a Journey interrupted

by Angela St.Clair

exhaustion envelops inspiration

motivates escape

wheezing interrupts prophetic, comforting lyrics of vinyl

stale air saturated with Pain hangs in the room

foreshadowing the end of choice

loss and brokenness fight to choke anger and confusion

just as gratitude invades and a longing for peace promises to conquer

His Suicide. My Journey.

If you opened up my chest, I’m sure you would see cracks and scar tissue from my shattered heart, and if you could touch my soul, I am convinced you would experience the ache that still longs for his presence. However, if you could sit next to my faith, I believe you would experience the warm embrace of Light, healing, and growth.

You see, two years ago on the evening of May 24, 2014, my Daddy (I’m a southern girl) committed suicide. In fighting through my grief, I’ve come to know deep in my soul that the man who pulled the trigger and robbed his daughter of her Daddy–her best friend, her mentor–was not my Daddy.

That man was one who was alone in his once beautiful mind, a mind that had become a playground of torture and pain, both physical and emotional. That man was one who became lost in the rabbit hole of anger and sadness. That man was one he himself did not want to be but felt shackled to the exhaustion of being.

How did this man, my Daddy, become this other man? For you see, My Daddy was a man of God. He was honorable and disciplined and spent his life helping people. Even before he became a Christian in his mid-twenties, he helped people.

What I know is that my Daddy was broken as a child, but he did not let that stop him. I know that he became a man before experiencing the joy of being a child, but he kept living. I know that he spent time on the dark side until he found the Light.

Once infused with that Light, he walked the walk, and talked the talk. . . until his physical body started failing him. My Daddy was a carpenter and a gear-head and jack of all trades, and all of these things took a toll on his body, but it was his heart that stopped us in our tracks in 2008.

The doctors said he had a valve that needed repaired immediately, and so they did. Yet, his entire sternum fell apart, and they had to build him a titanium sternum. He would have to learn how to breathe differently and move differently, live differently.

So, after a month-long stay in the hospital including a rebuild, many debridements and being dropped by the hospital staff, he returned home to heal, to his home that he built with his own hands–his home that God showed him in his dreams, his castle here on Earth until he received his mansion on streets of gold.

The problem with sending him home to heal was that those all-knowing doctors sent him home with a life-long sentence to prescription pain medication, medication that is a billion dollar industry, medication that provokes depression and requires no counseling–only “piss tests” and pill counting–medication that is so addictive that recently the government has been forced to acknowledge the devilish concoctions and publish a report that says such.

Bottom line: this “medication” is turning loved ones into souls boiling with emotions that have no escape. This “medication” is killing people every single day and leaving families and friends lost, confused, angry, and broken.

I wish I had realized how things were going to change. I wish I had been more aware early on. I wish I had injected myself more into Daddy’s recovery after surgery, but I was playing my role as daughter instead of being my Daddy’s advocate.

I wish. I wish. Wishes, though, don’t mean a thing unless you turn them into prayers. I was praying, but I didn’t even know what to pray. I just wanted God to make my Daddy better. I felt like Daddy was the modern-day Job from the Bible, and I didn’t understand why God was putting Daddy through all of this– and the “all of this” became so much more. It became a spiraling staircase to nowhere, until it became a bullet inside a gun, held by the man inside my Daddy’s body.

What I know now is what I’ve always known but never truly put into practice and given my all to. The truth is in each experience. Each experience has a purpose, a lesson. Since my Daddy’s suicide, I have walked through all of the emotions–anguish, guilt, anger, pity, longing, and on and on, and I still walk in many of those emotions today.

However, with those emotions, I choose to honor my Daddy and my God by being a better person, being a better witness, diving into the Word on a daily basis and praying with power and expectation for understanding and application. It has taken awhile to get my wits about me, and I can’t say that I can make any sense of suicide, but I can and I will make my Daddy’s life AND his suicide matter.

Even though I am not sure what this exactly looks like yet, I do know it means being still and listening, seeking direction, and taking action. With that said, I will not let my anguish and anger lead to apathy or destruction.

