I exchanged messages today with a fellow survivor. She’s inspired me to take the time to write this evening. She’s a newly bereaved spouse. I ache for her.

I hate suicide.

I’ve been pleading with God lately. Asking Him for another chance as a Mom. “I know… If I just did ____, Drey would still be alive! God please please let me have another chance. I promise I’ll get it right this time.” What’s at the root of these thoughts is that God is punishing me  / has punished me by taking Drey. When I take the time to share my thoughts out loud it exposes them for what they are… Lies lies lies. But left pinging around in my mind they’re dangerous “truths” that I ruminate on.

I got unexpectedly triggered this week. I’ve been shadowing Children’s Hospital the past 3 days as they do a suicide prevention training for 5th and 6th graders. I’ve done suicide prevention presentations in several high schools. I assumed younger kids would be easier – since it had been so long since Drey was that age. But I saw Drey in every little boy. Constant flashbacks of Valentine’s Day and Halloween parties. That young age when Drey would light up when Mommy came to his class. First day of school pics. The time Rudy followed him into the school. The playground. So many memories. God thank You for those memories. Thank You for not letting work consume all my time during those years.

So God what happened? When did the depression start? When did suicide become an option for him? He was a happy little kid. Was it middle school? High school?  Answers won’t help so why do I even entertain these questions?

Being at an elementary school and remembering sweet times makes me wonder if I may be able to look through pictures soon. But not tonight.

I wish I could hug you, dude. I just want another chance.

 

 

 

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