note: this is a true story and was very difficult to write. I know in my heart of hearts it needed to be said in more ways than one. please do not start this story if you do not have the time to read it. it means a lot to me.
Silent Plea
There was uneasiness in my stomach; the kind of feeling you get when you know something bad has happened. I considered saying something, but it was not the right time. I pushed it to the far corners of my thoughts, and sleep overcame my mind.
I awoke; my body could always seem to tell when home was near. One dip, then another, two bumps meant we were truly home, but oddly we were not pulling into the garage. An unfamiliar dodge had pulled up beside us, and my cousin Kelly was already getting out of her car as my mother did the same. This was it, I could see it on her face and a million things flooded my head. My sister had already exited the passenger door and I struggled to reach the lever ahead of me, I tried so hard to get out, to hear what was being said. My mother stood for a short while until she seemed to regain consciousness and realized I could not get out; she released the seat and gently guided me through the door. I was trying to ask what happened, but stumbled over the words. She closed her eyes for a moment, and said, "Your uncle has taken his life." I believe in this moment she realized what she had just heard and found herself having to tell me. I stood there, trying to find something to say, something to console my mother and my sister, but nothing came. Moments later, we found ourselves frozen around our island bar, a common place for happy chatter; it had never experienced such silence.
You see, he suffered from migraines, migraines lasting for days on end, and during the brief breaks, he was haunted by dull headaches. There were times he would bang his head against the wall to feel a different pain. He received treatment, and medication, and gradually he became dependent on his medication. The night it happened, he was supposed to be on his way up to Salt Lake seeking help for his addiction. He had carefully tucked a note away for someone to see, "I am not worth anything." In his frustration, he picked up the keys to his new black pick up truck and closed the door behind him. He listened to Credence Clearwater Revival as the town with all his memories disappeared behind him. He took a familiar right turn onto a dirt road, a road taken many times, every Easter Sunday to roll eggs down the sand dunes. He made one last phone call to the local mine rescue team, a team he was apart of himself, "There has been a shooting." The receiving end inquired who it was and he replied, "You will find out when you get here."
Somehow, we made it to my grandmother's, only to find her silently rocking in her chair as usual. She starred blankly, not even realizing we had entered the house. My sister and I found a place on the couch and mom embraced grandma. My grandfather had not yet returned from the ranch, he still needed to be told. I could hear his diesel truck blare down the street, the sound ensuring grandpa was coming, and this typically meant it was time to run outside for a big hug, but not this time. The engine roar echoed in the garage and shut off. I heard the door slam and his tired footsteps climb the stairs. Holding my breath, the door handle slowly turned; the door creaked open and grandpa entered. He finally saw us sitting with vacant expressions, and I wondered how grandma was going to tell him. She lifted her head, and said bluntly, "He committed suicide." The directness shocked us all, and it was so hard to hear again aloud, it is still hard to say today. Maybe she said it so quickly so she did not have to explain, or leave any room for question. It is not something you can beautifully phrase because in the end, it is what it is.
I watched as my grandfather's countenance melted; all color seemed to leave, though no motion was made. He remained there, hunched over in his flannel shirt, green coat, and dirty jeans. His arms were stiff at his sides; yet, his hands appeared lifeless. I have never forgotten his eyes, normally a vibrant blue and so full of life, now cold and empty, something had changed inside him and I felt it change within me as well. A layer of tears reflected in the dim light; his eyes closed quickly hiding his emotion, he needed to be strong for grandma.
This changed my life as I knew it, in three words, in one second, it was all different. Life became real, it was no longer bubbles and butterfly kisses. This was a trial, a real trial, and for some reason I had to watch my family experience it. So many prayers brushed my lips as I watched my family suffer. This is not a memory you want to relive; eight years have passed, and our family still hurts, still feels a void, and still is given trials in relation to this event. I guess this is a silent plea for all who feel as he did; to all the people who feel like they can no longer take it, or feel they are not worth anything. This is for those who think it is a way out, or think they will get back at someone. This is for those who think no one cares. I have been touched by suicide in my life and I assure you, there is ALWAYS someone who cares, always someone who is thinking of you, always someone who will cry for years after you leave. We all have self worth and a Heavenly Father who cares for us dearly. I watched my family unite at such a tragedy, and eventually tare apart as people blamed each other and eventually themselves. I had hoped it would be easier, but the hurt never stops and perhaps it is not supposed to because then we would forget. This is not something to just forget and hope nobody else will feel the way he did again. It was a selfish act, no one seems to think about those they leave behind and all the lives they change. My words are what I remember, even after all this time. I hope my words show you the difference, and help you realize the people left behind do love you and there are brighter tomorrows. Do not let this happen to people you love or do this to people you love, because someone ALWAYS LOVES YOU.
