Update about his hearing.

I realized today that I hadn’t updated about how my son’s hearing had gone.  It was uneventful.  He didn’t even appear before the judge.  The two attorneys went into a back room and talked briefly, and when they came back in his attorney asked to set a preliminary hearing date for the end of May. My son’s attorney is a public defender and it seemed to me that he hadn’t spent much time even looking at my son’s case before court.  I’m sure they’re overworked and underpaid.  So, anyway, that’s it in a nutshell.  His preliminary hearing is set for the end of May.  He will enter a plea then, and the prosecutor will recommend a sentence.  I’m not sure how to feel about it all.  My stomach seems to tie itself up in knots the before a hearing no matter how much I try to calm my anxieties.

 I have to look at the extra time between hearings as a good thing because it gives him more time to try to find a job.  I’m sure it will look better for him if he has a job and is being productive.  He’s finding though, that jobs are not easy to come by when you have court hearings pending and an arrest record.  These are the consequences of his addiction, and they are harsh.  I ache for him, but at the same time realize I am powerless over the outcome.  I’ve written letters of support to the prosecutor, and so have several others, but that is about all I can do. 

I continue to enjoy spending time with my son now that he’s sober.  I don’t know what the future holds, and I’m not meant to know.  I’ll just keep on taking one day at a time, with faith.  

Don't suffer in silence

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline '1-800-273-TALK (8255)'.

 On Friday, April 13^th, 2001, two days before his 70^th birthday, my dad took his own life.  He drove to the cemetery where my sister is buried, put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.  Why, and what could I have done to help? Those are the questions that haunt me every April as the anniversary of my dad’s suicide approaches.  That’s the torment that suicide leaves behind.

I had just returned to work after buying Dad’s birthday gift on my lunch break when the sheriff came and told me that my mom needed me.  When I got to her place I was told what happened.  Nobody saw it coming, but as I struggled with trying to figure out why, I saw little signs that he had probably planned it several months in advance.  He had made sure that he and mom were set up in a nice retirement community where he knew she would be surrounded by other widows who would take care of her.  He was never very demonstrative with his love, but on my birthday in February he had brought a single rose to me while I was at work and had given me a hug.  My dad rarely gave hugs.  In March he had come by my place and cleaned my lawn mower and sharpened the blades.  I believe those little acts of kindness were his way of saying good-bye. 

He left a 6 page letter for my mom, trying to explain why he had decided to commit suicide.  He had suffered a minor stroke a few months earlier, and even though he had fully recovered, he couldn’t stand the thought that he would have another and possibly be left unable to care for himself.  I know that, indeed, the stroke was part of it.  However, Dad was an alcoholic.  I believe the main reason for his suicide was untreated depression that he self-medicated with alcohol.  Dad was a very proud man, and would never ask for help for what he saw as a weakness.  I believe he had been depressed most of his life, and when my sister succumbed to cancer at the age of 28, his drinking increased.  There seemed to be no way to rescue him.  I wish that I had been more educated as to the signs of suicide and had known about the Lifeline number. The heartbreak left in the wake of Dad’s suicide remains unhealed.  I cannot visit my sister’s grave without the memory of his last awful moments on Earth. 

I don’t write this to scare anyone, or bring anyone down.  Rather, I hope that maybe somebody contemplating suicide will read it, and get the help they need.  Addiction and depression do not have to be terminal.  Please don’t suffer in silence.  There is hope for those who somehow find the strength to ask for it.

I’ve posted the poem I wrote for my dad’s funeral, but I’m re-posting as a tribute to his life.  I love you Dad.

Last Farewell

How hard it is to bid farewell

To you, my dearest Dad.

All my life you’ve been right there

If I just reached out my hand.

A strong pair of arms to help me,

When mine were just too weak.

An open door to welcome me,

When shelter I did seek.

How I wish I could have helped you

The way that you helped me,

And given you the comfort

That your troubled heart did need.

But sometimes the world is just too much

For a tender heart to bear.

You could find no respite

In your hour of dark despair.

So rest now my dear Father,

Enjoy your well-earned peace.

And know that you live on

In the memories I keep.

I will see you in each sunrise

That God paints across the sky.

I will feel you in each cooling breeze

That gently dances by.

I will hear you in the springtime songs

Birds sing to greet the day.

And I will not forget you, Dad

Or all your caring ways.

Stay safe within our Savior’s arms,

Until we meet again.

April 2001