I'm feeling so many feelings today. Some good, some bad, just a lot of them on one day and it's a lot to feel.
Five years ago today we put Anitra in the hospital. Five years ago, she broke completely. I called Steve from the ER and said that it was finally all too much and I didn't think she'd make it through this one. I wanted to be wrong but I think I knew that I was right.
Two years ago today Rileigh made her entrance into the world. She is so loved and so missed (we haven't been able to see her since March) and we wish we could celebrate with her. We wish her the happiest of birthdays and hope that she is having a very special day. We are blessed to have this beautiful child in our lives and hearts.
One year ago we had to take G to the hospital. She was having suicidal thoughts and had a plan to not be with us on this Earth anymore. That was such a hard time. Nothing can prepare you to hear your child say they don't feel safe with themselves and that they don't want to live anymore.
Today is National Suicide Prevention Day and that start of Suicide Prevention Week. I'm so glad that there is so much social recognition of this day and week. The more we talk about it, the more we can prevent suicide. The more we let people know that it's okay to feel the way they feel, the less alone people feel with their thoughts.
It's fitting to me that we celebrate Rileigh today. When I hold her and see her smile, I get to see the very best parts of her momma and grandma. It's not a surprise to me that she came on the 10th (I prayed for her to come that day), the day I feel like we lost Anitra forever (even though she was alive 3 more days). I feel like God was giving us something beautiful to hold onto that day.
I'm anxious for what this week will bring; for me, for my kiddos, for her parents, for my husband, for her friends. I'm grateful for the fact that we all have each other when the feelings become too much to hold onto.
I'm relieved that Anitra no longer has to feel so many, too many, feelings. I'm sad that many of us still feel too many feels.
I know that this day will pass. I know that the sad feelings will turn to happy feelings. I know that this day is just a hard day. I will give my worries to God and I will pray for safe thoughts and feelings for those we love.
Sunday, September 10, 2017
Saturday, September 9, 2017
Weather
When I was little and there were tornadoes, my dad would tuck us safely into our shelter and then he would go and watch the storm.
As I got older, my dad would explain the tornado activity and show us the clouds and explain the fronts and the science behind it all. He'd still make sure we were safely out of harms way and out he would go to watch the storm. I don't remember being afraid of tornadoes growing up.
When I was pregnant with Tai, living in Pascagoula, MS, there was a hurricane. I was terrified. A) I was mostly alone and pregnant, 2) I had no idea about hurricanes, 3) the news made it look horrifying! I was 20 years old, pregnant, no family around, no idea what hurricane season was like, and no idea what they really were.
I had a very patient boss. He explained them to me. He told me to not watch the national news and only watch the local news (best advice ever). He told me how they were formed, what the fronts meant, what to expect, how to prepare, and how to be smart.
Then it became fascinating. Once the hurricane passed through, I watched the national news to learn more about them.
Blizzards are fascinating to me. I always say that I'm not a huge fan of snow but a good blizzard? I'm all in for. We're talking about a good snowed in blizzard.
Probably one of the biggest things on my bucket list would be to storm chase through tornado alley. I promised the kids that I would wait until they were all graduated from high school. I will do it as wisely as possible and do one of those package deals where you spend time with trained professionals but I want to be out there in it!
My heart and my prayers are with all of those impacted by the hurricanes currently pounding the world. My soul is with the weather people out there braving the storms to report and riding the storms out in bunkers.
As I got older, my dad would explain the tornado activity and show us the clouds and explain the fronts and the science behind it all. He'd still make sure we were safely out of harms way and out he would go to watch the storm. I don't remember being afraid of tornadoes growing up.
When I was pregnant with Tai, living in Pascagoula, MS, there was a hurricane. I was terrified. A) I was mostly alone and pregnant, 2) I had no idea about hurricanes, 3) the news made it look horrifying! I was 20 years old, pregnant, no family around, no idea what hurricane season was like, and no idea what they really were.
I had a very patient boss. He explained them to me. He told me to not watch the national news and only watch the local news (best advice ever). He told me how they were formed, what the fronts meant, what to expect, how to prepare, and how to be smart.
Then it became fascinating. Once the hurricane passed through, I watched the national news to learn more about them.
Blizzards are fascinating to me. I always say that I'm not a huge fan of snow but a good blizzard? I'm all in for. We're talking about a good snowed in blizzard.
Probably one of the biggest things on my bucket list would be to storm chase through tornado alley. I promised the kids that I would wait until they were all graduated from high school. I will do it as wisely as possible and do one of those package deals where you spend time with trained professionals but I want to be out there in it!
My heart and my prayers are with all of those impacted by the hurricanes currently pounding the world. My soul is with the weather people out there braving the storms to report and riding the storms out in bunkers.
Friday, September 1, 2017
Suicide and Survivors
"Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem." Haven't we all heard that? I remember writing about it before. Suicide is sometimes, more often than we like to think about, a solution to depression, anxiety, all sorts of mental health disorders. That's a pretty bleak solution. For the survivors left behind, of course, but also to those living with these disorders. I do wonder, a lot, about all the things my sister has missed. She never met her granddaughter. She never saw her son in his ROTC uniform. She never saw her daughter graduate from high school. She wasn't there when her niece left for culinary school. She wasn't there to tell her niece that it was all going to be okay and that she would survive her hospitalization.
Here's the thing about being a survivor of suicide...you don't always feel like a survivor. You're here dealing with the world and life and you might be having your own suicidal thoughts and you feel guilt and anxiety and you feel like somehow you've managed to let the entire world down. Doesn't feel much like surviving.
