The rest of my life

Kaitlyn, since it has been a little over 3 months since I last saw you, I realize that I’ve never gone this long without seeing you before. Before I saw you this past Easter, it had almost been 3 months, but not quite. Before then, rarely would we let a month go by without going to see you in Winston-Salem, or either you would come home when you had a long break. But never this long.

Mere words cannot convey the depth of my despair in knowing that I will never, ever see you here with me again. Four months will come, 5 months, a year, 5 years, 10, 20, and then I won’t be here anymore to feel this horrendous pain that I have from losing you who I cherished so intensely. I’m still amazed I’m still here and not dead from the agony of losing you. Amazing the things your heart can stand when you feel like it may never beat again. The knowledge that I will have to be without you for the rest of my life after the 23 years I had with you takes me to the depths of sadness.

Sometimes, I wonder whether or not you knew exactly how amazing you were. You were never the kind to brag about anything you achieved, (you never even wanted your medals displayed, but I did it anyway), you never acted superior to anyone, you were always modest about what you could do, but you did so with an inner pride in yourself. All those and more were your accomplishments. But to me personally, you were my world.

I love all the people of my family. Your sister and I share things that only she and I enjoy; we have our own likes and pleasures that we share with each other that I cherish. Of course me and your father have 32 years of marriage that have been better than anything I could have ever asked for. But me and you Kaitlyn, we shared so many things and just being with you gave me greater joy than you could ever know, though I told you many times. You took me to a world I was never really a part of until you came along.

I know I told you so many times how very much I loved you and how special you were to me. I never missed any opportunity to tell you this and you always told me the same.

You were special Kaitlyn, and no one else can ever fill the void that only you filled and I dread a life without you. I truly do. Nothing tastes right, though I eat because it’s the only thing that remotely feels good. Nothing I read is right and I was always a big reader. Now I read books on how to cope with the suicide of one’s child. Nothing looks right; everything has lost its color and its luster. The stars don’t shine as bright. Didn’t you know you were my world? I know you knew, but depression overtook that knowledge.

I remember when I was in nursing school and you were still a baby. There’s a song that used to come on then called “Baby, Baby” by Amy Grant. Though her official video depicted she was singing about a man, in reality, she wrote the song about her new baby and it’s just the way I felt about you. I used to pick you up and dance around with you in my arms singing that song. Our relationship grew from there.

Sometimes Kaitlyn I wonder so selfishly why you left me. Then I feel guilty for feeling that way because you couldn’t help it, you had gone too far into depression to be able to help it. I feel guilty that though I lost so very, very much, and so did your friends and very close friends and boyfriend, you most importantly lost your beautiful life. But then I think, how could you have left me Kaitlyn, knowing I would die without you, knowing I loved you more than life itself. I know the answer to this, but sometimes I cry it out anyway. But it’s not you I blame. It’s the depression I so wish I had known something about. I might be able to have helped you. I would have tried my best, I would have done anything for you, I would have gladly and happily given my life for yours.

So it’s been over three months without you Kaitlyn. I’m left here lonely without my youngest child and I dread the years to come without you. It’s so hard to have known someone like you, and to have been so lucky to have been your mother, and then have to be without you knowing how much I have lost.

The only way I make it at all is knowing I will see you again some day. I WILL see you again.

With all my love,


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..
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to The rest of my life

  1. Judy says:

    I am so sorry for the loss of your beloved daughter. There are no words for it. It is a horror. It has been many years since my son died and I haven’t forgotten the agony. I considered it an amputation of my soul. Keep writing because it is very helpful to express your grief. It is a horror and one day you will read the words describing something you can hardly believe you lived through.


  2. gatito2 says:

    Thank you. I agree that it feels like my soul has been amptutated. Not just a piece of me, but my whole entire soul. When someone you love so much dies like this, I still don’t know how one survives. I don’t know how I lived past the first day.


  3. Judy says:

    Your lifeblood is pouring out and it is unstoppable. As an amputation, it is not visible to others, hence unless someone has gone through this – it is unimaginable. I remember it well and will always long for my child. And like an amputation, there are scars. But scars represent healing. Never the way it was before. But it is possible to live again and to find joy. I offer hope because I never believed it. Surviving my grief was truly my greatest achievement in life – nothing could be harder! Hang in there. If you’re interested in a free CD of my music, email me your address. My email is:


  4. gatito2 says:

    Judy, it’s the worst pain I’ve ever had in my life or could have imagined. I don’t know if I’ll ever have any semblance of healing.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s