An Old Letter

An Old Letter
© Meesa Caudill


You could see the anguish in the handwriting,
shaking hands with each stroke of the pen.
You didn't have to look into his eyes
to see the pain he was in.
His despair is there on paper,
ink smudged from drops of tears
from the eyes the light disappeared from,
his soul weary for all those years.
I could tell from the letter he was exhausted,
so tired of putting up a fight.
All he needed was a glimmer of hope-
to have some faith, see the light.
I was the one he trusted to read it,
years before his light went out.
To read of his struggles and stresses,
to know his unselfishness without a doubt.
In some of the lines I see anger
and bitterness from a life unplanned.
Regret ate at his soul from the inside out-
he felt as if he were less of a man.
Even after reading it I tried to tell him
what a hero he was in my mind.
To him, he was a failure.
Misery the only thing he could find.
I blamed myself for taking away his youth-
my existence stole his dreams, his light.
I know his absence isn't my fault
because I had become his life.
His letter was written in darkness,
a man wanting so badly to be free.
But I know to this day he loved me so
because of the letter daddy wrote to me.

It Could Happen To Anyone

It Could Happen to Anyone
© Meesa Caudill


I used to love my big little city, but now Lexington drains my soul. *sigh*

Every day I watch them, the homeless, as they walk past my windows at work, or as I pass them in my car while I'm on my lunch. Every day I see their worn faces, showing no trace of hope, as they limp up Second Street. As I watch them, I can't help but wonder who they used to be. The broken men I see wandering the streets now are someone's sons, brothers. Some of them are someone's dad, someone's uncle, someone's best friend. I often wonder what their story is, how they ended up in this place in their lives. Yes, quite often drug addiction or alcoholism is to blame- but what led them to that, even? A lot of them are veterans who get lost in the ridiculous system that is the "VA".

How many of you reading this automatically judge these men when you roll past them in your car? How many of you assume that if you give him a few dollars he'll go get a beer? How many of you assume that he's there because he's a loser/criminal/druggie and therefore deserves the misery? Have you ever truly LOOKED at some of them and wondered where their paths were lost and how they ended up on a gravel road of despair?

It could happen to any one of us.

Do me a favor and think about this, in depth, for just a few minutes. Allow me take you to another dimension where your world is the one flipped upside down... I'll even give you a few scenarios just to be sure you "get it".

You're a 30 year old man who has done hard, manual labor since you were old enough to work. You started out mowing lawns and working on cars in your spare time to working a full time job in the construction industry- building houses, roofing, painting, etc. Or you've worked in a factory since you were 18 years old and time is catching up with you. One day you wake up and realize you can barely move because your back is out. You go to the doctor and walk out with a prescription of pain pills and, because you cannot function because of the pain, you take them as prescribed. A 2 week prescription of pain pills and muscle relaxers isn't going to cut it- this is a permanent back injury- so you're on this medication for months. After a few months you realize the prescribed dosed just isn't cutting it anymore, you've gotten immune, so you have to take more and the doc won't prescribe you anything else. You need to be pain free in order to work to keep a roof over your head and to feed you and your family. So you start buying them from the street. Next thing you know, you're addicted. All because you were hurt. Now, your wife is leaving you because she can't take the lying about the addiction, the lying about where all your money is going, and being evicted and losing electricity because all your money goes to the pain pills. Next, you've been evicted- you're alone, you have no money because most of it goes to your pills to kill the pain, and now you have nowhere to go. You're homeless. You're a good, hardworking man but life dealt you a shitty hand.

OR

You're a hard working divorced woman, two children, and a stable, decent paying job. One morning you go into work and are called in to your boss's office for him to tell you that due to budget cuts they have to let you go. You've had no warning. Your parents can't help you because they are either broke or already passed on, your friends have their own problems and can't help you, and the father of your children does his legal minimum to help. Because of the economy, jobs are few and far between and because of your childcare schedule you can't just take any job offered because you have no sitter. You made good money at your job but unemployment doesn't cut it on paying rent, bills, childcare, and groceries. You can't get assistance because even on unemployment you "make too much money". Rent is due and so are all the utilities. Your utilities get turned off. You get an eviction notice on your door telling you that you have 14 days to move. In two weeks you and your children are now homeless with nowhere to go. You're a good, hardworking woman but life dealt you a shitty hand.

