I like to take my time to process death. For doctors, it takes seconds with a stethoscope or a few moments with their hand against the karated artery. But me, I like to sulk. Which most people view as a bad thing but, everyone needs their time. I experienced this first hand on a bright and sunny thursday morning. I woke up calm and stress free, if you consider calm and stress free, chucking your alarm clock aggressively at the wall at 6:30am. I'm going to spare you the gruesome torment of my boring day at school and just make a long story short. The entire day was pretty melancholy and I just couldn't place my finger on the source. I felt anxious while staring out the bus window or zoning out on my teacher. Which by the way, isn't a recurring thing.
Then all of a sudden, out of the blue, I get a text from my mom right before getting on the bus home. It reads. “Hello Samantha. I hope you have had a good day. We need to talk when you get home.” You know that feeling when your about to get on a rollercoaster that you really don't want to go on but your friend or family are tugging at your subconscious until you finally say yes? That feeling you get waiting in line. While it is almost your turn. That stirring in your chest? That is the feeling I got with that text. I began to scan through all the things I could possible have done over the past few weeks but couldn't pin anything specific. I was confused. This made my 30 minute, bumpy and loud ride home, shaky and full of paranoia.
I walk in my house and its silent. The room fills with tension and my hands begin to shake, even tho I don't know why. My mom pages me into the kitchen and asks me to sit down.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, with trembling lips. I look at her and see tears bubbling at the edges of her eyelids.
“Uncle Dave died today. He took his own life.” Her voices studders.
I am taken aback. Not knowing what to do with myself, I run up to my room. I begin to pant, almost hyperventilating as anger boils inside of my head. I don't know whether to scream or to cry. But my biggest question was why? Why did you do it? You had amazing children. An amazing life. An amazing family and home. What was so bad that you felt as if you had no other way out. How could you have possibly been so selfish to leave everyone else here to find you and wonder why you did what you did. I was angry at you for that. I was so angry. This is where I learned to sulk. To process what just happened. I didn't go to your funeral. I didn't want my last memory of you to be something so devastating. I didn't want to look at you like that and continue to be so mad.
It took me a few weeks to switch my mindset. So I began to put myself in your shoes. Suicide is the irrational desire to die. I say “irrational” because no matter how good or bad a person's life is, it is a permanent solution to an almost always temporary situation. A person who dies leaves a trail of tangles confusion of family and friends trying to make sense of a senseless and purposeless act. I have realized that no matter how amazing your life has been, depression is something that affects the body, mood and the mind. And I know that my uncle is sorry, even tho he can't come back and tell me.
I know he didn't want anybody to hurt as much as they are. And I found a moment of closure the second I decided to forgive him for what he did. I pushed along my anger and thought about what he must have been feeling like. As i began to learn how to forgive, I could sleep better. I could focus on my school work without completely zoning out, getting lost in my memories of all the times we had laughing. It was the first step to the moving on process. And I am now better. I will miss you forever uncle Dave. But, I forgive you.
Then all of a sudden, out of the blue, I get a text from my mom right before getting on the bus home. It reads. “Hello Samantha. I hope you have had a good day. We need to talk when you get home.” You know that feeling when your about to get on a rollercoaster that you really don't want to go on but your friend or family are tugging at your subconscious until you finally say yes? That feeling you get waiting in line. While it is almost your turn. That stirring in your chest? That is the feeling I got with that text. I began to scan through all the things I could possible have done over the past few weeks but couldn't pin anything specific. I was confused. This made my 30 minute, bumpy and loud ride home, shaky and full of paranoia.
I walk in my house and its silent. The room fills with tension and my hands begin to shake, even tho I don't know why. My mom pages me into the kitchen and asks me to sit down.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, with trembling lips. I look at her and see tears bubbling at the edges of her eyelids.
“Uncle Dave died today. He took his own life.” Her voices studders.
I am taken aback. Not knowing what to do with myself, I run up to my room. I begin to pant, almost hyperventilating as anger boils inside of my head. I don't know whether to scream or to cry. But my biggest question was why? Why did you do it? You had amazing children. An amazing life. An amazing family and home. What was so bad that you felt as if you had no other way out. How could you have possibly been so selfish to leave everyone else here to find you and wonder why you did what you did. I was angry at you for that. I was so angry. This is where I learned to sulk. To process what just happened. I didn't go to your funeral. I didn't want my last memory of you to be something so devastating. I didn't want to look at you like that and continue to be so mad.
It took me a few weeks to switch my mindset. So I began to put myself in your shoes. Suicide is the irrational desire to die. I say “irrational” because no matter how good or bad a person's life is, it is a permanent solution to an almost always temporary situation. A person who dies leaves a trail of tangles confusion of family and friends trying to make sense of a senseless and purposeless act. I have realized that no matter how amazing your life has been, depression is something that affects the body, mood and the mind. And I know that my uncle is sorry, even tho he can't come back and tell me.
I know he didn't want anybody to hurt as much as they are. And I found a moment of closure the second I decided to forgive him for what he did. I pushed along my anger and thought about what he must have been feeling like. As i began to learn how to forgive, I could sleep better. I could focus on my school work without completely zoning out, getting lost in my memories of all the times we had laughing. It was the first step to the moving on process. And I am now better. I will miss you forever uncle Dave. But, I forgive you.