I Wonder What They Would Think

What if I were to go down to Independence Mall, go to Charlotte Russe and go to the little ottomans they have near the dressing rooms and sit there? Wonder what they would think? I can see the lady coming to me now saying, “Can I help you?” I would just say that I sat in this very spot the week before my daughter died and waited on her to try on clothes. I can just tell her I’m waiting for her to come out again. Wonder what she would think?

What if I went to The Shoe Department in that same mall, take a seat on the right hand side of the store, where she last looked at them and just sit there and visualize the last time she tried on shoes? What if I did that? What if I sat there appearing to look into space, only to be seeing her walking in them to see how they looked? Wonder what they would think?

What if I were to go into that mall’s food court and just stand there amidst the tables and just breathe in that wonderful smelling food like we did the last time we went through as we were trying desperately not to succumb to the temptation to sit down and eat. We had plans to eat at another mall. What if I were just to stand there, breathing in, remembering, never sitting down to eat? What would they think?

What if I went to Mayfaire Shopping Center to Victoria’s secret and just plundered around in all the bras trying to find the one she last bought when we were there, just to remember what it looked like, and to wonder where it went? What would they think when I just held it in my hands remembering the day she bought it, knowing that she probably died in it? Wonder what they would think?

What if I were to go to Longhorn Steakhouse and order two meals, a petite steak and a large one and just leave the petite steak on the other side of me with no one there to eat it? Wonder what they would think?

What if I went to the cinema at Mayfaire, stand in the lobby all by myself in the spot that I last saw her holding that big drink smiling sweetly at me before we went into the movie? What if I got a seat all by myself and left one empty beside me, telling anyone that asks “is this seat taken?” And saying that it was in fact taken, only to remain empty? Wonder what they would think?

I wonder what they would think.


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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30 Responses to I Wonder What They Would Think

  1. jmgoyder says:

    I could actually visualize you doing these things and it broke my heart.


  2. gatito2 says:

    I’m actually thinking about doing these things, maybe at Christmas. Just to make Christmas even more miserable I guess.


  3. Neal says:

    It doesn’t matter to me what they think. I think it matters more what you think and what you feel if you decide to do i.


  4. gatito2 says:

    I know Neal. For some reason, in the middle of watching a movie that my mind was not on, I just started thinking about these things for some reason. What if I went absolutely insane with grief and did these things. Just rambling thoughts.


  5. mckarlie says:

    They would think a myriad of things, none of which matter one little bit. Reliving these moments you had, if you truly believe it will bring you closer to her then do it without hesitation, if doing these things will only bring you pain and more questions then i’d suggest you keep the memories as they are. There’s nothing that can fill the void, but i hope that one day the memories will be fond and you can hold onto all the wonderful things about her and not the pain that losing her caused


  6. gatito2 says:

    Thank you. I was just wondering aloud if I were to do these things just what people would think. Not that it matters.


  7. mckarlie says:

    some would think you’re crazy, some would invent reasons as to why you were doing what you were doing, some might even ask, sensing your deep sadness. but mostly, people would just try to ignore it because they wouldn’t understand.


  8. gatito2 says:

    I know. Just the musings of a very, very sad mother late at night with all these memories. Sometimes I don’t mean to do these thing literally. Just expressing my sadness. I know they would think me a little off if I did them.


  9. mckarlie says:

    I understand they are musings, and I’m just responding more so to tell you that I see how much pain you’re in and feel so desperately sad for you. I don’t have a relationship with my Mother so to see one who has such abundant love for her child moves me.


  10. gatito2 says:

    Thank you so much. I know you understand. I loved my daughter more than life itself, I still do.


  11. mckarlie says:

    I love my two girls more than life itself, I can only imagine how hard this is for you but you will find your way through this pain eventually, and you will turn it into something good, a way to help others and give insight to anyone who is dealing with suicide or considering it themselves. Focus on the positive as much as you can xo


  12. gatito2 says:

    I’m trying very hard. I have a project.


  13. You help me stay alive.


  14. gatito2 says:

    Thank you. I’m glad I can help someone stay alive.


  15. jmgoyder says:

    You never know – it might just help a little. I am not sure I wish I had something wise and helpful to say but am at a loss so just sending you a lot of love. You and your family have touched me and mine in ways I don’t understand but I do value this and I value getting to know you and Kaitlyn through your blog. You are a beautiful mother suffering an unthinkable tragedy and I cannot even imagine what you go through every minute of every day but please know that you are in my heart, Rhonda. Love Julie


  16. Neal says:

    Even if your thoughts are rambling, they’re important.


