Despair is madness. I don’t think I’ll use either word in
general conversation again. Despair approaches with a gentle, “Come on. Feel
me.” It begins as I set the breakfast plates on the table. Why didn’t I cook
breakfast for my kids more? Why did I stop? I know it was important to them. I
can’t forgive myself. That thought is replaced by a sweet kiss from the dogs or
my own Knight in Shining Armor. The subject is changed, breakfast and dishes
are done and I swoop by the wall that holds her butterfly wings that lit up.
She wore those wings at a circus demonstration. She was getting stronger. Her
voice was heard. I know she had to feel good about herself. Why did I leave
her? If I would have stayed home this time I would have seen the decline. I can
control the panting at this point, restrain the wicked Madness for a time.
When I’m left alone in this paradise I choose an activity
that is similar to elephant families stroking the bones of their families. Only
I find letters, videos, stories, books from both of my children because one
being physically present is equally ravaging my mind as I struggle to protect
him from the same fate. We live far away from each other and it’s tearing me
apart. But, it’s for the best and he’s at school and happy. And, I bow my head,
chin touching my chest, nose lapped at the tip by the tiny waves of despair
that will soon drown me. Despair doesn’t drown until you reach the demise of
the body and this anguish. I sift through their school work, letters, photos,
and videos and then usually, despair enters.
Despair feels like I’m laying down. I am usually laying down
on whatever floor, basement, kitchen, or on the grass outside and I’m always
wailing, wailing for her. In the beginning, I remember writing that my soul is
wailing for her. Yes, you could potentially come to my home and find me on my
side grasping my hair, tensing my legs, folding them in and then out through
the sobs that wrack my body and ring the ears of my soul. I believe the bell
rings for Madness.
Madness strolls in with the answer in the form of questions.
But, they’re never the right questions because as I am writhing and rocking,
screaming her name or begging to know why she wanted to leave me and why
exactly I have to stay here among the living. Madness picks up the phone for
you and conveniently dials numbers to people who will answer for me. I demand
to know why I’m here. I demand to know why I am not punished for my daughter
taking her life. I want to know if my son really needs me or wants me and I’m
pretty sure he doesn’t because I am a bad person. I’m not compassionate anymore
because I don’t have the capacity. It’s true I lived for her. I know that now.
But, it was glorious. I loved every second of my life with her. Hard, hard
times tore into us but we survived them together. We fought together. We loved
together.
Madness pours your wine while despair takes the first sip.
In a drunken stupor and now with a sick stomach, I realize that I don’t think
about her really. I think about me and how my daughter being gone has affected
me. I’m intoxicated thinking that it would be ok for me check out. How dare I?
How could I have even mentioned it to people I call for help that I would be
happy to leave them? Panic and anxiety step in. I try to explain to them that I
don’t have a purpose in my life now. Who am I really? I am not the strong and
resilient fighter, I’m drowning in despair.
I ask my support system of the moment (and there have been
many to thank) all of these questions and I cry and I raise my voice in absolute
madness. But, I’m always pushed up through the water that crushes my entire
chest, leaving a cavern at least for the next day. I am pulled up by the people
I talk to. The conversation changes and I ask about them and their lives and I
feel better about that. The water is washing up in the tide and I’m standing on
the beach and I’m still shaking and I don’t remember climbing desperately out
of the water.
But, I’m on the phone and I’m laughing at one point at
least. I don’t know how I got there but the madness and it’s rapacious appetite
for pain diminishes into a small red cancer that sits in the back of my Self
until despair returns from right around the corner, in little tiny reminders
all over the house and all over my mind and all over my heart and my soul.
She’s always with me. I don’t want to hear that again. We cannot be separated.
And, someday my son and I will grow closer and I will grow stronger with my
Knight and tribe by my side. But, just know what pain really feels like before
you decide to put someone through it. And, if you know someone going through it
just hug them and be nice. That’s all. Don’t ignore their loved ones. Just love
them. You see, despair and madness may have dissipated for a moment, but they
took my love for my Self with them. And, I’m not sure how to get that back
without her or if I want to but for her, I know that I must. She believed in
me. “You’re the bravest, strongest mom I know.”
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