Almost Shattered

Suicide.

It’s time to stop the stigma. It’s time to stop being afraid of having this important conversation. Prevention starts when we get educated and we start talking. 

Silence IS NOT an option.

And so here I am - breaking my silence. But I’m not doing it alone. Because really, although this is told through my eyes, this story isn’t mine. It’s my son’s, and he says he’s ready to have it told, with the hope that he can help others find light in the darkness and a reason to hold on for another moment, another hour, another day, with a sure hope that things DO get better.

My prayer is that we can also help family and friends of those who are suffering have the courage to talk, express empathy and to take action to prevent the tragic loss of life.

Mental illness is real and we should never, ever shame someone who suffers. We may not understand, but we can always lead with love and empathy.

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I first started to suspect that our second-oldest son, Nathan, suffered from depression when he was 13 years old. I knew (but didn’t fully understand) that he suffered from anxiety from the time he was 18 months old. Yet, when we had conversations, I was always afraid to take him to the doctor, to “put a label” on him or admit that I couldn’t give him the help that he needed myself. But depression (or any other mental illness) isn’t a label. And it wasn’t something I could just put a band-aid on or fix. It’s an illness, and he needed treatment. I wouldn’t skip taking any of my kids to the doctor for treatment if they had the flu, pneumonia or cancer. And this was no different. But it took until he was 15, going on 16, for us to finally take action.

In September 2019, after Nathan was the lowest he had ever been, we finally scheduled an appointment with his primary care physician. He wasn’t just sad, or blue, or acting for attention. He was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, something that runs genetically in my family, and they started him on medication. For the first time in months I had a glimmer of hope that the medication would be a turning point for him... and so I procrastinated picking a therapist – something I knew he was dreading. But, I couldn’t put it off forever and we finally had an appointment scheduled for the last week of October, nearly 8 weeks from that first appointment with his physician.

We were almost too late….

October 24, 2019

As long as I live, I’ll never forget that date. Even now, I get nauseous and panicked just thinking about it.

It was the day our world almost shattered.

My third son and I were driving to St. George for another baseball tournament. My dad was with us and it was going to be a great weekend, just the three of us.

It was okay that I left Nathan home alone for a couple of hours, wrapped in his blanket on the couch, right? I could tell it was a low day, but he said he’d be okay and that his friend was going to come over. I wondered whether I should just postpone leaving until his dad or other brothers got home, but I convinced myself everything would be alright. After all, we had just been at the doctor’s office again a few days earlier and Nathan told us that while he did have suicidal thoughts, he didn’t have a plan. And we had changed his medicine at that appointment – taken him off of the first prescription that had caused him to spiral further into darkness instead of helping him feel better. Everything would be okay. Right?

But still – something didn’t feel right, so I asked my oldest son to invite Nathan to go with him and his friends to the Oquirrh Mountain LDS temple with them that day.

And then I left.

I wish I had known (or even assumed) he had lied about the plan. I wish I known that just two days before his doctor’s appointment he had already attempted to end his life and failed.

I had timed my trip so that I would be in cell coverage at 1:00 so I could join a work call. It was about 12:50 p.m. when my phone started to ring. It was Nathan. I answered, knowing he wouldn’t call unless he really needed me.

The sound I heard next will be forever burned into my mind. He sobbed my name “MOM!!!!!” and then told me he had just tried to take his own life. He was disoriented. He said he was bleeding (he had hit his head). He was scared. He was alone. He couldn’t remember the details of what happened, but he knew he had attempted suicide and I could hear that he was terrified that he had actually gone through with the unthinkable.

Despite the panic coursing through my body, I was and will forever be grateful that in the moment that his attempt failed, his first instinct was not to try again. It was to call for help. And he knew he could call me.

I kept him on the line, reassuring him, asking him questions, telling him how much I loved him, how much he meant to me, all while his younger brother and grandfather went to work getting help. After a flurry of calls, the police, ambulance, a neighbor and his dad were all heading in his direction, ready to rescue him.

With the help of my dad, I somehow made it back home without falling apart.