OR

You're a 25 year old man fresh home from Afghanistan. You were a normal, healthy teenage boy when you decided to join the military. Now you're aged before your time, physically disabled from the shrapnel in your leg, and you're suffering from PTSD. Dealing with the general public causes you anxiety, you can't physically do hard, manual labor and you don't have a degree or experience in anything other than military- so finding a job that pays more than minimum wage isn't easy. Your PTSD causes you to have night terrors which leaves you exhausted and unable to wake up on time for work, so any job you do find that you're able to do fires you because of excessive tardiness. You are on medication for your PTSD, you get lost in the cracks of the "VA", and you don't have the money to live in your own place. No family or friends that are able to help you out- you end up homeless. You're a good, hardworking soldier who fought for this country but life dealt you a shitty hand.

Yes, I know some of you will argue until you're blue in the face about how you think all homeless people are trash and why they deserve what they've got- but the above scenarios could happen to any of you. It happens every day, and now more often than you think.

http://www.nationalhomeless.org/publications/facts/Whois.pdf

According to: http://www.kyhousing.org/KICH/Content.aspx?id=2861&terms=homeless

"During the 2010 count, which took place on January 28, 6,623 homeless individuals were identified. The 2009 count located 5,999 homeless individuals, although a major ice and snow storm that hit the state around the same time of the count altered plans and prohibited efforts for the count.

• 1,460 homeless respondents were severely mentally ill.
• 2,032 homeless respondents were chronic substance abusers.
• 1,071 homeless respondents were victims of domestic violence.
• 564 homeless respondents were veterans.
• 15 percent of homeless individuals were completely without shelter across the state on the day of the count."

A lot of you look at these men and see trash. You see something you could never relate to. I look at these people and see wasted potential, faded dreams, and broken souls.

And that, my friends, is what breaks my heart.

Seeing In the Dark

Here's another brainstorm from a phrase that Jason Sheffield had given me a few months back when I asked for writing ideas.The phrases to start with were:

The key phrases:
* Looking forward to the past
* Hitchhiking in a ghost town
* Dont make me fall in love
* Six feet under but climbing
* I'm not a sex toy
* Seeing in the dark

(Just to make sure no one gets confused- this is not a current life experience. Just a writing bug! lol!)

Soooo.... here's:

Seeing In The Dark
© Meesa Caudill 


I lie awake and hear you breathing
mumbling something in your sleep-
I wonder what you're dreaming
and about the secrets that you keep.
I roll over and kiss your face
and hear you whisper a name...
it's not me you're calling out to-
and I've only got myself to blame.

All these years I've been blind,
not seeing what you need.
All these years you've given your all
and I can't give you any of me.
All these years you wanted a flame
and we didn't even have a spark-
it's taken all this time for me
to start seeing in the dark.

I was so arrogant to believe
you wouldn't find someone new.
Someone who could give their all-
give everything to you.
I underestimated your value,
didn't give you what you deserve-
and it took lying here in the dark
to see how much you're worth.

All these years you wanted a flame
and we didn't even have a spark-
it's taken all this time for me
to start seeing in the dark.

Where the Grass Grows on Tears - Survivor of Suicide

Where the Grass Grows on Tears
© Meesa Caudill


We talk to stone and spill our hearts,
not knowing whether we're heard.
Many regrets, unspoken goodbyes,
lives left behind filled with hurt.
Flowers and trinkets and tokens of love
placed with care on the ground.
Praying that one day our loved ones can rise
and see that we still come around.
We cringe on anniversaries,
flashbacks of moments frozen in our minds-
the last words they spoke echo in our brains,
the pain never erased with time.
Photos make us smile, but also make us cry-
videos tear us apart.
Wishing we could just touch their skin,
hear their voice, reanimate their heart.
But instead we're left here wondering
about the what if's, how's, and whys.
Wishing we could have just one more day
to convince them to save their own lives.
No chance for goodbye, no more "I love you's",
just lots of anger and pain through the years.
You left us here to sleep for eternity
in the land where the grass grows on tears.

©Meesa Caudill

Don't Make Me Fall In Love (A writing experiment...)

Time to clear the brain again! I was doing good on the writing each night for a few days but I slipped again. I just mixed up a cake and have it in the oven for 40 minutes, so I'm gonna take this time to spill out some thoughts in font. My buddy Jason Sheffield gave me a few key phrases to build on and so I think I'm gonna experiment with that. I'm gonna try to throw a few in, hopefully all if my brain will let me! Let's see where it takes me! (Again, thanks Jason!)

The key phrases:
* Looking forward to the past
* Hitchhiking in a ghost town
* Dont make me fall in love
* Six feet under but climbing
* I'm not a sex toy
* Seeing in the dark

(okay, after a few minutes of deliberating, I don't believe I can do it with all of them at once. BUT I am going to allow the ideas to sink in and see what I come up with!)


