As I began to read her story, I soon realized that we had something in common. Like James, her husband deployed with 5/2 SBCT out of Ft. Lewis, WA in 2009. Unfortunately, that deployment greatly affected her husband, which eventually led to the end of their marriage and her final farewell in this blog posting. Thank GOD she is okay (according to the comments at the end of her farewell post), but reading her words just...I don't know...it was heart-wrenching.
With our history of loss and grief, I've felt swallowed by the despair, the depression, the suicidal thoughts...all of which come with horrific life experiences. Heck, the day we got home from the hospital after delivering Liv, I told James to hide the gun. I was at the end of my rope and had hit rock bottom. I was completely overcome by the pain of losing our daughter. I couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel. In fact, I refused to believe that there was a light, and reading this blogger's post brought back those memories. I felt for her. I understood the pain that she was feeling.
Obviously, my sources of trauma were different than hers, but at some point, the feelings are all the same. While staying with one of my sisters for a month last spring, she watched as I battled many of these feelings. She tried to do what she could to encourage me and show the love that I needed, even if I didn't want to acknowledge or accept it. In dark times, you need to feel that from those around you -- even if you feel like you're being swallowed by the darkness. I remember hearing my sister tell James later on that, at times, she didn't know how to help because I was so down -- saying something along the lines of..."What do you do when you feel there's no hope left?" (Jen, if you read this, I'm sure there was more to it that I can't remember.)
I'm sure this blogger felt the same way. Heck, from her post, it's obvious that she was willing to initially seek help which many don't have the courage to do. I know I never sought counseling. Being as stubborn as I am and taking counseling classes in the past, I convinced myself that it was a waste of time -- that I knew what they were going to tell me so I knew how to work through my grief without their help. That's somewhat laughable now, but I guess I made it. I'm on the other end of the it all now -- leaning on the hope of a healthy little Samuel Ryan.
To get back to this blogger, though...She sought help, but was in such despair that it wasn't enough. With such a downward spiral of continuous pain and struggle over the last several months, it all came to a head and she was done. It pained me to read that she felt that through it all, ending things would bring the most peace -- that there was absolutely no hope left. The fact of the matter is...there's always hope. It's just incredibly hard to see when you're at the bottom. The grief consumes you so much that you refuse to see it. Yet, once you find that tiny glimmer of hope, the healing can begin...
As those that have left updates are unaware of how it came to be, all I know is that she IS safe and is getting monitored now in the hospital. Thank God! I'm glad that even though she made that final farewell, it wasn't actually the end. We can just pray that she finds the strength to overcome all of this and hold tight on the hope that things WILL get better.
I remember the nurse at my OB's office asking me a few days after we delivered Olivia how I was doing and all I could say was, "Well, it can't get any worse." I had to remind myself that things could only get better from there and that's what I held on to. I didn't necessarily believe it at the time, but I repeated it to myself anyways...I knew at some point, that belief would change. I hope that Jessica can find something along those lines that she can pull from. It's going to be a long road ahead for her, but I hope (and pray) she comes out stronger in the end...