Brave Enough To Be Bliss

We had given her life, and she was considering taking it away for herself. I had known fear before, but this was a whole new, higher level of fear that seeped into every fiber of my being. Through the tears, I knew what I had done was the only possible way to help her, but it was just such a risk. And if you’ve gotten the picture by now that I was extremely conflict avoidant, it’s possible I was even more risk averse. That’s because I had previously believed risk was always within my control. So, knowing she was in her bedroom with the door closed and could have been taking all her medications, I went downstairs to my computer and tried to work in order not to think about what could be happening one floor above me. It felt like when I sat outside her room in the middle of the night listening to her cry because we had been told to let her learn to self- soothe. I don’t think it took long for her to fall back asleep, maybe five minutes in reality, but for those five minutes I sat outside her bedroom door crying; it felt like an eternity. All I wanted to do was run in, take her into my arms and tell her it would all be OK, and mommy would make it make it all better. But this was far worse because no longer could I assure her it was all going to be OK. And no longer could mommy make it all better. All I could do was assure her that I loved her more than life itself. The rest was up to her. I believe I may have rested my eyes for an hour or so before showering and leaving for work at about 6:15 a.m. because we were hosting a business council breakfast and I needed to get there and make sure everything was set up and ready to go by 7:30 a.m. The event was underway and going well, but all I could think about was watching the time until I could text her to make sure she was up. I remember my hands shaking as I sent the text. No response. I double-checked her class schedule to see what time she would have had to set her alarm in order to be up in time to get there. Yes, she should be up by now. Maybe she’s in the shower, I’ll give it five more minutes. Watching the clock for five minutes to pass felt worse than watching paint dry. Periodically, I looked up from my phone and smiled, hoping no one would see I was about to lose my mind with worry. I thought, “OK, it’s been five minutes, she doesn’t take that long a shower. If she doesn’t respond this time, I’m heading home.” I texted her. I wait ed. I hoped to see the bubbles. Nothing. I started to panic. And then she responded , “Good morning. I’m up. Have a good day.” If I could have fallen onto the ground at that moment without causing a real disturbance, I would have. If I could have died from 10 hours of feeling like my brain was going to explode from this intense and overwhelming fear and my heart was going to break in half knowing she was hurting so deeply and I couldn’t do anything to help, time of death would have been called at 8:06 a.m. But instead, I stood there and carried on just as I always did. Fortunately, I had a final appointment with Ginger to prepare for the trip the next week, so I was able to debrief with her and maybe even breathe one brief sigh of relief when she made me do that ridiculous deep breathing exercise. Kylee had made the choice to live that night at least, and I hoped it would become a trend. Ginger asked me to write while I was on the trip to capture my experiences. The last real writing I had been able to do was before I got married. I had tried when I wasn’t working after Kylee went to college, but it felt forced rather than authentic. So I was excited to see if the words would begin flowing again. “What greater thing is there for human souls than to feel that they are joined for life— to be with each other in silent unspeakable memories.” George Eliot

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