 96 hours. 96 hours of tears, praying, and listening to every word that was spoken by those doctors that couldn’t stop looking at me like my dog just died. 

There is so much that I remember about what happened. I remember how many trips I took back and forth to the hospital, how many hours I was awake in those first four days, how long my grandparents stayed in town, how I felt every time I walked through the hospital doors. But the thing that will stick with me most is how she looked. You never want to see your family like that. 

There are still things I’m learning about in terms of suicide and prevention. It’s hard. You never know who could be hiding their plans. It’s important to realize that every person is battling something different, something that we could be completely oblivious to. My mom is doing great now. She has her life on track, she is sober, and she is thinking about going back to school. It’s hard to imagine that four years ago, that wasn’t the case. We talk regularly and she is doing her best to deal with the hand that she was given in this life. 

Every year that she is still alive is a miracle. Mom: Every moment that you are still alive is a miracle. Even after everything that happened, you made it another year. We’re all proud of you for that. 

If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health or suicidal thoughts, help is available. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline can be reached at 1-800-273-8255. Please remember: Silence isn’t strength. Don’t keep suicidal feelings to yourself.  You are not alone in this struggle. Somebody loves you, and it would hurt them greatly to lose you.