I have no doubt that made it to heaven. No one at your funeral had a single doubt where your soul had found its’ rest. Your journey was bathed in God’s fingerprints and your heart was tender for the hurting.
You never stopped seeking him Mom, your bible was open when you died, you were still after Our Father.
Last night I found myself wondering how you felt about God, did you feel abandoned, pissed, confused?
Do I ascribe you more logical thought than you were capable of at the end?
Can the soul find rest when the mind is so ill? Were you there, underneath the crust of depression, suffocating to breathe the air of freedom?
I know what it is to seek God come up utterly confused in the most painful seasons. And you’d experienced the pain of depression for at least 25 years.
Could you even come up for air in the end? Did you find any joy in the living?
I know how many times you thought about running for the end, and I have no idea why October 13 is the date when it all came together.
Sometimes I wonder if that was the night where God let you come home. Where he lifted the road blocks because the timing was finally right for you to make your exit.
Something about this thinking feels so merciful and heretical all at the same time.
I think I understand the Progression:
First there was the depression itself, oppressive and lasting.
Then came the financial struggles that you felt powerless to change, that compounded your anxiety.
Then Laura’s accident, seeing your baby in a hospital bed, forever altered.
Then Dad, taken away in the night, his heart had failed him.
Then I yelled at you, tore you down, I think you blamed me too.
Then they told you they were taking your job, the one thing you felt like you could still do to contribute, a small sense of pride.
I think that your death was a messy, awful, all-wrong, gracious, horrible thing.
Not God’s plan, yet I believe he was on the other side of it, welcoming his beautiful baby home.
It was so much easier when faith was black and white, easier but less far beautiful.
There is beauty in the confusion, not in your death, but in the ability to have compassion for the broken in a way I would have never had otherwise.
Oh Mumma, I love you, I miss you
Damn life is confusing, isn’t it?
Dear reader, if you find yourself reading these words and considering suicide as an out for your pain, please seek help. Suicide is never the best choice, this sort of freedom comes at an awful cost to those left behind. If you are contemplating or planning suicide please call 911 or The suicide prevention hotline at 1-800-273-8255.