One day last month Richard stopped at the house and I asked him how he was doing and how Greg's death has affected him.
His told me that he's angry - all the time.
"At Greg?," I asked.
"Just... angry," he told me. "All the time. I wake up angry. I don't know why I'm angry. I just am."
"You process your way and I'll process mine," he told me before I could ask another question.
"Okay," I answered.
He and Greg were close all their lives - played the same sports - had the same friends. They were best friends - inseparable. Although 14 months apart, they were known as "the twins" - the McKinnon brothers - clear through high school. Richard's loss is enormous - and he'll have to carry that loss much longer than I will have to carry mine.
I don't think I understood until that moment, how profoundly the loss of his almost-twin brother changed Richard's life.
"Does talking about it help you," he asked me.
"It does," I replied.
"Well, it doesn't help me."
I talk to Richard about everything. I lean hard on him. I think we'll still be able to share memories and stories about Greg. I hope so. But if he doesn't want to talk about "feelings" or how he's working through this, I have to respect his boundaries. I hope it will change, but I'll follow his lead.
All of that is a preamble to Suicide Day from Cycle #5 of chemo.
I told you about the emotional drop that I experience from prednisone after chemo. Cycle #5 was the worst to date.
I decided that I was tired - done - ready to die - ready to let other people get on with their lives without being crippled by my presence. These were not sad, self-pitying thoughts. I was calm - rational (or so I thought). I began to Google my medications to see what would take me out the fastest.
As I was gathering pills to kill myself, I had a flash of Richard - just a flash - his face - how he would look like after I died - how my suicide would affect him - forever.
I collapsed in tears. I knew in that moment, that suicide could never be an answer for me. Never. No matter what.
God's grace - his infinite mercy - touched me in that flash of Richard's face.
What had I been thinking? It was then I realized the roller coaster pattern of chemotherapy (therapy?) and the chemical effect on my brain. Knowledge is power, I've heard. This experience was the living truth of that saying.
I will be forever grateful for Richard sharing his feelings with me that day - and even more grateful for God's mercy.
When I talked to Woowoo (You remember Woowoo, right??) about what happened, she told me that people contemplating suicide often report a "vision" that prevented them from completing their plan.
Did Greg have a vision? Was it too late?
His told me that he's angry - all the time.
"At Greg?," I asked.
"Just... angry," he told me. "All the time. I wake up angry. I don't know why I'm angry. I just am."
"You process your way and I'll process mine," he told me before I could ask another question.
"Okay," I answered.
He and Greg were close all their lives - played the same sports - had the same friends. They were best friends - inseparable. Although 14 months apart, they were known as "the twins" - the McKinnon brothers - clear through high school. Richard's loss is enormous - and he'll have to carry that loss much longer than I will have to carry mine.
I don't think I understood until that moment, how profoundly the loss of his almost-twin brother changed Richard's life.
"Does talking about it help you," he asked me.
"It does," I replied.
"Well, it doesn't help me."
I talk to Richard about everything. I lean hard on him. I think we'll still be able to share memories and stories about Greg. I hope so. But if he doesn't want to talk about "feelings" or how he's working through this, I have to respect his boundaries. I hope it will change, but I'll follow his lead.
All of that is a preamble to Suicide Day from Cycle #5 of chemo.
I told you about the emotional drop that I experience from prednisone after chemo. Cycle #5 was the worst to date.
I decided that I was tired - done - ready to die - ready to let other people get on with their lives without being crippled by my presence. These were not sad, self-pitying thoughts. I was calm - rational (or so I thought). I began to Google my medications to see what would take me out the fastest.
As I was gathering pills to kill myself, I had a flash of Richard - just a flash - his face - how he would look like after I died - how my suicide would affect him - forever.
I collapsed in tears. I knew in that moment, that suicide could never be an answer for me. Never. No matter what.
God's grace - his infinite mercy - touched me in that flash of Richard's face.
What had I been thinking? It was then I realized the roller coaster pattern of chemotherapy (therapy?) and the chemical effect on my brain. Knowledge is power, I've heard. This experience was the living truth of that saying.
I will be forever grateful for Richard sharing his feelings with me that day - and even more grateful for God's mercy.
When I talked to Woowoo (You remember Woowoo, right??) about what happened, she told me that people contemplating suicide often report a "vision" that prevented them from completing their plan.
Did Greg have a vision? Was it too late?
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