The eleventh

It’s the eleventh. It’s the eleventh of September meaning that it’s been 5 months now since you took your life Kaitlyn. The eleventh. I can’t tell you how many times I swore after the first 2 months that I would not continue to let that number “11” each time it comes around each month mean that you died on the 11th; not let it mean that it’s one more month longer than the last time I talked to you, hugged you, and experienced every wonderful thing about you. No, I was not going to be trapped by that number. I was going to let it go; not talk about it being one more month, not posting something special on your page, I swore to myself I wouldn’t. When the one year 4-11-14 rolls around, that will be horrible enough and I certainly don’t want the number 11 to run my life every month. But you see Kaitlyn, it’s not that easy. No matter how hard I try that horrible number looms before me and haunts me and taps me on the back each day a few days before its arrival reminding me that it’s coming. And come it does with its horrible meaning.
But to tell you the truth, I fare not really any worse on that horrible day of the month, because my grief follows no rules. There has been ONE day since you died that I have not cried, and most of the time, several times a day. The only reason I didn’t cry that day is that I felt your presence so clearly and near to me that it gave me comfort, the very few moments of comfort I’ve had since you left.

So here it is, the 11th and very early on the 11th it is. I don’t even know what time on the 11th you died. Perhaps it’s good I don’t know or that time would forever torture me as well.

Kaitlyn, my gosh I cannot tell you in words that are adequate how much I miss you. Every single day there are times I’m so overwhelmed with grief and the horror of losing you that I just grab my head and squeeze it trying to push the sorrow out of my head. I find myself rubbing my forehead for some reason when I cry. I sometimes rock a little back and forth as if I’m trying to tell you how VERY sorry I am that you were one of the victims of this horrible disease of depression. You, who deserved so much, hurt so badly you could not live.

I still can’t believe you are gone. The horror of your loss is just as fresh as the day I found out. The only thing different is that all of the numbness is gone and I’m nothing but a raw mess. Yes, I’ve learned how to go out and do things with my family, smile, and enjoy my surroundings, but you are ALWAYS at the front of my mind every single second. I feel like I’m nothing but a shell putting on a false face.

I’d like to tell you that I probably won’t post next month on the 11th, but I’m pretty sure I will anyway. I can promise nothing. But maybe, just maybe, I won’t. If I don’t, you will know why.

I love you Kaitlyn. I don’t know how many more of the 11th s in my life I will be able to stand. Losing you is like losing my own life, and NO ONE that has not experienced this knows the depth of this pain.

One day perhaps Kaitlyn, I may disappear from your facebook page as well as my own and I may even disappear from my blog. I feel if I share any deeper feelings than I’ve shared already it will benefit no one. I’m starting not to even make sense anymore. I think I’ve shared all I can share without being naked to the world. Your death has made me, one of the most private people in the world, become very far from private and telling all my inner feelings. This is not my natural self. Your death has caused an eruption of my soul and feelings for all the world to see that I would have never done otherwise. But your death has done many things and none of them good because it’s just so unfathomable. I hope with my posts that I’ve done some good to someone. I believe that I have. Now my words just come out numb.

I do believe I’ve succeeded at one thing, and that’s to let as many people as possible that didn’t ever meet you, to know what a wonderful person you were. I couldn’t do you justice, but I did the best I could, you were more wonderful than I can even express in words.

The other day I agreed to answer some questions for someone’s suicide prevention newsletter and I wasn’t even able to elaborate on the things I should have. I just answered the questions simply. I just didn’t have the energy to elaborate. I may post on here forever, I may disappear one day from this social world online back to my private world. If I do, it’s not that I’ve forgotten you, I could never, ever forget you. But I am always torn between getting the word out about suicide or just simply letting what I’ve done suffice and just grieve privately. I don’t know what I will do, you know how fickle I can be. Anyway, if I’m not here one day….

I’m just tired now.

On this 11th Kaitlyn, as on every day, I wish you peace and happiness in a place so wonderful I could not comprehend. I don’t wish you to REST in peace, I hope you are experiencing joy and doing things and existing in whatever way that is wonderful in the place that you are, for you deserve it.

I love you,
Momma

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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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8 Responses to The eleventh

  1. JCox says:

    I too have marked the days. I still do and yet grief can be the most overwhelming on a day that has no significance. The sadness is that each day takes me farther away from the moments of being here in this world together. The passing of days takes me farther away from moments I treasured. I think you will always remember days. Prayers of comfort and strength.

    Like

  2. A Hot Mess says:

    sending you a virtual hug

    Like

  3. gatito2 says:

    I feel exactly that way. Be it the exact day of death, or ANY day, minute or month or whatever….the pain is horrible. Thank you.

    Like

  4. I understand your words. 9 is my number. For me it began on the 9th of July 2011.
    The accident happened at 10:23am, and my daughter died at 6:11pm.. It’s been 26 ‘9th’s’ for me.
    Every 9th of July I can’t help but watch the clock as well,
    Aware of the time. Wishing. Hurting. My heart breaking more and ,more.

    I’ll always think of you on the 11’s now to,,, Xx

    Like

  5. gatito2 says:

    Thank you. I am SO sorry about the loss of your daughter. My heart breaks for you as well.

    Like

  6. Randall P. Robinson says:

    You HAVE “done some good for someone”, Rhonda. You have given voice to the abject despair and grief I feel in having lost my own 15 year-old son to suicide less than a year ago. I feel the same pain that you are so expertly capable of expressing with such eloquence. It is not that I am a glutton for punishment by regularly exposing myself to a maelstrom of anguish that possibly exceeds even my own. No, it is the quiet reminder that I am not alone. There are others who have been exposed to this fiery trial. Please do not stop writing. Walk with me a little further along this rocky path in the Valley of Tears. “A burden shared is a burden halved.” Let us attempt to cast our burdens on the Lord for His promise is that He will sustain us. (Psalm 55:22) He shouldered the burden of His heavy cross for you and for me. Simon of Cyrene helped Jesus carry His cross. Christ will do nothing less for us.

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  7. gatito2 says:

    Thank you so much Randall. As always you help me see things in a better perspective. I just get so far down into my grief that I wonder if what I do serves anyone, even myself. I know you understand my grief because you suffer the very same way by losing your precious son. We do have to walk this path together. It helps so much. It is so lonely walking it alone. Thank you for your very kind message. Rhonda

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