From there we went into survival mode. Nathan spent half the night in the E.R. and then transferred up to the Neuropsychiatric Institute at the University of Utah. He fought us every step of the way, adamant that he didn’t need help. That he was fine now. To this day, he will tell you that he didn’t need to stay in the hospital. And to this day, I will never regret our decision to admit him. His attempt wasn’t superficial. He took steps to guarantee that he would be successful. I still have nightmares thinking about what my oldest son or his father would have come home to. I see it clearly in my mind.

It’s a miracle he’s still here with us. A miracle that he’s been able to experience hope, and joy, and love again. I thank my Heavenly Father each and every day for that gift.

We’ve learned a lot in the 10+ months since his attempt. Nathan didn’t just wake up one day and decide he was done. It was a thought that had been percolating for a long time. For him, it had been for years. In fact, the first time he considered (and researched) suicide he was in 7^th grade! I had no idea. As his mother, I was devastated that I had been so blind.

Over the years, suicidal ideation became for him what his therapist calls a well-worn path.  As his mental illness took him deeper into sadness, isolation, hopelessness and darkness, his brain was in the habit of going to that darkest of places as a “solution.”

In the weeks leading up to his attempt, he was struggling in school, he was struggling with friends and we were all struggling at home. How I wish I had done more to ease his burden back then. How I wish I hadn’t missed so many red flags.

Instead, I just kept trying to fix things, sure that if I just got him to see it my way, everything would be better. We were constantly battling, only adding to his pain. When he attempted, he truly believed that he was alone, that he was a burden, that he was unloved and unlovable, that everything was his fault, that things would never get better and that we would all be better off without him. My heart breaks imagining the depth of such heartache and pain.

I rejoice that he has a second chance. That he’s been able to see and KNOW that we love him. That our whole world would have been torn apart and incomplete without him in it. That things DO get better.

Recovery has been a long and ongoing process of acknowledging his emotions; realizing that his emotions aren’t wrong or bad – they are valid; recognizing his triggers; learning coping strategies; retraining his thoughts; learning to advocate for himself; and rediscovering the things that bring him joy. And so much more. There have been some truly amazing days, and there have been absolutely terrifying days that led to nights of me sleeping on his floor, re-hiding anything he could harm himself with and checking on him every 5 minutes. But together, as a family, we keep pushing forward. And little by little, we see the light.

The days still get cloudy and dark, and there are times that I know Nathan is hiding what he’s really feeling from us, but we continue to hold on, with a hope that the clouds will break and the sun will shine through. And on the days when things are bad and he comes to me and says “Mom, things are getting bad again,” or  tells his dad “Can we go for a ride,” I say a prayer of thanks that he’s reaching out for help and not giving up.

We’re learning more every day. I hope what we learn can offer hope in the darkness and save more lives than just Nathan’s.

After all of this, here’s what I know: Tomorrow offers hope. It offers second chances. Just don’t give up. On yourself or your loved ones. Stop the stigma. Speak up. Get help. Recovery is possible.

Nathan’s story is not over;

Since his attempt, he has:

Gotten a new dog and had the joy of watching him grow
Turned 16
Had highs
Had lows
Made his high school basketball team
Made some incredible new friends
Learned to recognize when he’s low and ask for help
Helped a friend who was having similar struggles
Realized that having depression is nothing to be ashamed of
Learned to start advocating for himself
Achieved his first 4.0
Asked a girl to the Prom – and she said YES!
Experienced an earthquake

Survived a global pandemic
Gone to the drive-in movies
Received his driver’s license
Started his junior year
Sent his brother on a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
Owned his story

And there is so much more for him to experience.

His story isn’t over;

And neither is yours; 

My hope is that you – whether you’re the loved one or friend of someone experiencing mental illness and suicidal thoughts, or you’re someone who is trapped in the darkness, feeling hopeless and considering ending your life – can find hope and direction from our experiences.

Suicide is not inevitable. Prevention starts with education, conversations and action. Learn more here: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

If you or someone you know is experiencing a mental health crisis, please seek help. Resources are available:

National Crisis Hotline: 1-800-273-8255 (TALK) – available 24/7 **This will connect you with LOCAL resources and help.

