Finding Hope

I want to prove myself unloved. I want to show that people I care about no longer care about me since Taylor left this Earth a year and some months ago. I want to show my call log. Few people call at all. Mostly, my parents, sister, and significant other call and visit. I send invitations and texts whether I’m in town or at home in the country. AH-HA! I live too far away! I see. So, I’ll make plans in the city. My invitations and texts are adrift in space. Timing is not right. People have lives and plans. They’ve moved on. Texts are not returned. It's the Depression talking. If it were me before Taylor died, I would have and could have either planned or thought correctly about the situation.

Birthday for Tom. From Left: Gabe, TJ, Paulie, Tommy, Haley, Taylor.

I want to be angry! Why aren’t you calling to check on me? You told me not to die because you needed me! I should have taken my life when I was crazy! I giggle at myself when I say that, jokingly, to close friends. Of course, by now, I’m not suicidal and I don’t know what changed but none of the people who said they “needed” me call now. They don’t check on me. They say an hour is too far to drive but they drive for an hour for a concert or a hike… I don’t want to go down that road.

Rewind. I know the truth. It just takes some time for me to get there and when I do, I’m usually crying. Firstly, the friends I have known for years upon years do not require a visit or call and it’s understood that they’re on the other line waiting for me or vice versa—unspoken rule of long-term friendship. Secondly, the friends I spent time with were busy before Taylor died. I helped them in crisis. I made the plans. I called and invited. Thirdly, my house was a revolving door. Oh, how I love a cliché like that one. People in and out all the time, young and old. I miss that part of my life. Those friends’ lives and the lives of my children and their friends would have changed, anyway. I was at home far more than away. I was satisfied with working and staying home with my family. I liked making plans and I liked being at home with Taylor and Tommy before he went to school in Florida.

From Left: Amanda, Gia, Taylor, Haley

 My life was changing before I was grieving. I was grieving before I was grieving. Before Tommy left for college, I was gasping for air. I could not imagine him away from the refrigerator. I couldn’t imagine descending the basement steps for laundry or to wade through strewn dirty clothes in order to hug him from behind, his eyes and ears fixed on the computer in front of him. In fact, after I arrived home from dropping him off at school, I walked into the empty basement and sobbed. I believe that went on for quite some time. He left in August of 2015. Taylor took her life in that same basement just 6 months later. Now, I grieve for both of them.

I enjoy my time alone. I enjoy the country and my dogs. I enjoy company and pretend I didn’t spend the last 3 hours or so cleaning and polishing so that the house would appear clean-ish. I love to show off the woods, flowers, pond, tiny boat. But, I crave the company of others. I am still head over heels in love with the man of my life of almost 10 years. A lifetime is missing before that time and our time together is not diminished in any way by my sometimes sour existence.

I appear on social media as that mom who, hey, I lost my kid but I’m ok RIGHT?! You can talk to me now! I’m ok. I’m not grieving anymore. You don’t have to be afraid to talk to me or need me or talk about her. I don’t want to talk about how or why she died. I want to talk about how and why she lived.

 

I feel another rewind coming on. You see, in shock and in pain, I wanted the answers that people affected by suicide will never receive. Why? Why didn’t she call me? Was it my fault? No, it wasn’t your fault. She was broken. But, was she? I’m finished with that conversation mostly. Those questions will never go away and in fact, when some of her friends visit, we don’t mention her and it’s not intentional. I had a full breakdown just yesterday and again, it was all my fault. I sobbed for hours. It’s too final.

I don’t have the cognitive abilities I had before…. I don’t have the memories. I am still triggered by them. I want to hear about her and see photos I haven’t seen. I want to use her friends as conduit to happiness, partly because they give me joy. They give me peace and love and they can, if they choose, give me a piece of my daughter in sharing thoughts or stories. When my parents and sister tell me they cry and miss her, too it’s strangely music to my ears. Proof! I have proof that someone else loves her and misses her and talks about her. I knew it! Of course I know people think of her and talk about her. I’m selfish now, in that way.

 

I’m envious of mothers and grown daughters where I haven’t been before. I absolutely stomped the brakes on crying or becoming remorseful in clothing stores or restaurants we’ve been. Of course, I keep it inside now and it lives there—but, I don’t allow for the pain to surface because I am by myself when I shop. I don’t have her to shop for or with. I simply do not allow myself to talk about suppositions in shopping or eating together, having grandchildren from her, or watching her get married or helping her furnish her first home had she stayed around. I keep that deep inside me.

One of many parties. Skating! From back left: Paulie, Gary, Nick, Arthur, Taylor, TJ, Andrew, friend. Front from left: Danny, Me, Tommy.

 

I don’t want to rewind, anymore. I don’t want to talk about it anymore right now. I want to tell everyone that they are being mean to me by not calling, by not checking in on me, by not caring about me, by not inviting me to events or coming to this beautiful country. You don’t call me. You don’t care about me. You don’t miss her? You won’t talk about her with me. Why? I am simply screaming in my soul for her and it is manifesting, projecting, being obfuscated by grief. Damn it! Why am I the last to know about my own behavior?  I eventually remember that I’m simply grieving for her. Gut-wrenching, breath-stealing grief that I continue to deny and I pummel my Self day after day.

I miss my role in life. I was her mom in life. I was the safe house that she brought friends to for 22 years. I was the planner and I helped people fix their problems. I was my son’s go-to when he was in town and trust me, I’ve cleaned up enough pizza boxes to build a case that I love his friends as much as I love Taylor’s. I do miss my friends. I am envious. I don’t always understand why I feel so abandoned. Maybe I do have a right to feel this way when looking at my phone records. Maybe it’s a distraction.

Back: Ahmad. Front from Left: Taylor, Justin, Me

My life as I knew it is now finished. No matter what circumstance you find yourself in, this will happen and death will hopefully have nothing to do with the change. Right now, I want to scream and throw my phone, delete all social media, and disappear into school and work. Nobody likes me, everybody hates me kind of tune. I have a choice, though. Tonight, I choose to go to bed with the end of this writing. Hopefully, my very busy son will call back tomorrow. Hopefully, the air will clear and I will not feel so needy, abandoned, or grossly misguided. Hopefully, I’ll wake up with a flood of memories and want to create more. Hopefully. Hopeful. Hope. The answer is hope. I’m grateful for every single person who stepped in at just the right time to shed light and hope. There are some times, mostly when I think of holding my children and the house being full of kids and people and music, that allow me to hope that my myopic lens will widen and become clear. As I would say to anyone who is thinking of suicide as the answer, just hold on for one more night. Things will look clearer tomorrow. Then, we can find professional help. For now, we hope.