Don't Make Me Fall In Love
© Meesa Caudill


Don't look at me
as if
I'm the only one in the room
if,
in your peripherals,
you're checking out
that girls
ass.
Don't speak to me
in that soft tone,
telling me your
secrets,
dreams,
and fears
if all you're doing
is trying
to convince me
to
fuck you.
Don't make me laugh
by being
charming
and witty
if the joke turns out
to be
on me.
Don't caress my skin
as if it's made of
priceless silk
if your only intentions
are to caress me
into
false intimacy.
Don't tell me I'm beautiful
and that I'm perfect
in your eyes
if you find perfection
in everything
with
tits.
Don't tell me that
you love me if,
in reality,
the only love
you have ever felt
is for
yourself.
Don't convince me
that I'm the only object
of your desires
if you get hard
at the
thought
of one of my
best friends
naked.
Don't fool me
into believing
that you're the perfect man
when my mind
(when logical)
knows there
is no such thing.
Don't make me
fall
in love
with
you.

4 years, 6 months, 3 days...

Not one day has passed, not ONE, that I haven't thought about my dad.

Not one week has passed that I haven't had at least one dream with him in it, be it a nightmare or bittersweet.

And not one moment goes by that I don't wish with everything in my still-broken heart that he was still here.

It's been four and a half years now. The pain is more tolerable now, or at least I've learned to live in denial like a pro. It still hurts though, even if it doesn't feel like it's killing me. It's only unbearable when I really allow myself to think about the details. I don't do that very often. I still hear that I need professional help to deal with it, even though it's been so long now. And a few months ago I finally allowed myself to admit that those who have told me that are right.

Often times, before I write one of my notes, blogs, or statuses about him or my son, I wonder if people are sick of reading about it. I don't understand why I even care. So many times throughout my days, I walk around with a smile on my face or trying to make jokes in order to make everyone around me feel good. I try not to show my true emotions because I know most people don't know what to say and it makes them uncomfortable.

So many times I've wondered what he was thinking in the split second before he pulled that trigger. I know he was arguing with his mother about my mom. Was he angry? Was he hurt? Or was he just so sick of the bullshit that he just didn't care anymore? Did he think about me? Did he think about what he was doing to my mom, my sister, his grandchildren? Why didn't he leave us a note? He knew he was going to do it. Why didn't he call?

And so many times I get angry with everyone. I'm angry at almost his entire family. I would go through and list everyone and my reasoning behind it but I won't allow myself to do that. I'll wait until I can afford a shrink to go through my list one-by-one. All I can say is that I hope each of them feel the pain I do, tenfold, every day. No matter how much I love them, I blame them for my dad not being here. I know that a psychiatrist will assure me that I'm just fucked in the head and there's no one to blame but him, but I will always see things differently.

I wonder who will walk me down the aisle if I ever get married again. I don't even know if I'll ever be able to without him. He always said he wouldn't "give me away" twice. Guess he wasn't lying.

If I ever have another child, he won't be here. He left when I was pregnant with my son and that kills me. Didn't he even want to meet him if I had made it to full term? Did he think we'd be better off without him???

Although it's been over four years, the pain has become more tolerable but the questions remain. And the anger... the anger sometimes sears through me, so much so that I feel like I could burst into flames.

I am angry at the world.

Growing Up and Saying Goodbye

"“Doing all the little tricky things it takes to grow up, step by step, into an anxious and unsettling world.” ~ Sylvia Plath

I just went to the visitation of a man I went to middle school with. He was the husband of my best friend from my teenage years. He was murdered five days ago. Tomorrow I will go to his funeral, pay my respects, and say goodbye.

What happened to the adults we were supposed to be when we were younger? None of us were supposed to die before we were 80. We were all supposed to be rich and successful. We were all supposed to be invincible. We were all supposed to be healthy and happy until our silver years.

So many people from my yearbooks are gone. Taken away by death. And so many of those who are still breathing have been taken away by drugs. So many who will never have children. So many who will never see the children they do have grow up. So many who will never know their full potential, or what could have been. So many who have let their lives go because of that buzz, that warmth of the drugs that invade their systems, that money that comes with selling those pills, weed, crack, etc. When we were kids, we were all gonna be rock stars. We were supposed to be doctors, lawyers, scientists, engineers, the first woman president...

Now there are so many who are buried, behind bars of a jail or prison, or trapped by addictions. So many of us that didn't come to meet our full potential. So many of us are lost in dreams of what might have been had we taken the road that we were 'supposed' to.

Now I sit here wondering what happened to those youngsters who dreamed of fame, fortune, and success. I wonder at what point did we give up and give in to the people we became. I wonder when the moment was that we realized that those dreams were just us grasping at a reality that was just impossible so we became who we are today.

