You’re supposed to be there

Kaitlyn, you’re supposed to be in Winston-Salem having finished up a run or workout at the gym early this morning, then on to your clinical rotation in pediatrics at medical school. Instead, you’re in a field not far from here and your belongings are either here or scattered about the US by now (your clothes were sent to St. Jude’s Hospital). You’ll never graduate, you’ll never get married, you’ll never have children. You’ll never be able to practice in some exiting city like you talked about with me so many times.

Who am I suppose to talk to about the things that only we loved to talk about, science, astronomy, books and good movies? I’ll never be able to call you up and tell you we were coming to take you out to eat and hear you say “yay!” like you always did. It would take a book to list the things that we shared and enjoyed together, things that were unique only to us. So I won’t write that book here. You know them, we shared them .

Kaitlyn I know you would not want me to hurt the way I am doing and probably would not even want me blubbering about it all over facebook, unless it really did help someone. I’m so sorry but it just hurts so terribly bad. This loss of someone I loved so fiercely is something almost impossible to endure. If someone could die of a broken heart alone, I wouldn’t be here either. But here I am, in this horrible state of grief. On one minute, or hour, or even day that I feel slightly better, my heart and mind make up for it a million times over with even more torment.

It will soon be a month since you’ve been gone, and it seems like it happened yesterday. I can’t work; I can’t go out unless it’s something I absolutely have to do because I will go to blubbering. I can’t eat at a nice restaurant because you can’t have it. I can’t enjoy anything because you can’t enjoy it and apparently never really could. Besides I can’t enjoy anything right now anyway. How can I eat Chinese food again? It was the last meal we ate together. My life seems destroyed.
Kaitlyn I know you didn’t mean to hurt me like this. You must have been in pain beyond belief to have done what you did, that thing that is so permanent and a line you passed you can never cross back over again. I know depression, (I’m sorry, you must have gotten it from me). You’ve seen my struggles and were silent with your own. I never saw yours. I’m so sorry. I know that deep dark place you were in because I’ve been there myself, but I reached out and was pulled from the edge of that line you crossed.
Kaitlyn, here is a sort of poem I wrote when I was in one of my horrible depressive states back in 2011. I posted it in my documents on Facebook, I never knew if anyone ever saw it or if you ever did, but here is what I wrote, which indicates I do know how you felt. Here it is:

The Tree

The tree stands alone at the edge of a large field that a busy highway runs past.
Or what is left of the tree
It’s huge trunk and multiple branches indicate it had life
but the branches have nothing on them, chopped off somehow, no leaves.
Its trunk is dry, there is no sap, no life’s blood
the roots incapable of anything anymore.
It stands alone.
It is dead.

In the distance there is a forest of trees with life bursting forth
their branches with green reaching the heavens
Perhaps many of them came from the past seed of the tree.
Other lives pass by on the busy highway,
glances to the tree
here and there,
and no one knows what kind it was, how mighty it was or what happened to the tree.
It is dead.

So yes, I know how far depression can take you, but Kaitlyn it took you too far.


About gatito2

My name is Rhonda. I'm a registered nurse, for the last 20 years, that has not been able to work since the day I learned of my daughter's death by suicide 4-12-13. (She actually died 4-11-13 and her body was not found until the 12th) Me and my husband have been married for 32 years and he's a wonderful man. We grieve in different ways. He works, I write. This is my journey through this horrible land of losing a child..
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