United Ways of Utah 2-1-1 for substance use disorder information, including assessment, detox, harm reduction and syringe exchange, treatment, support groups, and other addiction resources

healthymindsutah.org and utahsuicideprevention.org for screening and other resources

MyStrength app (available at no cost at https://appv2.mystrength.com/go/udhs/UtahDHS).

SafeUT App

Happy Mother's Day

Twenty-four years ago my mom celebrated her last Mother's Day. Less than six months later she was gone. I was only eight and whatever future I may have had with her by my side as a friend, confidant and mentor was lost.

On my last birthday I turned 32, making me the same age as my mom. Over the past year, I've reflected often on what kind of woman she must have been, how young she truly was when we lost her, and how my entire life has been shaped by her death. Sometimes I still feel as lost as that eight-year-old little girl. But only sometimes. 

When our Heavenly Father decided to call her home, He didn't leave me alone. While I will never feel like I can write a fitting tribute to the remarkable woman that I never really knew, I can celebrate the beautiful women who, one after another, have honored her as they stood in her place.

To my sister, Kelly: Sixteen is so young to have the weight of the world placed on your shoulders, yet without hesitation you stepped in to fill the roll of not only big sister, but also mother to your two younger siblings. I know life hasn't always been easy for you, but somehow you've pressed on, plowing forward when others would have given up. You've been one of my best friends for more years than I can count, and even when we've sailed through turbulent waters together, I've never doubted we'd make it through the storm. When I was in fifth grade, and you left home, I was terrified. I didn't want to lose you too. After days of no word, you finally called home to say you were okay. I vividly remember collapsing on the floor in tears. I was so relieved. Years later, you were there to pick up the pieces when I was in ninth grade and somehow my little world was shattered when a kid at my school shot himself after he was suspended for hitting me. Through all the turbulent ups and downs inherent with the high school years, you were always there for me and when at the young age of (gasp) 19 I decided to get married, you stepped in and performed mom's role beautifully. I don't know if I ever really thanked you for that, but I hope you know I'm so grateful for your example and your love.

To my mother-in-law, Jan: I've often wanted to tell you how much you mean to me, but my feelings toward you are difficult to put into words. Over the years I've written countless letters in my head, even rehearsed what I would tell you if the moment presented itself, yet somehow I've never managed to get it right. I guess there are just some emotions that can't be expressed in words. Nevertheless, did you know that in only two short years you'll have been my mom for twice as many years as my own mother was able to be? In that time you've been an example of patience, generosity, long-suffering, honesty, understanding and unconditional love. From you I've learned that nobody's normal, and that's okay. You've taught me that life is always going to be hard and crazy, things never slow down, we're not perfect, we fall short, but we just need to keep moving forward. You've taught me that there is joy in just being together as a family. As your daughter, I've witnessed remarkable acts of wisdom, forgiveness, joy and faith. I'll never forget the moment that you told me that your first thought upon meeting me was "She's home." And I was. Thank you. I feel so privileged to call you "Mom." 

To Debbie Mower, my mom's best friend: On the day I learned that my mom wouldn't be coming home, you held me as I clung desperately to your neck and sobbed into your shoulder. You were the only one I wanted to cry to and I never wanted to let go. Eventually you had to go home, but you never forgot about me. On that first Christmas Eve after she was gone, you took me with you to a family party and even at my young age I recognized the lengths that you went to to ease my troubled little heart. Though time and distance have separated us, you will always be dear to my soul.Thank you for your love, your sacrifice and your strength.

To my Aunt Rose: Losing you was like losing mom all over again. After she was gone, you loved us and cared for us as though we were your own. I remember getting you some coffee once and cheerfully telling you that my mom liked her coffee the same way. I will never forget the look of heartache on your face as you tried to smile at me though you tears. On the day we made the video for Aunt Anne, I knew I wanted to be just like you. But, you were taken from me far too soon, and I can't help but feel like I lost not only an aunt, but a woman who would've been one of my best friends. Know that you were loved.

To my Aunt Teri: You have always been one of my favorite women. I remember the thrill of knowing you were coming to Utah to visit. You are beautiful, kind and filled with so much love and patience. When we went to Michigan, more exciting than the trip was the prospect of staying with you. I love you and miss you deeply.

