Maybe Sundays should be called – Bawling hysterically Sunday’s until a full blown panic attack is in progress. Fitting name for them. It’s Sunday. I hate Sundays. Hate them. We are now reaching 10 months since Kira was murdered. Sunday morning she had no idea 12 hours later she’d be dead. 3 1/2 months since Brenda passed away. Of course on a Sunday. Stupid f’ing COVID. Next month will be 16 years since Jamie took his final napped and passed peacefully away that Sunday morning. How I miss that sweet baby who would be a crazy teen. Sunday’s simply suck.
Today I wake up early and glance at my phone. My 18 year old updated his Facebook profile with a new picture and a caption – “Ain’t here for a long time but here for a good time 🤟🏻.” I lost it any by 7:15 a.m. I’m sobbing hysterically in bed. I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again. I can’t get over the feeling he’s going to die. That I need to plan his funeral. That it’ll be sooner than later. That I am going to bury my child before me. And this. This hurts my heart so much. So much. I feel like I’m on a train about to wreck and I can’t stop it. I know the outcome. I see the outcome. Yet, there’s nothing I can do to change its path. I’m stuck. Helplessly watching. Begging the conductor to change the path. Yet, I have no control as it’s the conductors train and he has the control and he isn’t listening. Offering the conductor anything he wants if he’ll just stop the train and take us on a happy, scenic route but he doesn’t want anything. He wants the path of destruction. The path I know will cause the entire train to explode. The path that will leave the conductor dead. Will leave me scarred and broken for life.
I don’t want this path. I want off. Badly. Desperately. Now.
I replied to his post with this – “My friend Jason posted something similar 7 years ago. He said he was a limited edition. Less than 2 weeks later he took his own life. I’ll tell you Zak 7 years later his family and friends miss him as much today as we did that day and it hurts so much to those left behind. Depression is real. Mental illness is real. Suicide is real. Those who are the saddest often hide it behind a smile and an alcohol or some other substance. Jason’s biggest fight were the demons he began/created at your age. You can fix this now, you can beat the demons he couldn’t. Please talk to someone. Come over. Anyone. Like your Grandpa said you have a LONG life ahead of you if you CHOOSE it. It may seem like shit now but it doesn’t have to be. Your stupid genetic disease doesn’t have to define you and be your outcome. Look at your aunts, uncle, cousins, grandma. They are all choosing to fight that disease. With medical advances you really can live a long life. So much can change before you ever need to meet your end. So much. Don’t give up before you ever have the chance to really live. ❤️ So many people love you and I know I’m not the only one who doesn’t want to live my life without you.”
Will it do any good? Probably not. But I refuse to give up without a fight. He won’t take my calls. He won’t reply to my texts. So this is what it is. Publicly begging on Facebook. Hoping my comments at least make his friends think. Someone think. Him think.
Do I think he’s suicidal? Yes. Do I think I have enough for a 72 hour hold? Nope. I’ve worked in the mental health field. I’ve saw how hard it is to get. He just needs to lie a little and boom he wins. I need more evidence. Reckless Behavior is a warning sign of suicidal thoughts/ideation. He’s there.
I don’t want my son to die. I don’t want to bury my child. I don’t want to plan his funeral. I hate that I even have these fears. I hate that I cry so much. I hate that I’m so sad. I hate that I can’t help him. I pray someone gets through to him. I pray he finds his way. I pray the end isn’t as close as I feel it is. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to feel this.
I just want to rewind. I want to go back 18 years. I want my beautiful baby back. My baby I never once thought would die before me. My baby I held and rocked and loved. I want him. So badly.