And I'm left wondering, yet again, about what happens to the human soul once we are breathing no more.Do we get to witness our own funeral and burial before going off into the unknown? Do we 'rest' and await judgment day? Do we immediately go to the gates of Heaven and meet the ever-so-famous St. Peter? Do we get to meet God at the moment we take our last breath? Is there a God? What's He like? Is He the mean, punishing God that we read about in the First Testament of the Bible, or the forgiving, loving, understanding God that the New Testament portrays?

For the rest of my life I will remember those who've passed on as forever young. They will never have to deal with getting old, losing more loved ones, disease, tragedy, the aches and pains each passing year brings our bodies. They will remain the age they were at their last breath for eternity. I may cry because I miss their presence but I do not cry for the dead. I cry for those of us they left behind to mourn, to grieve. I cry for those that are hurting and not sure where to go from here. I cry for those who will miss out on cherished memories they could have had with those that have passed. I cry for the babies who will miss their daddies. I cry for those little girls who will never have their daddy there to walk them down the aisle when they get married. I cry for the mothers they left behind that ache to hold their children just one last time. I cry for the friends and loved ones who will no longer be blessed by the presence of those we hold so dear.

In memory of those lost along the way... may they always stay forever young.

Lee Adams - 12-6-1992
Tedman "Ted" Allan Birchum - 16 years old - 8-20-1993

Jay Chappell - 16 years old - 5-17-1994

Brandon Odom - 16 years old -  5-17-1994

Brad Johnson - 15/16 years old - 1995

Ike Davis - 18 years old - 4-20-1999

Aaron Mills - 22 years old - 4-20-1999

Shane Kimberling - age?

Shane McCormick - 31 years old - 7-10-1999

Laura Webb - age? 

Richard Quesenberry -  8-16-2008

Brian Smith - 2010

Rocky Adams - 33 - 1-4-2011

There are so many more that I'm sure I'm forgetting. Please let me know if there are any I should add.
May they rest in peace and God bless their souls.

"It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived." ~ George S. Patton, Jr.

My Dream (RIP Ike Davis)

I had a dream last night
that you were still alive.
You were standing near me smiling
with a twinkle in your eyes.

You told me that you loved me
and I said I loved you too-
we embraced in a warm hug
and I told you how much I missed you.

You told me you were worried about me
because it was me that just got shot.
But I told you I was doing fine,
when in reality I'm not.

I told you I couldn't believe you were here
because you died so long ago,
but you said you hadn't really died-
you just had somewhere to go.

As we hugged one last time
I awoke to reality.
I looked around the room for you
but your face I did not see.

I realized it was just a dream
and that you were really gone-
my mind has understood this
but my heart just won't move on.

I still picture you at 13 years old
back when I saw you all the time-
and my heart always looks for you
although you are gone in my mind.

You were always my baby brother,
or least in my eyes-
and now when I remember those days
I can't help it but to cry.

I wish it could have stayed that way
and maybe you wouldn't be dead-
and I could see you again every day
and not just from the dreams in my head.

I Hope

I hope you're happy-
you broke my heart.
I hope you're satisfied-
I'm torn apart.

I hope your days are bright
while mine are filled with rain.
I hope your body is numb
while mine is filled with pain.

I hope you're having fun
while I cry myself to sleep.
I hope you're really in love.
Oh, God, it hurts so deep.

I hope you're in paradise
while I'm in a burning hell.
I hope you're thinking of me,
but if you were you'd never tell.

I hope your dreams come true
while mine are being shattered.
I hope your soul is at peace
while mine is torn and battered.

I hope you're wondering
what it's like to meet death-
and I'd tell you if I had the chance
but I now take my last breath.

I hope you have the chance to know
what it's like to say goodbye
to someone that you've loved for so long.
Goodbye, boy, I hope you cry.

Nursing Home

Old, empty eyes
stare painfully at nothing.
Lost souls
wandering the halls of their cold "home".
Tiny rooms are their prison cells
until they pass on.
Some stay in the rooms
because they can't move their
old, fragile limbs.
Some call for help.

In the halls, some ask for directions.
Some try to escape
while other just sit
in their own painful worlds
remembering the old days
and wishing they weren't condemned
to where they are.

The stench of death in the air
drowns you and takes over your body.
Noises of hurt and confusion
fill your ears until you think
they might bleed.

So many wishes,
so many emotions,
so much abandonment,
so much pain,
so much death.

Wrinkled, frowning, sometimes swollen
faces stare at me
with the hope that I can help them.
But I can't
and it hurts.
It hurts not only because of my own pain,
but because I feel theirs also.
The pain of lost loves,
regrets, and apologies.
The confused frowns,
the unheard cries.
The tortured souls showing in their eyes.

Please Wake Me

I would love to write a poem,
a prose, a story, a verse...
about this nightmare I can't awake from,
about all the things that hurt.

