A blur

When I was allowed in to be with Ely before the helicopter arrived, I was handed a bag of piercings, earrings and other pieces of metals from places I didn't know about... I remember looks. Eyes hold such a great variety of thoughts and emotions. Maybe they weren't judging my daughter, maybe they weren't judging me as a mother-- maybe it wasn't the piercings, maybe it wasn't her committing suicide, maybe it wasn't her Gothic hair, nails... maybe it wasn't the cuttings they had seen that I hadn't seen. Maybe they were sorry for this, truly hurting with me without words. Maybe my confusion and pain tried to give their eyes words.
Who can hold you, who can mourn without speaking or adding opinions in this time? Only the Lord.


How could this be? All of the hidden pain my beautiful child kept from me. I tried. I wanted to be close. My husband and I even paid counselors... I wanted her to talk to someone. If it wasn't me, I just prayed for God to allow her peace to open up to someone.
I remember when I tried to talk to her about this black phase, she said, "Mom, I'm the same person with or without the black clothes." Yes. I remembered my days of spray painting my VW bug and wild clothes. I thought, she'll move through this period of expression to the next one.


Standing in the ER, my daughter lying on a gurney awaiting her care flight to Tyler, I looked through the tubes, beyond the purple bruising around her neck, and I bent down beside her ear. Whispering intimate pleas for her to remain here, apologizing for not knowing, begging for another chance to be a better mother, a better friend, and promising to give her my all...


I couldn't think of anyone to call. Of all family, friends, of everyone-- I only wanted quiet. No talking. Just stillness. I wanted to be alone, to be quiet.
Be still and know that I am God.
Maybe my spirit was accessing Him in this shock-mental shutting down. They asked me over and over if I wanted to call anyone. No.
Finally, my sister's face came into my mind-- I don't remember if I called her or if my sister-in-law did, but in that moment,  I know I wanted her to come. I wanted her. I realized I also needed someone to take care of my children at home while I drove to the hospital.
"You can't drive yourself," but I did. I had to. I wanted to be alone with God. I drove and prayed. He kept His arms around me. As I hung in that temporary limbo that robed itself with terrifying possibilities, He held me quietly. He didn't speak immediately, but I felt Him there.
At ETMC in Tyler, the flood of people, faces, doctors, and even loving strangers began.