To Cheryl: The first time I met you was at the bowling alley. I don't remember if you were on the same team as my dad or just in the same league, but I loved you instantly. When you asked me if I wanted a kiss I puckered my lips, starved for motherly affection. You only hesitated for a moment before kissing me. Then you laughed and placed a chocolate kiss in my hand. While things didn't work between you and my dad, for several wonderful years you were the closest thing I had to a mother and I will always cherish that beautiful time spent with you as a family. I felt loved every moment of it.

To Peggy Wilmonen: From the time I was three, your house was always a second home to me. Even then you watched out for me, loved me, and sometimes even chastised me when I was out of line. After mom was gone, you continued to watch over me, taking me to dance lessons, driving me home, and countless other small acts of kindness. I didn't appreciate it as much as I should have at the time, but you were always there for me. My childhood is filled with fond memories of the many camping trips with your family. Thank you!

To Traci Barker: You are a rare woman. From you I learned how to love unconditionally. When I was fifteen and taking the missionary discussions, you were there for me, not because you were my Young Women's leader, or because you were my sort-of-boyfriend's mom, but because you loved me and wanted what was best for me. You were my friend and I knew that even if I didn't choose to be baptized, you would love me anyway. Your love was never conditional upon baptism, my friendship with Nick or anything else. For a teenage girl, who often felt lost, confused and alone, the kind of love you offered was priceless.

To Leslie Woodward: Forever in my mind, when I think of the embodiment of motherhood, I think of you. I remember watching in wonder as you were a mother to not only your own kids, but to every child that came close enough for you to dote upon. You taught me that being a mother isn't about having children, it's about loving children. 

To Peggy Whitehead: In your home, I discovered what a house dedicated to the Lord should feel like. Not only did you raise daughters who lovingly shared their powerful testimonies with me, you also stood as a spiritual strength and example, teaching them the doctrines of the gospel, guiding them, and me, toward the temple and eternal families. From the moment Jess and I became friends, I felt welcomed into the circle of your family. It was in the confines of your home that I learned how to study the scriptures, pray and have meaningful family home evening. Over the years, as I've struggled to learn the history and doctrines of the gospel, I've always pictured you and your vast array of knowledge and deep, abiding testimony. It was through yours and Jessica's selfless sacrifice, driving twenty miles most Sundays to pick me up for Church, that I learned about loving service. When you took me to buy my temple clothes and lovingly stitched my apron for me, you taught me me to treasure things of a spiritual nature. I determined long ago, that I want to be a spiritual pillar in my family as you have been in yours.

To Tammy King: Thank you for loving me, for being an example to me. When I was seventeen, and often home alone because my dad had to travel for work, you went out of your way to tell me that I was welcome in your home anytime. While I was too shy to take you up on your offer, I determined that like you, my home would always be open to those who need a place to stay.

To Karla Liddell: Thank you for raising the most amazing, beautiful woman that I have ever known. I know that the Lord guided your hand as you raised Ashley, molding her into the kind, generous, fun, discerning woman that she is. She is the best friend I've ever had and she's everything she is because of you. Thank you for adopting me into your family, for showing me how to be a mother through your loving example.

There are countless other women, past and present, who have had a profound impact on helping me become the woman I am today. If I forgot to list you, please know I love you and the impression you've left on my heart isn't lost. Thank you, each and every one of you, for who you are and what you do. It takes a village to raise a child; I'm living proof of that.

Happy Mother's Day!

A Quote Worth Sharing

There are 5 things in life you cannot recover: A stone...after it's thrown. A word...after it is said. An occasion...after it's missed. The time...after it's gone. A person...after they die. Life is short. Break the rules. Forgive quickly. Kiss slowly. Love truly. Laugh uncontrollably And never regret anything that made you smile, Enjoy Life!

Life Is What One Makes Of It, No Matter Of What It Is Made

A wise young woman once spoke the following words:

"Regardless of what each of you choose to do with your lives, choose to be happy and successful. Be careful of the choices you make, each one may have a profound affect on your happiness. Be willing to be the example and reach for your goals while doing what is right, even when the world around you says you are wrong. Don't be afraid to succeed for 'it is only when we hold ourselves back that we must face failure'."