My Daddy taught me to think before speaking, to be humble, observant, and kind, and so I will honor him and the wisdom God gave him and the grace God gives me everyday to walk the path He’s made for me.

Furthermore, through my spiritual journey and growth, I am learning to replace the “question marks” and “exclamation points” of Daddy’s suicide, with a “period.” I am striving to find peace in the “period” because there truly are things in this world that will never make sense.

Once I can fully acknowledge and accept that all “why’s” don’t get answered and all “screams” don’t get acknowledged, it is then that I will be able to move forward with passion and purpose and press on to that high calling.

“Pressing on” sometimes happens in baby steps–especially when working through such grief, and last year on May 24, the first year without Daddy, my siblings and I buried his ashes on his land and planted a pine tree.

This year, I will add a bench next to the tree and the memorial stone my classmates gave me, and I will declare that I will be the difference God wants me to be in this world, and if that difference means taking on the vicious, destructive cycle of pain “management,” then bring it on!

Proverbs 3:5-6 Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.

He Didn’t Answer the Phone

IMG_5747He didn’t answer the phone, so I eventually called someone else.

I waited and called again.

Then, my sister Leah called. She spoke one sentence, calmly and quietly.

I didn’t believe her.

The phone rang. It was the “law man,” calling me personally. That’s the beauty of being from a small town in the South.

With compassion, he spoke and told me the news. Still half dressed, I collapsed to the floor, emitting a moan from so deep in my soul that the sound was inhuman. I remember the coldness on my chest being something I wanted to crawl into so I could escape this terror.

I had been wanting to get on the road before all of this, but I didn’t know. Yet, I did know. Sometime between the waiting and the pacing and not knowing but knowing, I had packed a bag and even a dress.

I had to get there.

“We have to go, now!”

And so we went, and despite the short two-hour drive from Indiana, it was the longest drive of my life.

Once in the passenger seat,  I called to make arrangements for our daughter who was sleeping over at a friend’s house. Sleep quickly cleared from the other mom’s groggy “Hello” when I told her the news. Honestly, my husband Brent should have called, but I was insistent, irrational. Undoubtedly, he would have waited to call until at least the sun kissed the earth, thus softening the shock to this mother.

I remember calling my brother Eli at least 20 times and every single time moaning, “Why aren’t you answering the phone! Please answer the phone! Answer the damn phone!”

It was no different yesterday when I called my Daddy all afternoon and evening, but he wouldn’t answer the phone either. I wasn’t worried, though, because Leah would be with him that evening . . . but she wasn’t.

There had been plenty of times I had worried—but not about this. I’d even called my high school friend, now chief of police, to check on Daddy— in the middle of the woods, in his home he saw in his dreams and built with his own hands.

I remember driving into town and into that parking lot that I had not legitimately visited since 1993. We arrived, but had to wait. We had to wait, and I had to see. My insides were convulsing, like every organ, every cell within me needed to come out and breathe and escape. Nothing felt real, nothing. It could not be real.

My husband’s presence kept bringing me back to reality. He was with me. He made the drive in the hours after midnight and before dawn. He made the calls to family and friends. He cancelled the trip to California. He was there because I could not be. I could barely function or think or speak.

Once I saw, I didn’t want to leave. I had to be removed. I was warned about what I touched, but my lips and caress ignored the warning. What does it matter now what I touch! With knees buckled, my stomach in my throat, and shards of my heart falling on the floor with every step I took, my husband helped me exit.

After leaving that lot, I remember parking at the gas station and calling Mom. It was 7am by now, and the sun was shining on the streets of my hometown, shining on everything except my spirit.

“Well, hello!” Mom’s voice chimed, excited to hear from me but confused about the time. Through sobs and tightened breaths of pain, I told her the news, and her excitement and confusion quickly vanished.

“Yes, I will meet you. Anything. Anything at all, I will do,” she said like a mother would say during a time like this. She’s all a mother should be, and I am thankful for her, despite not being born to her.

