This idea, like a seed, implants itself inside our minds. It can take root in any soil -- your family, your career, your passions -- and once it buries roots within, it drains you. It steals your joy and warps your perspective. It damns you to a life spent wondering "what if?". If you're not careful, it can leave you as a hollowed husk, pining for another life that never came to pass.
I can sometimes feel that seed blooming in my mind. You see, I wasn't close with my mom. Therefore, it would be dishonest to summarize my reaction to her suicide as merely grief or missing a loved one. It's more complicated than that. Instead, I'm left wondering what I could have done or what signs I missed.
My mother spent her life wrestling with deep and abiding issues. She had mental health issues, and I believe she may have had some substances issues too. Where is the line between the two? It's hard to say. This massive weight on her shoulders was composed of two parts, but indistinct in terms of where one ended and another began.
In light of this, we grew distant. I had two young children, and I often felt wary of getting too close to my mom. I knew she lived an erratic lifestyle and maybe, subconsciously, I knew something like this was possible. A sudden departure. Imagine what would happen if my children had been truly close to her?
This is the dilemma that haunts me. This is the seed taking root. I feel like I've been yolked with a heavy load, a question that cannot be answered. I ponder what could have been. If I had been closer to my mother, would she have spared herself? Would she still be around? If so, the decision to be distant was a dreadful one.
But what about the opposite? What if we had been close? What if my children knew her on very familiar and affectionate terms, and then she took her own life anyway? The devastation of having a grandparent kill themselves.... the toll that would take on a 5-year-old and a 7-year-old. That would have been unforgivable.
Indeed, I feel like the entire dilemma I was placed into is unforgivable. That's the word I keep going back to. Whether it was genetics, or happenstance, or fate... I have been forced into a scenario where I had two potentially life-ruining options. That's unforgivable.
And yet, as I consider all of this, I don't want to be robbed of my future by the misery of my past. I don't want to become a hollow imitation of myself. I have to uproot the infernal seed that longs to leave me mesmerized with notions of what could have been. I have to press forward with the path I've taken and the conclusions I have seen unfold. I have to accept life as I've lived it.
Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction. Click here for information on how you can find mental health resources for yourself or a loved one.
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