My heart Speaks | July 29, 2020🏔
271 weeks - 1893 days... since you gave yourself permission to die.
I think of our final conversation, the day you died, I remember "through it all know I love you Momma!" I know you love me and I know you loved yourself. You knew you are loved by many, but you didn't know how to love yourself.
I'm just sorry my dearest son, that you felt unloved to the point of acting on and completing your suicide.
One thing I know for sure the deepest, most earth shattering, hurt beyond words - is the hurt I feel knowing you will never walk this earth again, you are gone forever, I close my eyes and shake my head in disbelief knowing I will never hear your voice ever... again.
I sit in the dark of night and wonder what what would be the alternative. I read and re-read all of your messages Quinnton, I recall our conversations and wonder what more could I have done. I know I couldn't have done too much more, this was your choice.
You were was so sad, your circumstances just wouldn't award you the opportunity to turn your life in a different direction. I miss you beyond words, the earth shattering experience is too much to bear some days.
Some days I can barely breathe, and no one wants to talk. It's too uncomfortable for them. Sometimes I close my eyes and think maybe it's time I join my son.
Then I receive a random message or a note from an old friend, or a new one, from family members near or far, and it gives me hope knowing there is hope.
So in the still of the night - know that for those who continue to reach out, I appreciate your words, and genuine ability to understand.
I've been told not to say how he died, or to say "the" word. Under the fog of the night I whisper like locked in a cage, a soft whisper, ”suicide, by the act of suicide is how my son died, but depression is what really killed him.”
I've been told not to cry, because I am a strong woman, I am not suppose to cry.
It will make people around me uncomfortable if they hear me cry. I can't not cry, it is how my heart speaks. So some days and some nights I bury my head in two pillows and cry until there is nothing left.
When my sons were growing and we started to experience death, I told them it is okay to cry. I taught my sons to always validate their feelings - sometimes now I kick myself for doing so... Because Quinnton always talked openly about suicide.
I wished I said more, but when we did talk he would respond in his deep manly voice, "My Mother, my life path is different than that of your dreams"
Now I have to hold my two remaining sons a little bit closer, for fear I will lose another to Suicide. Not that it's looming - but because it's a part of our reality.
Thank you to those who dare, for opening the door to communicate, days like this - I dream of the forbidden place - called death.
It could be easier to check out - than check in. I did promise Quinnton I would help and check in with his children, so I can't go back on my word.
So as some of you wish to do more - KNOW - You already have...
Continue being you...
No more, no less, and know you are making a difference.
WE CAN walk #IntoTheStorm,
We CAN #ShatterTheSilence,
We Can #HearOurHeartSpeak
If you can't reach out, leave enough room for us to reach in - Please