When You Feel Alone in the Rain
“There’s
been an accident. Mom fell asleep in the garage. She’s dead.” When I heard my
father say those words, I stood motionless beneath his hand that rested on my
head, wondering if he was truly talking about my mom. The reality soon set in,
but the grief and healing were years off.
I was
twelve when my mom killed herself. My parents were divorced. My dad was
remarried and lived nearby. My older brother lived in his own apartment, so it
was just me and my mom making our way.
She
sometimes left me home alone when she went out drinking. I begged her to stay
home, but she would only promise to be home by a certain time. My neediness was
useless to change anything.
I slept
at my dad’s house the night my mom died. More accurately, I moved in. A few
blocks were all that separated the houses—a slight but infinite distance. This
time the sleepover wouldn’t end. When the sun rose I wouldn’t have a home to
return to. Home as I knew it had vanished.
When
morning broke, I pretended to sleep. I knew if I got up, my mom would still be
gone. I covered my head with the comforter and wanted to die, to sleep forever.
A few days
later, after the initial shock of the death wore off, the afternoon clouds
spilled rain. And heaviness clouded me. Moving and talking were hard. My skin
crawled. I felt like I didn’t belong.
The need
for escape gnawed at me. I grabbed an umbrella and headed out for a walk. I
ambled aimlessly, splashing in puddles, all the time knowing that I was acting
like a little kid romping in the water. But I wasn’t a carefree child anymore.
You don’t get to be carefree when your mom commits suicide.
I felt
the rain deep within me. I was cold and wet all through my insides, as well as
on the outside.
On that
dreary stroll I came to realize that my new life would be one of isolation. No
one was ever going to understand what I had been through. This was it—my life.
I resolved to be tough. To protect myself.
My armor
remained intact for years. I decided I wanted out of my shell but was unable to
escape. When the time came in middle school that I wanted to cry, I couldn’t. I
poked myself in the eyes hoping to get enough tears so someone would notice my
sadness.
How did I
go from that empty, sad, guilty, depression-prone child to a healthy and
joy-filled (usually) adult?
I took a
magic Christianity pill and everything was fine! Oh wait. Nothing is ever that
easy—you know that.
As a kid
who didn’t feel secure, I started drinking alcohol, which progressed into drug
use.
Lying,
stealing, excessive dating, and casual sex followed. Then a pregnancy when I
was 20. And an abortion.
I knew I
needed help. For years, I knew I needed help.
But I was
stuck inside myself, wallowing in muck and mire. Beating myself up for so many
things. I assumed I had to clean myself up before I could ask Jesus to help me.
I knew the truth about God; I had attended church off and on since my dad and
stepmom had begun going when I was in fifth grade.
Even
though I knew the path to freedom began with a prayer of submission to the
Lord, I still thought He wouldn’t want me unless I was clean. There was nothing
in me that comprehended that God could love me unconditionally.
Finally,
when I was failing at life so badly I had no choice but to die or try God, I
prayed out of desperation. I reached out to Jesus and asked Him to rule my
life.
A vivid
picture developed in my mind’s eye of years earlier when I was at the pit of
depression and misery, crying and wondering how I could ever move forward. I
saw Jesus there, sitting next to me on the side of my bed. He held my head,
wiped my brow, and dried my tears as a parent might do for a sick child. I
realized at that moment that He had been with me and had wanted me all
along—just the way I was, broken and damaged.
He wants
you too. He’s been by your side all along.
JJ Landis has published a memoir about growing up
after the suicide of her mom and three children’s picture books. She is a
library director in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, where she lives with her husband
and three kids, an occasional foreign exchange student, the calmest dog in the
world, and an irrational cat. Visit her at www.jjlandis.com.
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