The morning after my day in the closet, Friday, September 26, 2014, a day that is forever etched in my mind. I got up with more energy and feeling determined with a decision made of what I was going to do. Unfortunately the determination and decision were both wrong ideas.
September 26 is the anniversary of my Dad's death 24 years ago. I don't know if that date had anything to do with my feelings but I know I was having tender feelings about my dad. It is amazing to me that I can miss him as badly as I do even 24 years later. This was my FaceBook post that day:
24 years is a long time. It's a lot of missing someone. A lot of wondering what advice he would give. A lot of wishing I could have a Father's blessing. A lot of missing "leap years & reindeer stew". A lot of wishing my kids had a grandpa and my mom had a companion. But it's also a lot of times the veil has been thin. And a lot of times I can understand someone else's pain. And a lot of faith that life is eternal.
I felt those feelings so strongly. I felt that faith and the understanding that I'd learned from this trial of missing my dad since I was 15.
I knew that things in my brain weren't right, but I didn't know what to do. I called my counselor, there was no answer so I left a message. I decided to go on with my plan. He called me back within 30 minutes or so but I knew by then what I was doing so I led him to believe everything was fine (I really think I was so resigned to what was going to happen that everything WAS fine) and told him I was at a friend's house, because I was. The truth was everything I needed to end my life was in my van and I had a, hopefully, fail proof plan.
I had my day planned out. I went and got my nails done, zoned and visited with a friend. Then I went to lunch with two other very good, old friends. I said good-bye thinking in my heart that I would not see them again here on this earth. I had arranged a baby sitter to drop Mick off with but I wanted to play with him at the park one more time. We stopped at a park in Hyde Park and I let him play and play. As I watched and interacted with him it all the sudden hit me "You can't do this, this is wrong." It was as if a person was right there talking to me, looking back, I'm almost certain it was my dad protecting me from my terrible decisions.
I started to cry (and I don't think I quit crying for about 9 hours) I didn't know what to do. I knew if I called Dr F I would be sent to the hospital, and quite honestly, I think I knew that's where I needed to be. But boy was that a scary thought. As I sat and cried and wondered what to do, my friend's, who is a social worker at the hospital, name came to me. Through a series of small miracles I was able to get in touch with her. I told her a little what was going on and asked her to help explain what was going to happen. She was so kind, she talked me through it and made sure I could be safe until I could get help. She told me that this was a healthy, brave decision.
I put Mick in the car and then as I was driving home I called Dr F. I told him what was up (well little bits of it) and we agreed it was time for the hospital. I drove home and knew that I would wait until Doug got home to go. Doug walked in the door about 5 minutes after I did. He said he just had a feeling he needed to come home from work early.
All of these things working together were just the beginning of the tender mercies that I was going to experience over the next few hours and days. As I've thought back on this day the thought occurred to me; Even when you think there is no hope, there is always a glimmer. You only need to be brave for 20 seconds for everything to change.
I was only brave long enough to call my friend and Dr F- two 20 second times, after that it was out of my hands. I just had to go along for the ride.
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