Heavy Man... Heavy...

Disclaimer: This is not some funny, witty post about the silly goings on of mine and my family's life. Most of my posts are, and I like it that way. I love my family. However, this is not one of those times.

Six years ago today, my mom committed suicide. My mind tells me that sometimes someone can be so depressed, that they are unable to see beyond their pain. I've been there, at times. My heart feels much differently. I feel like it was the most selfish thing she ever could've done. I want to scream at her. I've had dreams where I've done so. Not even so much for me. More so for my kids. My mom helped me raise my oldest daughter, and they were very close. My youngest daughter was just eight weeks old when she killed herself. (As an aside, I often just say she died. It sounds a lot less violent and messy that way, but the truth is that she didn't simply die. She made a conscious decision not to exist on this earth any longer.) She would never get my youngest son. I am still taken aback when he asks me where my mommy is.

I look through her journals, and regularly contemplate throwing them in the trash. After I pick through all the spelling errors (NERD!!!), I find it quite ironic to see how often she wrote of my Aunt Beverly's suicide. She knew the pain of losing a loved one at their own hand. She would write about how angry she was with her sister. I remember her telling me how awfully selfish it was, many times. She would recall the moment where she, my aunts and uncles relayed the news to my grandma, and how she made the most horrible sound with her cry. That nobody should ever hear something like that. How she couldn't stand to see her mother in so much pain. How a mother shouldn't lose a child, and how she especially shouldn't lose them this way.

By the way, I didn't get to know my Aunt Beverly terribly well, because I only got to see her sporadically. She did live with my grandparents for a while when she was contemplating moving to the town we lived in. She was there through the last half of my pregnancy with Allison, and through quite a few months of Allison's life. She was my oldest's first sitter, and she was especially proud of her little great-niece.

It's funny the emotions this anniversary can bring. To be quite honest, I'd forgotten about today. Don't get me wrong, I knew it was coming, and I have never forgotten that June 2 was the day she ended her life. Never. It's just that, in the hubbub of daily life, I often forget the date. I was simply going about my morning routine... Hoping Ezra would sleep in (FAIL!!! HE DIDN'T!!! ), so that I could catch a small cat nap. However, before I even sat down to sneak a few ZZZs on the sofa, I checked Facebook, and I was quickly reminded.

I wonder when I'll get over being angry with her. I mean, I'm not angry all the time, and thoughts don't consume me. It's just that when I really sit and think about it, I get angry with her. It reminds me that I'm in a special club that I never signed on for. I have two cousins and one second cousin who have lost their mothers to suicide. It's the dirty secret I don't like to speak of. Not so much that I'm ashamed. It's very uncomfortable, to say the least. People don't know what to day, and they want to comfort you.

I'll end this by saying that I do still love my mom. Angry? Yeah. I don't hate her. I still love the other two souls in my family who took their own lives... My Aunt Beverly and my cousin Kim. However, if I don't feel like commemorating the anniversary (or anniversaries), this is why.

Much love, and God bless. I promise to come back here and sporadically post about my silly family life. My wonderful, hectic, silly family life.