I think I fell asleep a few years ago
and since then have gone through hell.
Someone wake me from this nightmare!
Someone tell me it's not real!

When I wake up my life will be back,
my youth, my family, everything I had.
I'll realize it was all just all a bad dream,
I'll wake up and see my dad.

He'll be smiling at me sober,
sitting beside me holding my hand.
He'll wipe my brow and say "good morning sissy"
you were in a far away land.

You tossed and turned during most of your sleep
and cried a lot of tears.
But daddy's here, it's okay baby-
there's nothing left to fear."

When I wake up I'll be in my room,
I'm still young, still just sixteen.
The only cares I have in this world
are trying to follow my dreams.

When I wake up mom will be cooking,
granny will be in the living room.
Dad will have finished working on the car
and Bobbie will be coming over soon.

I'll wake up and get ready for work
at the fast food place in the mall.
I'll go to work, then come home where it's warm,
give my boyfriend a call.

I'll go to bed again only to wake up
to have coffee in the morning with dad.
I'll make breakfast for granny (she loves turkey bacon)
and I'll no longer be sad.

But the problem is, I am awake.
I'm damn near 30 years old.
Granny's long gone, dad's voice no more-
all the coffee has long since turned cold.

Tears are still falling, yet I'm not asleep.
This is a nightmare from which I'll never wake.
Please dear Lord, give me strength to get through this
it's all the pain I can take.

Watch Over Me

I look up at the sky, the clouds, the moon,
and even wish upon a star.
Can you see me from Heaven?
Is that where you are?
Are you holding my baby boy?
Has he grown his angel wings?
Has he given you a smile,
the one I'll never see?
Have you taken him fishing
like you said you were going to do?
Does he look like me or Logan,
does he resemble you?
Are his eyes as black as coal
just like I wanted them to be?
Or are they blue just like his daddy's?
Does he have dimples in his cheeks?
Have you told him any stories yet?
Have you held his little hand?
Have you told him who his mommy is
and how his daddy is a great man?
Have you gotten to meet Jesus?
Does he hold my baby boy?
Does my angel baby giggle
while he plays with Heaven's toys?
Does he know that you're his Pa-paw
and that I was your little girl?
Do you know how I much I miss you both?
Does he know he was my world?
Does he know his mommy loves him?
Does he know his daddy does too?
Please give my angel kisses for me,
and know I love both of you.

A moment...

Two-dimensional, nothing is real-
Living from the opposite side of the mirror...
I watch and study and search myself
but nothing seems to get clearer.
Colors too dull, noises too loud-
everything has lost it's appeal...
I try to reach out, try to scream
wanting so badly to feel.
I hear myself laughing and wonder why-
because on the inside no laughter is felt...
I try to look on the positive side
and make the most of the hand I've been dealt.
But my soul has been lost in the looking glass-
and my real self is dazed, staring in.
Wondering if life will ever be "normal"
and if I'll ever be just ME again.

Written for my son on his birthday...

Today is your 'birthday' and I''m torn apart,
I can't throw you a party with little toy cars...
don't get to see you with cake everywhere,
don't get to take you for the first trim of your hair.
I don't get to kiss you or hold your tiny hand,
I'll never get to see you grow into a man.
All I can do is visit your grave and cry,
missing you on your birthday, wanting you by my side,
wanting so badly to hold you and tell you everything's okay
cause mommy is here forever to kiss the boo-boos away.
This emptiness inside leaves an eternal, aching void.
I miss you and love you Aiden- you'll always be my little boy.

Two Years

It's been two years- two years ago today-
that you put that gun to your head and took your life away.

It's been two long years- two years that I have cried
because it was two years ago today that my Daddy, my world, died.

You left us no note, only hearts torn to shreds-
with millions of questions going through our heads.

We begged for you to get help- we cried, we prayed...
but I would've begged a million times more if it would have made you stay.

With two grandsons on the way you had so many reasons to live-
but instead you took your own life thinking you had no more to give.

You had no idea you were my hero, the reason I strived to do my best...
you thought you were a failure, couldn't see how you were blessed.

Your silly grin brought so much warmth and your brown eyes full of love-
especially when you talked about your family that you were so proud of.

Now looking in the mirror I see those same eyes but they're not as warm-
they're a bit cold, distant, unfeeling, the soul behind them brewing a storm.

I lost you, my son, my world, my life, my heart - just within weeks-
it takes every ounce of energy I have daily to keep the tears off my cheeks.

You could have never imagined the hole you left in me when you died-
one that can't be healed or filled up no matter how many tears I cry.

Not only did I lose you and my son, but I lost your family as well-
I think they blame us- hate us- think we put you through hell.

