The Train Station

I feel as though on the day you took your life, that me and all that knew and loved you were sent to a land called Mourning on some horrible train. It is a town that I would consider what hell might be like. All that were sent there were sent by force, taken in the middle of their normal lives with no form of notice beforehand. In this land were many. All of us dwelt in this land together and mourned your loss. We were all bewildered and grief stricken how someone as wonderful and seemingly happy as you would take their own life. We would all gather in one big group and talk about you and how this could happen. We suffered from your death and rejoiced in your life. Sometimes we would go off one on one to talk about you and then come back to the group.

After a time, some realized they had to leave the land of Mourning and gathered up postcards of your life, all the memories they had of you, and the love they still had for you, they put them in their suitcases that had stickers of your pictures on the outside of them, to take home to have forever, and they went to the train station, boarded the train and went on back to the land of Life. One by one they went until no one was left but a very few that remained with me, your mother.

I didn’t blame the ones that left, I held no ill will towards them, I knew they had to get back to the land of the living and it is what you would want Kaitlyn. But for every one that got on that train it reinforced to me the fact that you are truly dead. You’re gone and you’re not coming back. I won’t see you on some incoming train. Though I have known this from the beginning, every foot that boards that train drives that realization more forcefully into my heart.

There have been times I actually tried to board this train myself. Sometimes I couldn’t even make it to the steps. Other times I actually fell off onto the ground, got up and went back to the bench outside the train station and watched the rest go on.

So here I sit Kaitlyn, at the train station and I can’t get on the train back to Life. I will sit here forever it seems. I know this is not what you wanted for me Kaitlyn. You said you no longer wanted to exist but didn’t you know you still would in all of our hearts forever?

One day I will eventually die Kaitlyn, and I will still be stitting at that station when I do.


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.

7 Responses to The Train Station

  1. Topaz says:

    Always thinking of you, Rhonda.


  2. Neal says:

    I think I might be on the express train back and forth.


  3. gatito2 says:

    I can’t seem to leave the station Neal.


  4. I live in another state far away from you; but, on the morning that I received the frantic call, I, too, was suddenly ripped away from my illusory secure life and thrust among a group of bewildered and shell-shocked people. We were similarly jerked away from our familiar routines and rudely thrust upon that horrible train that has transported us through that same locale — the Land of Mourning. I have witnessed many brave and courageous people on this train. Though none would have voluntarily signed up for this journey to an uncomfortable and unfamiliar landscape, I find myself establishing emotional bonds with my fellow reluctant travelers. They understand my terror and despair in a way that the people we left behind in my old life will never fully comprehend. When we first started our journey, most of my fellow passengers could not even speak, for the mere mention of a loved one’s name would cause them to convulse into uncontrollable wailing. Though many of us still find ourselves sobbing daily, as this train moves forward toward an uncertain destination, many of us are resolved to seize whatever small comforts we can find. For some, it is a treasured photograph. For others, we find that just being able to talk with our fellow travelers about what our old lives were like brings us some small measure of comfort. But, what continues to amaze me (and break my heart at the same time) is just how damn long this train is and the multitude of unwilling occupants on it. Moreover, it seems clear to me now that trains like the one I’m on are departing regularly from horrifying scenes all over the country. It seems that no one is immune from being snatched away from a comfortable and predictably secure lifestyle to be given a ticket on this trail of tears. If there were a way to derail this train, I’m sure that myself and my fellow passengers would love to see this train jump the tracks so that we could all return to our familiar routines. But, I’m afraid there is no realistic way to jump off this train without causing further injury. Instead, we must patiently wait until this train takes us to wherever it may lead. Along the way, I have to believe that we will grow more comfortable with our surroundings even if that seems perfectly impossible now. I also know that my journey is made more tolerable thanks to the presence of my fellow travelers. I would not have wished this journey on any of them; but, I am so very grateful that I am not making this trip totally alone. I have spoken to scores of sojourners who have traveled on this frightening journey longer than I, and a small but reassuring number of them tell me that things will get a little easier down the line. That, too, doesn’t seem possible at this moment, even though I have been riding on this train for almost an entire year. I can still see my precious 15 year-old son’s face as I left him on the day my train pulled out of the station. I am going to try to be strong for his sake for I know that he would not want me to suffer for the remainder of my journey. I grieves me no end that I could not purchase a return round-trip ticket to go back to the same station where I left my son. But there are murmurings on this train among my fellow passengers that when I finally reach the end of the line, I will be able to meet a person…yes, a fully human man who already knows about my painful train ride. They say that he will be waiting for me at the end of the line where he will be smiling as he greets me at the end terminal. Word has it that he will have a new boarding pass or ticket for me — not one back to my old familiar landscape; but, rather, a ticket to an exciting new destination…a New Jerusalem, if you will. When we change trains, I am assured that the mood and demeanor of my fellow travelers will change dramatically. And the most exciting part of all? I am led to believe that my son Samuel will be waiting for me at the station!


  5. Lynn says:

    Emotional but beautiful Randy.


  6. gatito2 says:

    Randall, you always have a way to make me feel better. I think you are the bravest one of us all. You give me hope and that’s not something many people can do for me and I can’t even do it for myself most of the time. Yes, our children will be waiting for us at the end of our train ride in a place that is so much better than what we have here. This world can be so wonderful, but it can also be just as horrible. Thank you for all your inspiring comments Randall.


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