Still no answer from Eli or his wife!

“I need you to answer the phone! I need you to call me!”

I really have no idea what I said on the voicemails but am certain that I gave no details. No one would want a voicemail with those details.

So, we went to the next parking lot, a lot I had never visited but that my high school friends Clarissa and Todd owned. I truly believe Clarissa might be an earth Angel, for her way is so comforting and peaceful and kind, despite the bombardment of sadness.

We were there in that building on that lot, but I was there alone. My husband was there and Clarissa and Todd were there, but I was alone. Feeling alone, surrounded by people is a feeling that still hangs with me today.

Mom showed up shortly after we arrived. She sat with me, holding my hand. I listened to Clarissa but can’t say that I heard her. It was like the words of Charlie Brown’s teacher. Nothing made sense. It was only noise, and I was waiting, waiting for someone to answer the damn phone or to tell me this wasn’t real or to give me an instructional guide.

An instructional guide would have been helpful because to this day I question the decisions I made and try not to regret. I do not regret, however, inviting Jimi Hendrix and Bob Dylan and of course my long ago friends Russ and Stacy who shared Amazing Grace with us.

I remember Leah and Erik showing up, and they sat down with us too. So many questions still remain in my mind and heart for my baby sister. Yet, I remind myself that our relationships with him were different, and I remind myself that we each have our own way of untangling the webs of life. When she’s ready to talk, I will be ready to listen.

My phone rings.

“Eli?!” Static. “Eli, are you there?!”

My phone rings. It’s a number not in my contacts.

“Hello. Eli?!”

“Hey, Sis. What’s up? We’re at the lake. Reception is bad. I’m calling on a friend’s phone.”

I told him the news in one short sentence–at least I think that’s what I did.

“What!” my baby brother choked out, not understanding and not sure he heard what I said through the crackling reception.

So, I had to repeat the sentence. Then, I had to tell his wife because he couldn’t speak. I remember he cried out and then I was talking to April, and I told her. I remember.

They were 5 hours away, and so we had to wait.

And then, we were all together, and we had to make decisions. We had to decide and agree, the three of us, because there were no instructions and there was no money. There was only shock and numbness and complete and utter heartache, and I am confident these do not make for solid decision making.

At some point, we went to Grandma’s and Uncle Greg’s, but I don’t remember our first visit. Upon visiting the second time, I opened the door to my Grandma lying on the floor.

“She fell on the porch, and I pulled her in,” Uncle Greg said.

“Are you serious!?” I said as I looked up to the ceiling.

Grandma’s fall jolted me into reality. We—I’m not sure who—carefully moved her to the couch, but something wasn’t right. Someone called 911—it might have been me, but I don’t remember—and the ambulance arrived shortly after the call.

Someone answered the phone this time.

This time, the ambulance drove a few miles in the still shining sun to the hospital a few blocks away, instead of the ominous lot in the middle of town. Once there, we sat again and waited, and when we were called back, the doctor was Daddy’s doctor from a few years ago.

Another look to the ceiling and then I exchanged the proper pleasantries.

As for Grandma, my initial diagnosis was confirmed. A broken hip. She must be taken by ambulance to Nashville, with surgery soon after her arrival.

And the day of disbelief continued.

Later, Eli and April quietly announced they are pregnant. I’m serious. They did and they were and they now have a wonderful, handsome one-year-old son named Dylan.

So, after five days of muddling through it all, handicapped by heartache and exhaustion, it was over, but it wasn’t.

Despite my Daddy being my hero and training me up in the way I should go and teaching me to serve God in all I do and to be observant and humble and kind, he decided not to answer the phone.

More specifically, in a Western Kentucky county around 7pm—according to the medical examiner’s report—on the evening of May 24, 2014, he pulled the trigger and escaped his earthly world of chronic physical and emotional pain, and in doing so shattered his daughter’s soul and the world as she knew it.

The sound of amazing grace is not always so sweet, but grace will always lead you home.