But we tried so hard to help you, loved you- maybe too much-
but you couldn't see past your demons, the alcohol was your crutch.

God- what I would give to go back two years and a day
so that maybe I could stop you, give you a reason to stay.

But on this day all I can do is miss you, cry, & pray that you're in Heaven...
it's been two years today- February 27.

A Letter to My Daddy 38 Days After His Suicide

Well Dad, it's been 38 days since you did the unthinkable. 38 days.
38 days of heartache.
38 days of holding back the tears.
38 days of trying to be strong.
38 days of being numb.
38 days of missing you.

Mom, Bobbie, Kourtney, and Gregory are ok. Mom and Bobbie fight more now it seems. I think it's because everyone is so angry and hurt, and none of us know where to direct it or how to deal with it. Me, I'm the same. I hide. I write. I pretend it's not true. It helps sometimes, but then there are times like this morning when I can't hold it in anymore and I break. I try not to, but the tears won't stop.

I found out that you were right, Dad. I'm having a boy. I wonder if he'll have blonde hair and brown eyes like you said. I can hear you now saying "See, you'll learn to listen to your ol' crazy daddy every now and then" and see you with that goofy grin because you'd be happy you're having another grandson. Unfortunately, I can only see and hear that in my heart because you're not here.You were supposed to be here to take him and Gregory fishing. Remember? My son was supposed to be your shadow, supposed to follow Pa-paw around everywhere. REMEMBER??? How can he do that now, Dad? Now he'll never know you. He'll never hear your laugh or see your smile that we all love so much. I wanted him to know you so badly, Dad. Why did you steal that from him? From me? From yourself???

 Dammit Dad, you were SUPPOSED to be here! I wanted so badly to run into mom's the day I had my ultrasound and grab you and give you the biggest hug and tell you congrats because you were going to have another grandson to spoil. Your first blood grandchild is going to be a boy. I wanted so badly to see that smile and to see your big brown eyes light up. But I couldn't Dad. I fucking couldn't because you left me. And I can't shake this pain, Dad. I can't make it go away. I can't get rid of this heaviness on my chest. I can't keep smiling at people pretending I'm ok. I don't know how to deal with the way I feel now. I try so hard to be normal but nothing is even fun anymore. I can't call you anymore and tell you about something crazy I saw or did. I just want to call you, Dad.

Mom and I are supposed to come to London this weekend to visit your grave. I don't know how either of us will handle seeing your name on a headstone for the first time. I don't know about Mom, but it's just going to rip me apart even more. I know that on my way down there I'll be subconsciously thinking that we're actually going to see YOU, and then when it's just a piece of marble on the ground bearing your name, it will kill me a little more inside. I don't know if that's a reality I can face yet. Seeing you in a casket was bad enough, but you just looked like you were sleeping so it wasn't that bad. I still saw YOU. But this will hurt more. How do I do it, Dad? How could you have done it? You didn't have to live through your parents dying, they're still here. Why did you leave me to deal with this, Dad?

I can't help but hear your last words to me the last time I talked to you, when you told me you were proud of me. Dammit Dad, why didn't you give me a hint? Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you talk to me?!?!?!?! I told you I didn't know why you were proud of me, and now I really don't. I'm a mess, Dad. I wish you were here so I could talk to you, but all I can do is write about it. All I can do is wake up each day and put on a smile and carry on as if everything is ok.
I love you, Dad.

And I miss you more than you could have ever known.


Seems like it was yesterday when I saw your face
You told me how proud you were, but I walked away
If only I knew what I know today
Ooh, ooh

I would hold you in my arms
I would take the pain away
Thank you for all you've done
Forgive all your mistakes
There's nothing I wouldn't do
To hear your voice again
Sometimes I wanna call you
But I know you won't be there

Ohh I'm sorry for blaming you
For everything I just couldn't do
And I've hurt myself by hurting you

Some days I feel broke inside but I won't admit
Sometimes I just wanna hide 'cause it's you I miss
And it's so hard to say goodbye
When it comes to this, oooh

Would you tell me I was wrong?
Would you help me understand?
Are you looking down upon me?
Are you proud of who I am?

There's nothing I wouldn't do
To have just one more chance
To look into your eyes
And see you looking back

Ohh I'm sorry for blaming you
For everything I just couldn't do
And I've hurt myself, ohh

If I had just one more day
I would tell you how much that I've missed you
Since you've been away
Ooh, it's dangerous
It's so out of line
To try and turn back time

I'm sorry for blaming you
For everything I just couldn't do
And I've hurt myself by hurting you.