  17. Neal says:

    Actually, what I meant to say, even if you think you’re rambling. It’s still important what you’re thinking and feeling. And your last time with Kaitlyn is an important memory. I remember the last time I saw her and think about it all the time.


  18. gatito2 says:

    Thank you. I guess the replay of our last day together that was just she and I just replays in my mind so much I just started wondering if I did these things if it would make me feel better, or worse. Some musings come out of my head that sometimes might be better left in my head, but I just write what I feel.

    Thank you for your kindness. Yes, this is horribly a difficult life I have now. I would say “experience” but it’s so much more than that. This is my life and I’m so very, very sad. She was literally my bright shining star.


  19. gatito2 says:

    Thank you so much Neal. I know you hurt so badly yourself.


  20. jmgoyder says:

    I think Kaitlyn would be/is proud of you for your strength in conveying her story and bringing awareness, to all of us, about the kind of depression that hides itself so well I hid mine for years when I was a kid and then a teenager and it was only when it erupted that my mother got her first inkling She didn’t cope well with knowing this about me (despite being an amazing mother) and I remember hating the fact that she now knew I was so faulty. Of course she didn’t think I was faulty, but I thought she did think that, and I was so ashamed. I also remember how much effort I put in to not hurting my parents and not wanting them to know my dark thoughts, my confusion etc. I am so glad, Rhonda, that you are, bit by bit, post by post, unravelling and demystifying the horror of Kaitlyn’s suicide. Whether you know it or not yet, your dreadful journey through this grief and bewilderment is actually helping people – to be more aware that this can happen to any of us. Keep on writing. Jx


  21. gatito2 says:

    Thank you for that. My postings serve two main purposes; one to get this horrible grief out of me even if it only works for a little while. The next is to shout to the world that this can happen to people you would never think. I’ve met some great people along the way too, like you.

    I’m so glad you got help when you did even though your mother didn’t really handle it well. At least you are here now to tell the tale. I guess Kaitlyn wasn’t about to tell anyone, so she didn’t.


  22. jmgoyder says:

    I think of you every day – not that it helps but just wanted you to know.


  23. No Name says:

    I think that, for a moment, these strangers might come to understand a teeny tiny fraction of the grief you’ve been feeling—a grief that many of these people have never experienced—and I think it would change them.

    And I think all of them would be in awe of you for it.


  24. No Name says:

    I think that, for a moment, they would glimpse the teeniest, tiniest fraction of your grief. And I think it would change them.

    You are such an admirable person and the way you write is so compelling. Don’t ever feel ashamed for what you write here. It’s so moving and it affects more people in more ways than you know. (Sorry, it seems my last comment was deleted…)


  25. Heartafire says:

    It broke my heart to read this. sometimes we need to be shaken…thank you!


  26. gatito2 says:

    Thank you. I hate that it broke your heart though. Our hearts are broken enough.


  27. WishWebber says:

    I have found doing some of these things to be the most painful things possible since the death of my daughter…but they are also among the most healing. Go slowly, breathe deeply. I have not yet managed to walk into Sears, where my daughter worked. Last time I was there, I was with her. She had set up the displays of slippers and we touched them and she waved and said hi to all the folks she knew. She bought a pair of rainbow footies. The day I go there again, people will wonder for sure. I’ll remember this post… so beautiful.


  28. gatito2 says:

    Thank you. I know that must have been painful for you. I am so sorry for the loss of your daughter. There’s many things I don’t think I could ever do again. One thing is that I don’t think I could ever go to Winston-Salem in our state of NC again which is where Kaitlyn lived and went to medical school. I think it would make me literally sick. A copy of her self-portrait is being hung in the school’s wellness center where a fund is set up in her name and I don’t think I could ever go see it hanging there in person. I have asked them to send me a picture of it. It’s funny how some things you can do, and some things you can’t. I’ve become some other person anyway since all this so nothing makes sense anyway.

    Thank you for liking my post.


  29. gatito2 says:

    No name, it’s a good thing I look in my Spam folder sometimes because that is exactly where they put these last 2 comments of yours for some reason. Usually this site is good for just taking out spam, but sometimes they put legitimate comments in there too so it pays to look in that folder from time to time. Your comments were NOT in any way spam and I hope you didn’t think I deleted them. I love your comments always.

    Thank you for your kind words. Sometimes grief makes you do things you’d never think about.


  30. gatito2 says:

    Thank you so much. Your comments make me feel so better about myself in this sea of guilt and confusion I’m in.

    Please read my other comment about your comments somehow ending up in my spam folder for some reason. I certainly would never delete your comments….ever. I know you know that.


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