Can You Tell Me?

Now that I have your self-portrait hanging up Kaitlyn, I get to simply turn my head to the right when I’m sitting in the den, look into my living room and there you are. A beautiful, exquisite drawing of you where I can see every nuance of your facial features. You look so melancholy in this picture giving me a glimpse into the darkness that you had to live with deep within you. I simply took this as art. I didn’t know it portrayed the life you really lived. The same thing applies to your poetry, what little of it that you ever showed me, mostly melancholy full of metaphors that I can so easily translate now that you are gone. I feel like a horrible mother that I never noticed anything wrong, but you told me I was a wonderful mother. In order to save my sanity, I must believe the last words that were left to me by you before you slipped away into the night.

As all these months slip by and I find myself suffering more and more with each passing day, I think to myself that I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I should pull myself up by my bootstraps, find something in my life that will make me feel better. I feel tired of being sad, of feeling sorry for myself. But then I know that though I do feel sorry for myself, it’s not out of selfishness. I feel sorry for myself because I feel so badly about the beautiful life that decided to leave this world on 4-11-13. I feel sorry that you cannot fulfill in your life all the happiness that I so wished for you. I wanted it ALL for you. I knew you could go far and have almost anything you could ever want, but the reason I wanted it, is because I thought you wanted it and your happiness was all I cared for concerning you. I didn’t care whether you became a doctor or whatever you wanted, as long as it was what YOU wanted to do.

As I came in from playing with our dog this afternoon, I looked once more across the road, and the field into the corner of the woods, and there you still stood, in a beautiful black dress, all dressed up to go to the opera or some such event, your pretty blonde hair grown back long again, and that’s all I have of you. You’re there almost every day. I wonder if you might come to me to tell me how to live without you; without the person that I thought the sun rose and set in, the one I thought was so happy. Oh Kaitlyn, I would have still loved you had I known you were sad. I would have loved you no matter what. I still do. I just don’t know how to live like this.


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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7 Responses to Can You Tell Me?

  1. Heartafire says:

    Depression is insidious and sometimes undetectable when we want to spare those we love our sadness. It is clear where Kaitlyn inherited her gift for writing, it isn’t unusual for the very gifted to be melancholy, something I have observed. Seek comfort wherever and however you can.


  2. gatito2 says:

    Thank you so much. It is still so very hard for me to believe that someone in the depths of that much mental pain can hide it. I had never heard of this before now.


  3. Heartafire says:



  4. jmgoyder says:

    Never doubt how wonderful a mother you are and were to Kaitlyn. How could you possibly have known?


  5. gatito2 says:

    Thank you. All kinds of things go through the mind of a mother that has lost her child to suicide. So many things.


  6. I J L says:

    Please do whatever you need to do to keep healing. There are probably some people in your life who want you to “get over it”, to feel better and go back to how you used to be. What those people don’t understand is that you can never go back to being that person. This has changed you totally, and you need to accept that you’re different—not worse, just different. Your true friends will accept and understand that. Just take care of yourself right now.

    Every entry of this blog makes it clear that you’re a wonderful mother. I am sure both of your daughters never doubted it.


  7. gatito2 says:

    Thank you so much. Yes, the person I knew to be me died the moment I heard Kaitlyn had died. I’m not the same anymore and never think I will be. I tried my best to be a good mother to them. Thank you.


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