~Hurt- Christina Aguilera~

Conversation With A Dead Man

Writing words that cannot be spoken,
trying to heal a heart that’s numb and broken.
Filling a blank page with tears that have been shed,
seeking words to explain the shit in my head.
Nothing but a void left, along with your things.
Your tools, your clothes, and the pain your leaving brings.
Your lunchbag at the house, still contains stale chips,
a can of tuna, and some crackers that will never touch your lips.
Mom will never throw it away, I know. Somehow it comforts her.
Like a sign you’ll be home again, not buried in dirt.
You left us your memories, and so many broken hearts-
I guess you thought it would bring us together, it’s only ripping us apart.
I don’t understand why you deserted us, I know you were in pain,
but if only you would have quit drinking. Your death was in vain.
It serves no purpose, didn’t solve a damn thing.
Only left us hurting, angry, and with no one but you to blame.
Dammit Dad, why’d you leave me??? You knew you could turn to me!
You didn’t even call to say goodbye before you set yourself free.
You left us here with all the "if only’s" and "what if’s"...
didn’t you think about us??? Didn’t you give a shit???
I love you Dad and I fucking miss you, more than you’ll ever know.
I just wish you would’ve given me the chance to tell you before you let us go.

10 Days After My Dad's Suicide

It's been 10 days since my dad pulled that trigger. And to be honest, I really don't know what I'm supposed to be feeling right now. For the most part, I'm sad- yet numb.

I am sitting here thinking, but not crying... yet, anyways. My friends got me out of the apartment tonight for a dinner at Applebee's. I could tell no one really knew what to say, but that's ok. In these types of situations I'm shitty with words myself so I understand. I didn't really expect anyone to say anything- I'm just glad I have such great friends. And yet I think there was a little bit of surprise that I'm ok. And it surprises me too.

I have so many mixed emotions right now going through my head and my heart that I don't know which one will appear at any given moment. For the most part, during the day when I'm alone or at work, I'm sad yet ok. I don't cry like I thought I would. But when I talk to my mom and all she can talk about is my dad, I get angry. I don't understand that. I get so mad that I want to scream at somebody, punch someone, break something. Then I cry angry tears. When I see a dump truck (my dad drove one), or look at pictures of him, or hear certain songs- I get depressed. I want him to be here. I want to tell him the newest joke I read or tell him what the doctor told me yesterday. I want to talk to him about religion and superstition and politics like we always did. But I can't. But for the most part, I'm ok.

I know that there are stages to accepting death. Especially a suicide. There is disbelief, denial, grieving, and acceptance. Right now I have a mix of all of them. My mom and sister tell me I should go to counseling because they think I'm holding it in. Maybe I am and just don't realize it. But I don't need some whack-job quack that doesn't know me and didn't know my dad telling me what I should feel. I know how to psycho-analyze myself, and I know that I need to "let it out". But how can you let it out when the only way you want to is by getting mad at someone, yet you don't know who to be mad and scream at? There are so many things I blame, yet I can't take out this hurt and anger on any of them. The main one being my dad, then a few others, along with beer, and the doctors who didn't diagnose him correctly or get him the help he needed. I want so badly to tell my dad that he has just hurt me more than anything/anyone else will ever hurt me in my life, that he left me all alone, that he tore my heart out. But he's not here. And I know I have to face that and deal with it.

Maybe I'm just not ready yet.

I Wish Words Could Heal (4 days after my dad's suicide)

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace." - Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8

I thought that in my 27 years I had already felt true heartache and pain. I thought that losing friends to car accidents and murder was painful. I thought that losing my granny to old age hurt. I thought that going through a divorce was the hardest thing I'd ever have to do. Until my daddy took his own life 4 days ago.

I don't know how to write or explain everything that has gone through my mind since I got the phone call Tuesday afternoon. I wish I could.

I wish I could type out everything in my heart and head and that would give me peace and some sort of closure. I wish I could type the pain away. I wish I could tell everyone how bad it hurts and how lost I am and that maybe my written words would save someone's life and family- but I can't.
All I know is that it is the deepest hurt anyone could ever experience. And I don't know how to make it stop. So even though I know it won't bring peace or closure or even help, I am still typing. Just hoping for some sort of release. Maybe a slight relief of this pressure in my heart because if I don't get it out somehow, I'm afraid I might actually implode.

This blog might be long, so I'm not expecting anyone to actually read it. I'm doing this for myself. And maybe, just maybe someone who is thinking of doing the drastic act of suicide will run across this page and it might just change their mind. But if not, at least maybe it will be some sort of therapy for me. So I'm starting from the beginning.

