Special Topics: Mental Health After Loss

When my son died, it tore a hole inside of me. It re-framed all of my thoughts about death.

I wrote a letter to Target a while back. I still find myself walking through the baby aisles, thinking about things I would be buying. Should be buying. I should have a living son.

This week was hard, but it put some things into perspective for me. I’m going to meet you soon, and our lives are about to change in the most wonderful way.

I’m not actively suicidal, but I’m realizing this is the beginning. This is the in-between stage; this is where it starts.

I look out the door of our cabin and think how easy it would be. I could just jump. It scares me.

There’s a place apart from suicide. A place where you don’t think to cause yourself harm, but neither do you have reason to live.

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This is quite possibly the darkest thing I’ve ever written. Please note that the following screenshots are simulated tweets. This is the timeline of an event that never happened.

If you had asked me three years ago, I would have said suicide was cowardly. I didn’t understand, then, how quickly life can change, or how little we control. I don’t believe suicide is ever an answer, but I better understand the complexities behind the issue now.

I don’t believe that life’s “plan” could ever include so much heartache. None of these things are worth it, or part of my reward for waiting.