Forever in our hearts.

They, whoever 'they' are, say that time heals all wounds. It may heal wounds on the outside, but I don't know that it does. I think there are some things that one just never, ever gets over. 

The edges of the wound may start to come together and form a scar, but it's still tender. It still hurts. And no matter what you put on the wound to soften the scar to make it less noticeable, no matter how much it fades, it's still there. The scar reminds you of the original trauma when you feel it as the wind blows or the sun hits it just right, when you feel it as you get dressed or bump it on the doorway. 

Eventually, a certain amount of numbness creeps in. It's as though you're in a constant state of shock. It's hard to feel anything but the pain. It never really gets better. It never, ever goes away.

It's still as fresh today as it was when I wrote this post 2 years ago about the loss of my nephew, Edward, to suicide.  It's still as fresh as it was when we lost him 5 years ago. Still just as senseless today as it was then.

Please don't choose a permanent solution for a temporary problem. It really will get better. 

Edward, we will always love you and miss you.

How do you get that lonely?

I'm glad today will be over soon.

Yes. The election is part of it. I'm tired of the phone calls. I'm tired of the commercials. I'm just ready to kiss the day goodbye. Maybe it will be an easier day to handle next year, although I doubt it will ever be an easy day for my family.



Three years ago today, my beautiful nephew, Edward, took his own life. He was only 19.

Not a day goes by that I don't think of him. That I don't miss him. That I don't miss his beautiful smile and his laugh.

I get it to a certain degree. I survived a suicide attempt in high school. I remember not feeling present in my life. Like things were happening to me, but I wasn't a participant. Instead, I sat like a porcelain doll perched precariously on a shelf, and if a door slammed too hard, or if someone bumped the wall just right, I would fall and shatter into a million pieces. I was 17.

I wouldn't have made it, if someone hadn't called my mom from school. She talked me into sticking my finger down my throat and vomiting before she got there and could take me to the hospital to have my stomach pumped. The ER doctor said she saved my life. If I hadn't thrown up when I did, the 2 bottles of aspirin I took would have caused me to bleed to death internally.

While we were at the hospital, my mom and I talked. A lot. She made me promise to never, ever try to hurt myself again. Ever. And I know that that promise kept me alive over the years. I've dealt with depression off and on my entire life. And any time my depression got bad, Mom's plea and the promise I made her came back to mind. And I never tried to hurt myself again.

I'm so very thankful that I made it out of the darkness. I shudder to think of the pain I would have put my family through. The pain of losing Edward has been unbearable at times for each of us. And I know there is no way he'd have done it, if he'd have known the pain it caused his loved ones near and far. I wish I'd have known, so that I might have been able to say something. That I might have been able to impact him enough that he didn't give up.



Promise me something? If you ever feel like you want to hurt yourself, promise me you won't. Promise me that you'll get help of some sort.

And know that no matter how hard life is, it gets better.