Real Life

Tonight, I hate my home. Everywhere I look, he is staring back at me. Fred, the little yellow stuffed dog he gave me when I was pregnant with Hope. The clock/picture frame, with his picture in it, on my desk. A pair of his pants I always meant to sew, turned into a bed for […]

There are people I’d like to throw things at. I could make a list a couple pages long, of people I’d like to wake up with a rock through their window tonight. If I had a baby-sitter, and a getaway driver… He went through something like seven case managers, and at least as many doctors,

I have good friends. They fed us, they took us to their house, they entertained Hope while I pretended to sleep on their couch, and lovingly left me alone as I sobbed. They did my laundry as I lay there, sometimes actually sleeping, sometimes just too drained to move. They even hung it all out

My brand-name, extra-strength tissues cannot handle my pain. I have lint all over my hands, and my nose is raw. And let’s not even talk about my head, or my stomach. Or my soul.

The crisis counselor said that often suicidal people make plans, and that things may seem a lot better right before it happens, because they have made that decision. They are at peace, the end is in sight. I didn’t believe it, but I do now. I think maybe he decided Wednesday night after we talked.

Chris was a man who loved his family, and needed us desperately. He came from a horrible childhood, including homelessness, alcoholism, and every abuse known to children. Judge that if you want, dismiss him if you want. You can slap label after label on him and on our relationship, but you will not diminish what

By the clock, it’s morning. There was a time when I only saw five a.m. from the other end–as in, “Gee, I’m up late tonight.” But my daughter is a morning person, so that hasn’t been true for some time. I’m here. My head is still pounding. I accidentally made a full pot of coffee,