Silent Plea
There was uneasiness in my stomach; the kind of feeling you get when you know something bad has happened. I considered saying something, but it was not the right time. I pushed it to the far corners of my thoughts, and sleep overcame my mind.
I awoke; my body could always seem to tell when home was near. One dip, then another, two bumps meant we were truly home, but oddly we were not pulling into the garage. An unfamiliar dodge had pulled up beside us, and my cousin Kelly was already getting out of her car as my mother did the same. This was it, I could see it on her face and a million things flooded my head. My sister had already exited the passenger door and I struggled to reach the lever ahead of me, I tried so hard to get out, to hear what was being said. My mother stood for a short while until she seemed to regain consciousness and realized I could not get out; she released the seat and gently guided me through the door. I was trying to ask what happened, but stumbled over the words. She closed her eyes for a moment, and said, "Your uncle has taken his life." I believe in this moment she realized what she had just heard and found herself having to tell me. I stood there, trying to find something to say, something to console my mother and my sister, but nothing came. Moments later, we found ourselves frozen around our island bar, a common place for happy chatter; it had never experienced such silence.
You see, he suffered from migraines, migraines lasting for days on end, and during the brief breaks, he was haunted by dull headaches. There were times he would bang his head against the wall to feel a different pain. He received treatment, and medication, and gradually he became dependent on his medication. The night it happened, he was supposed to be on his way up to Salt Lake seeking help for his addiction. He had carefully tucked a note away for someone to see, "I am not worth anything." In his frustration, he picked up the keys to his new black pick up truck and closed the door behind him. He listened to Credence Clearwater Revival as the town with all his memories disappeared behind him. He took a familiar right turn onto a dirt road, a road taken many times, every Easter Sunday to roll eggs down the sand dunes. He made one last phone call to the local mine rescue team, a team he was apart of himself, "There has been a shooting." The receiving end inquired who it was and he replied, "You will find out when you get here."
Somehow, we made it to my grandmother's, only to find her silently rocking in her chair as usual. She starred blankly, not even realizing we had entered the house. My sister and I found a place on the couch and mom embraced grandma. My grandfather had not yet returned from the ranch, he still needed to be told. I could hear his diesel truck blare down the street, the sound ensuring grandpa was coming, and this typically meant it was time to run outside for a big hug, but not this time. The engine roar echoed in the garage and shut off. I heard the door slam and his tired footsteps climb the stairs. Holding my breath, the door handle slowly turned; the door creaked open and grandpa entered. He finally saw us sitting with vacant expressions, and I wondered how grandma was going to tell him. She lifted her head, and said bluntly, "He committed suicide." The directness shocked us all, and it was so hard to hear again aloud, it is still hard to say today. Maybe she said it so quickly so she did not have to explain, or leave any room for question. It is not something you can beautifully phrase because in the end, it is what it is.
I watched as my grandfather's countenance melted; all color seemed to leave, though no motion was made. He remained there, hunched over in his flannel shirt, green coat, and dirty jeans. His arms were stiff at his sides; yet, his hands appeared lifeless. I have never forgotten his eyes, normally a vibrant blue and so full of life, now cold and empty, something had changed inside him and I felt it change within me as well. A layer of tears reflected in the dim light; his eyes closed quickly hiding his emotion, he needed to be strong for grandma.
This changed my life as I knew it, in three words, in one second, it was all different. Life became real, it was no longer bubbles and butterfly kisses. This was a trial, a real trial, and for some reason I had to watch my family experience it. So many prayers brushed my lips as I watched my family suffer. This is not a memory you want to relive; eight years have passed, and our family still hurts, still feels a void, and still is given trials in relation to this event. I guess this is a silent plea for all who feel as he did; to all the people who feel like they can no longer take it, or feel they are not worth anything. This is for those who think it is a way out, or think they will get back at someone. This is for those who think no one cares. I have been touched by suicide in my life and I assure you, there is ALWAYS someone who cares, always someone who is thinking of you, always someone who will cry for years after you leave. We all have self worth and a Heavenly Father who cares for us dearly. I watched my family unite at such a tragedy, and eventually tare apart as people blamed each other and eventually themselves. I had hoped it would be easier, but the hurt never stops and perhaps it is not supposed to because then we would forget. This is not something to just forget and hope nobody else will feel the way he did again. It was a selfish act, no one seems to think about those they leave behind and all the lives they change. My words are what I remember, even after all this time. I hope my words show you the difference, and help you realize the people left behind do love you and there are brighter tomorrows. Do not let this happen to people you love or do this to people you love, because someone ALWAYS LOVES YOU.
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