Surviving Suicide. My Journey

The Haze

There is so much about that night that I had completely blocked out. I did not remember that I was the one that talked to my other sister that night and told her the horrible news. I didn't remember the barrage of phone calls that I made that night. One of the few things that I did remember was asking my father to please go with me to tell my aunts and my grandparents that my mother had killed herself. My dad and my mom were still the best of friends then, even after their divorce, so my grandparents stilled looked at him as family. I knew that they would want him there. One of the other things that I did remember from that night was walking across my grandparent's yard with my father, both of my aunts, and my boyfriend. I remember my grandfather, who was always larger than life to me, standing at the door. And I remember him saying " It's Carol isn't it?" The next words out of his mouth were "how bad is it?" and I told him that she was gone. In that instant I watched the man that I had always looked up to turn into a shell of the man that he was and I heard the devastating scream of my grandmother as she realized that she had just lost her first born. No parent should ever have to bury a child and in that moment, I saw two of the people that I adored fall completely apart.

I tried so hard to keep myself together that night because I knew that my 12 year old sister, Krystal, would need a lot of help to get through what was going to happen to her. I knew that she would need strong people to help her. She was the next person that had to be told and there was not one of us that knew how to do that. She had been told by the time I got to her that night and I have the images of her screaming and hitting herself etched in my brain for the rest of my life. My beautiful, charismatic kid sister just wanted to go be with her mother that night. That is all I remember hearing her say. I knew that no matter what, none of us would ever be the same again.

There are no words to describe the feelings of emptiness, the darkness, or the guilt that engulfed my life then. The next few days I managed to survive, if that is what you could call it. I don't really remember my mother's small graveside service. I don't remember all of the people that came to show their support. There are bits and pieces that have come back to me over the years, like my grandfather taking a shovel to the cemetary in case her ashes were not where he wanted them. I remember begging my dad to promise me that no matter what, he would never leave and I remember my wonderful boyfriend taking on the responsibility of being a father to a 2 year old boy and to my 12 year old sister. I also remember the feelings of total anger taking over me, the endless crying fits, and just wanting to wake up and things be back to normal. I was so deep in my own guilt over losing my mother that it completely consumed me. Was this my fault? Why didn't I call the police? Why didn't I go look for her? Did I not tell her that I loved her enough? I knew that there was something that I could have done to save her. I just knew it. But I didn't. The feelings that I had almost killed me too. My life took an ugly turn that would take years to fix. I hated myself. In my head, I knew that this was not my fault but it was my heart that I could not convince. My own downward spiral began then and the next few years are a haze of drugs, alcohol, and extremely poor choices. And unfortunately, the people that needed me and loved me were the collateral damage. On January 1st 1995, my mother was not the only person who died that night. The Karen that I had been died also...