That wise young woman was me. As I look back over the course of my life since I spoke those words to the graduating class of 1999, I am saddened to realize that I failed to follow much of my own advice. While I strive to live my life walking in the path of light, I admit that I often fall short. Thankfully, none of us are perfect and I can always improve. Unfortunately I find that every time I fall short, my present life becomes increasingly defined by a fear of success, incapacitating and devastating in its very nature. It saddens me to realize I transformed from a courageous young woman who was certain she could succeed at anything, to a cynical adult sure that she would fail at everything.

In reflecting upon the words I spoke so many years ago, I realize I must reassess my own view of what is 'right' in my own life, what makes me 'happy', and what it means for me to be successful. Over the last six years or so, I have come to the realization that my definitions of 'right' and 'successful' are at odds with one another. And as long I allow them to be at odds, I remain the cynical adult, destined for failure, unable to capture happiness.

When I chose to become a mother, I chose to commit myself to that role 100%. For me that meant foregoing a career in order to be available for my kids 27/7. At the time the choice was simple. My husband's income was sufficient for us to provide for all our necessities, along with the occasional luxury, effectively making it unnecessary financially for me to remain in the workforce.

However, what I did not foresee was the far reaching repercussions of my choice. While I had taken the time to obtain a higher education prior to becoming a full-time mother, I never gave myself the opportunity to exercise that education in a professional atmosphere. At the time, I didn't think it mattered. Upon exiting the working world, I saw my education as my lifeline back, my panic button so-to-speak, meant only to be used in an emergency. But as the years stretch on, without any experience to justify my educational background, my diploma becomes an empty piece of paper, stuffed in a box of other inconsequential memorablia from my past. In short, by choosing to do nothing except be a mother, I effectively made myself unmarketable. Perhaps worse is the emptiness that comes as a result of this realization and my lack of visible, tangible success.

That being said, I simply can't put on the breaks and change the course I am currently traveling. For starters, I know that the choice I made to be a full time mother was the 'right' choice... for me. My own mother died when I was eight years old. Prior to her death, she was a full-time working mother. I don't condemn her choice, because she did what was right for her and her family and her choice brought her happiness and success. But her absence left me with little opportunity to feel connected to her. I have spent a lifetime watching other mothers, wondering what it would be like to experience the bond of mother and child. And while in this life I will never know what it is like to be the child in that relationship, I know that I have been blessed with the great opportunity to be a mother and to forge that bond with my own children. I know, were I to willingly and consciously give up this beautiful opportunity, I would be wracked with guilt worse than the sense of emptiness I already experience.

Of course, in the years since I held my first cherished gift from heaven, I have fallen prey to the unfortunate habits of insecurity and selfishness. And worse, I have developed a tendency to compare myself and my children to other mothers and their children, effectively robbing myself of the happiness that should come from being a loving, nurturing mother.

And so, you see, I have created for myself a dual system in which I can do nothing but fail. In my mind I either choose what is 'right' and devote all my time to my children, or I choose to be 'successful' and all that that entails. Once again, I must look to my previous self for the inspiration to discard this thinking and choose a third path in which success, happiness and choosing what is right all weave together into the beautiful tapestry that is my life. In the same graduation speech I relayed the following message:

"There is a story of an ancient painting that depicts a king forging
a chain from his crown, and nearby, another scene shows a slave
converting his chain into a crown. Underneath the painting is
this inscription:

'Life is what one makes of it, no matter of what it is made.'

What you create from your talents and abilities is up to you."

This inscription brings us to the purpose of this blog. I am continually searching, striving to focus on words and actions of others that lift and inspire, so that I might better grasp my own sense of purpose. As I find inspiration, I will pass it on. Of course life is not always sunshine and roses, but every moment of adversity is a moment of learning and reflection and so I hope to blog about those as well. In essence I will blog about living my life and what I learn along the way.

In the end, it is my intent to break down the barriers I have built for myself. To redefine success and stop being afraid to pursue it. To be the best mother I can be and to instill confidence and purpose in my children. And above all, to find the confident young woman who knew that happiness is, above all, a CHOICE. If, along the way, I can inspire others to do the same I will consider it a double success.