forever 47

A couple of the blogs I read have recently had entries regarding suicide.

I hate that word. I hate the selfishness of it. I hate the lives it shatters, pieces of a puzzle gone forever, you can never, ever be whole again.

I remember it so well. So very, very well.

I was uploading pictures of a ST. Patricks Day visit to the zoo. She came in. Eyes drawn, loaded as usual. I had cut off contact with her, and the girls. I could not guarantee their safety around her any longer. I couldn't risk her driving them around loaded.

She sat across from me, silently crying. I knew it was coming. I told her, let me help you, let me take you to the hospital, it will get better. No, there was nothing she wanted, only to come and say goodbye.

The next day, I got a phone call from Autumn, she was in hysterics, "she did it, she did it, she did it" was all she could cry out to me.

My mind flew into over drive. What were we going to do? How would I tell the girls? What happens now?

I called Larry, "Call your mom, have her come get the girls, now". I knew people would be coming, I knew conversations were to be had, they could not know, I wasn't ready to tell them.

The mind is a truly amazing thing. My mind allowed me to function, to go through the motions, to plan a funeral without having a break down. I cried silently in the middle of the night, when no one could hear me. Except maybe her.

The service came. We had a viewing, and then she was cremated. I did not view her, I couldn't. How can you look inside and see a woman who fucking chose to leave you? Forget about you, forget about your brother, forget about your sister. How could she leave those grandbabies? Ashley 12, Hannah 8, Dejah 3. I just couldn't do it.

Neither could my brother. I had them close the casket so we could go say goodbye. It didn't work.

For a year after her death, I had nightmares, two, three times a week. I would dream, there she was, pumping gas, or knocking on the door, or getting high. The setting was always different, the premise always the same.

She had left, faked her death, and needed to start over. The feeling that she chose to leave never faded. It still hasn't.

I was in hysterics the whole way to Larry's parents house, I could barely breathe. Everytime I thought of having to tell those girls Grandma Renee was gone broke my heart into another piece.

I couldn't do it, Larry had too. I couldn't get the words out. It was her heart they were told. You can't tell two grandchildren your Grandma killed herself. How could you say that?

Two weeks later, I cracked. My mind caught up to my heart.

In May, two months after, Larry & I went to see City of Angels. I had bought the soundtrack before and we were listening to it on the way to the theater. Mistake #1. Angel is not a song you can listen to. My tears came.

Mistake #2 was actually watching the movie. While walking out, Larry asked me a question, something about Heaven. I managed to get out, "I think" and the lump in my throat replaced all speaking abilities.

When we got home, I called Marilee.
"Hello?"
"Hi" I said through my tears.
"Are you crying?"
"Yes"
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No"
"Do you just want to cry?"
"Yes"

That, is a friend. Someone who will sit and listen to your tears and ask no questions. She saved me from the edge that night. I cried for about five minutes and told her what had happened.

The dreams lasted for about a year. They still come every now and then. I am unsure what triggers them. I look just like her. Hannah looks just like her.

I know she did not chose to leave us, her addiction forced her to leave us. We had not known our Mother for years before that. OUR Mother would not have killed herself. OUR Mother would not have left her grandchildren.

Those fucking pills sure would though.

She is forever 47.