The scary thing about being a survivor of suicide...you realize that you can't actually save someone from taking their life. You watch your daughter become suicidal and you hear her pain and you hear her say that she doesn't want to live and you know that you will do anything, ANYTHING, in your power to save her. You know that ANYTHING isn't always enough. You know that no matter what you do, say, or feel, it may not be enough.
In the past few weeks I've been connected with two suicides. It makes me hurt so much for their families. It makes me hurt so much for them. It makes me want to reach out to their families and just tell them that their loved one's life mattered. It did! In big ways and small ways. I know that they know that, I just want them to know that other people know that too.
The other thing it does...it terrifies me for my family. It terrifies me that there is such a thin line between finding resources for my own child to burying my own child. I may sound a little dramatic here but I'm not. I know that we will do everything WE can to save her life. Will she do the same?
When you see someone lose the war, it's devastating. When you fight the battles, or someone you love fights the battles, it's absolutely terrifying to hear that someone else lost the war. Every single day can seem like a battle to someone with depression and anxiety.
Here's the thing about being a survivor of suicide...you don't always feel like a survivor. You're here dealing with the world and life and you might be having your own suicidal thoughts and you feel guilt and anxiety and you feel like somehow you've managed to let the entire world down. Doesn't feel much like surviving.
The scary thing about being a survivor of suicide...you realize that you can't actually save someone from taking their life. You watch your daughter become suicidal and you hear her pain and you hear her say that she doesn't want to live and you know that you will do anything, ANYTHING, in your power to save her. You know that ANYTHING isn't always enough. You know that no matter what you do, say, or feel, it may not be enough.
In the past few weeks I've been connected with two suicides. It makes me hurt so much for their families. It makes me hurt so much for them. It makes me want to reach out to their families and just tell them that their loved one's life mattered. It did! In big ways and small ways. I know that they know that, I just want them to know that other people know that too.
The other thing it does...it terrifies me for my family. It terrifies me that there is such a thin line between finding resources for my own child to burying my own child. I may sound a little dramatic here but I'm not. I know that we will do everything WE can to save her life. Will she do the same?
When you see someone lose the war, it's devastating. When you fight the battles, or someone you love fights the battles, it's absolutely terrifying to hear that someone else lost the war. Every single day can seem like a battle to someone with depression and anxiety.
love u 2
Actually, it's <3 u 2 but the heading won't let me save it like that.
The last text I got from my sister. It's tattooed on my wrist. It serves two purposes. 1) It writes love on my arms and 2) I forever have it with me.
"Call me if you need anything."
"I will."
"I love you sis."
"Love you too sissy."
The last conversation I had with her.
It's been almost five years since I heard her voice; almost five years since I got my last text from her.
The medical eximaner said she died between 9:00 am and 12:00 pm. I talked to her at 8:30 am. I was on my way to work. She left a full cup of coffee and the coffee pot still turned on. I think it probably wasn't long after I got off the phone with her that she died.
I have some peace in knowing that the last phone conversation, probably the last conversation that she had, was one full of love and support. She knew we were here. She knew we loved her.
I carry her phone with me. It's always in my purse, no matter which purse I have, no matter where I go. I always have that one solid thing that was her with me.
I knew she was gone when the school called and said Rey hadn't been picked up. I knew she was gone for 30 minutes before I heard the words that I never wanted to hear. I knew before I was even told. I could feel it. Or rather, I couldn't feel her alive anymore.
When I was told she was gone, I screamed. I went through many moments of belief and disbelief in a short amount of time that seemed to last forever. I told people that she wasn't really dead. That there was a mistake. That she would be fine. I yelled at the firetrucks that turned the other way that they needed to get to her. Even then I knew she was gone.
When I saw her on the gurney, I told her to stop messing around. I told her to get up. I told her this wasn't funny anymore and she needed to get up. Then I begged her to please get up. I begged her to please not be gone. Even then I knew she was gone.
The last text I got from my sister. It's tattooed on my wrist. It serves two purposes. 1) It writes love on my arms and 2) I forever have it with me.
"Call me if you need anything."
"I will."
"I love you sis."
"Love you too sissy."
The last conversation I had with her.
It's been almost five years since I heard her voice; almost five years since I got my last text from her.
The medical eximaner said she died between 9:00 am and 12:00 pm. I talked to her at 8:30 am. I was on my way to work. She left a full cup of coffee and the coffee pot still turned on. I think it probably wasn't long after I got off the phone with her that she died.
I have some peace in knowing that the last phone conversation, probably the last conversation that she had, was one full of love and support. She knew we were here. She knew we loved her.
I carry her phone with me. It's always in my purse, no matter which purse I have, no matter where I go. I always have that one solid thing that was her with me.
I knew she was gone when the school called and said Rey hadn't been picked up. I knew she was gone for 30 minutes before I heard the words that I never wanted to hear. I knew before I was even told. I could feel it. Or rather, I couldn't feel her alive anymore.
When I was told she was gone, I screamed. I went through many moments of belief and disbelief in a short amount of time that seemed to last forever. I told people that she wasn't really dead. That there was a mistake. That she would be fine. I yelled at the firetrucks that turned the other way that they needed to get to her. Even then I knew she was gone.
When I saw her on the gurney, I told her to stop messing around. I told her to get up. I told her this wasn't funny anymore and she needed to get up. Then I begged her to please get up. I begged her to please not be gone. Even then I knew she was gone.
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