I was going to exasperatedly write a post tonight about how much of this week is still staring me in the face, how little energy I have to deal with it…but when I went downstairs & walked through the living room to switch laundry my housemate caught my ear and said “Hey…did you hear about this?”
From the office where I work, it is literally a walk around the block & across the street to enter that mall. I get lunch in the food court semi-regularly; I made multiple trips around the stores for holiday gifts these past couple weeks. I don’t know exactly when this tragedy which is being investigated as a suicide occurred, but it was this evening, and I was working late…I was potentially mere hundreds of yards away when this woman sought her final out.
It’s macabre, yes. But for those stuck in the depths of personal hell that clinical depression tends to so brutally plunge the afflicted into, suicide is not a contemplative sorrow. It comes as a sweet release, a final solution. Whether this was truly the case for this woman, we may never know. I myself cannot speak from a place of experience…I understand a degree of depression, but not at that level. There were surely times in the tightest clutches of the bottle when I was reckless, more than reckless, with my own life…the mere fact that I lived to escape those harrowing nights by the skin of my teeth is evidence there is a Higher Power working in my life. Sheer, dumb luck was on my side, no doubt…but it was also more than that.
A chilling and, if I may, sobering reminder that someone, somewhere, always is coping with a hand less fair or tools less adequate (or both) than I. Today I am simply grateful to be alive.