After My Daughter Died
November 2, 2017
Over the next few weeks, Prairie View will be sharing stories of real people facing difficult situations and finding light in the darkness. Please follow our “Light in the Darkness” series and learn more about how mental health and addiction affect real lives.
I wish I could forget the day my daughter – the light of my life – died.
Throughout her school career, she was involved, popular and had a ton of friends. Some of them were not great friends. I remember the first time she came home drunk. We thought we had put an end to that behavior, but a year later we had her in counseling to deal with her alcohol and marijuana use. In therapy, she talked about her lows. I realized I really didn’t see the lows, or when I did, I just assumed it was teenage angst. She always appeared busy and happy, but occasionally could be so dramatic. Aren’t all teenage girls? Her therapist said she was bipolar and she started on an antidepressant.
She went off to college. When I called, she talked about all the things she was doing and the friends she was meeting. She sounded happy. After college, she got a job and moved to a new state, and when I called, she sounded happy. And if she didn’t, I chalked it up to maturity and life being stressful as an adult. I’d tell her to perk up, things get easier. After all, we all go through those times.
In all those years, I never talked to her about her mental illness. I think I just assumed she was doing great, had grown out of it, and that if I did bring it up, she might get upset. I didn’t like to think of my beautiful girl as having a mental illness. So I just didn’t think of it at all. I never asked if she still took her antidepressants or saw a therapist. Now I wonder if that made her feel more alone?
If she were a diabetic or had a physical illness, I would have asked her everyday if she was taking care of herself. I’d have reminded her often of what her doctors said she needed to do to take care of herself. I’d ask if she’d had a check-up lately. I’d have talked about it so often, I would have heard, “Oh, mom! Stop worrying so much.” Before this, I would have told anyone that my daughter talked to me about everything, and was my best friend. Now I realize we rarely – if ever – talked about her mental health.
I relive the day I received a phone call telling me she had been found. The next call told me it was a suicide. For the next days, I just sat in silence, with one question: “Why?” No note, no major life changes, only a few of her friends who would say things about how once in a while she would just drop off for a few days and they wouldn’t hear from her, but they never thought anything was seriously wrong. She was only 28, with so much life left to live.
So how thankful am I to have Prairie View help lighten the darkness and allow me to see through my grief a ray of hope. It may be slim, but with the support of my clinician and other caring individuals at Prairie View, I am learning how to heal – and how to speak out about mental illness and encourage others to talk about it, too.