I was about 16 when my dad first started drinking again. I say again because when I was born he was 19 and my mom told him that if he didn't stop drinking and doing drugs, he'd never see me again. So he stopped then. We still don't know exactly why he started back up. Of course when you have an alcoholic father, you blame yourself for their drinking. I've gone through that. I thought that maybe if I hadn't tried to grow up so fast and made him feel so old, he would have never started again. Maybe if I had been a better daughter and had needed less so that he wouldn't have had to work so hard. Maybe if I had begged him to stop sooner, or maybe if I would have gotten through to him somehow. But nothing I or my family did ever got through to him. So many tears were cried, so many times we begged and pleaded for him to just stop. So much pain.
He wasn't an abusive alcoholic by any means. He just drank. If he abused anyone, it was himself. He wouldn't eat. He didn't sleep well. The drinking brought on the "demons" as mom and I called them. What I mean by that is that he "saw things". Maybe he actually could communicate with dead people. Maybe he was paranoid schizophrenic. No one knows but him and God. But regardless, he was exhausted.

The first time my dad threatened suicide I was about 19 and living in my first apartment here in Lexington. He and mom lived in London, and I got a call from my mom that my dad was missing and that she had found a suicide note. So I drove down there as fast as I could to find him and try to stop him, praying the whole time that it wasn't already too late. I got there in time and Corey and I found him waiting on the train tracks. Thank God a train hadn't come since he'd been there and who knows when the next one would have showed up. I talked to him and convinced him that it wasn't worth it. A few months later, I got another phone call. My dad had driven his and mom's Toyota Tercel into a tree as another attempt. The only thing he suffered from it was a bruised up face and a broken nose.

Fast forward a few years to when I was 21 or 22. They had moved to the north end of Lexington in a little white house with gas heat and a gas stove. My mom had come home from being out with a friend of hers and she smelled gas as she was walking up the sidewalk to her front door. Her first thought was my dad so she went next door to call 911. When the paramedics got there, the house was filled with gas and my dad was found passed out with a lit cigarette in his hand. Only God knows how he kept from blowing the place up, but mom and I knew that it must not have been his time to go. So of course this being the third time he had "tried" we assumed that either he wasn't serious or that he was "unbreakable". Little did we know he would actually attempt and be successful at it later on down the road.

My mom got the phone call somewhere around 2 p.m. Tuesday afternoon from the Laurel County Coroner saying that my dad had shot himself in the head and that he was dead. My mom of course thought it was a sick joke. Coroners don't call you on the phone, do they? So my sister got on the phone and cussed the guy out, still thinking it was someone playing a disgusting prank. My sister called me on my cell shortly after. I don't know what time it was. I was in the bathroom at work and my phone rang numerous times. I thought she was maybe going in labor since she's due Sunday. When I answered my sister was crying, telling me I need to come to my moms right away. I asked why and she wouldn't tell me, told me to not ask questions until I got there. I told her I couldn't leave work unless I had a reason so she wanted to talk to my boss. After a few times of trying to convince her to tell me and she wouldn't, I handed my phone over to my boss and my boss just told me to go. I knew it had to be something with my mom or dad, most likely dad due to previous experiences. But I had no idea. I thought maybe he was fighting with my mom or pulling one of his crazy stunts. I never expected to hear that my daddy was dead.

I head to my car and start driving to my moms house. I was about a block away when my Aunt Marie called me asking if I had talked to my mom. I told her I was on the way to her house but no one would tell me what was going on. She said it was my dad and that she had heard he had shot and killed himself. I guess it didn't hit me immediately, I just hung up and kept driving. Pulling into my moms driveway I started crying, praying that it wasn't true. I walked into my moms and my sister and mom were crying and my Aunt Pat and cousin Amy were there. When I walked in I looked at my sister and said "Please tell me what I heard isn't true". All my sister could do was cover her face and cry. I knew at that moment that my daddy was gone. I lost it and dropped to the floor. All I could say was "It's a sick joke. Someone's lying. They're fucking with us!" I couldn't believe it.

My dad had been staying with his mother for almost 2 weeks. He originally went down to London to go into a rehab to help him quit drinking. He was supposed to go there last Wednesday. He changed his mind about going into the hospital but was still going to work on getting his CDL's back because he's a truck driver. He had lost them about 2 years ago because of a DUI. From what my mom has been told, when he did it he was drunk and he had been arguing with his mom.

From the details his mom gave us, she said they were "talking" and he got up to go into the room he had been sleeping in. She thought he was maybe going to lay down. But a few minutes later he walked out with a gun to his head. He was standing about 5 feet away from her and said "Don't worry, I'm taking care of everything". She screamed "Oh God Jimmy, no!" and by the time she stood up, he had already pulled the trigger. When he fell he hit his head on the bar in her kitchen. She said she'll never be able to get the sound of that gun out of her head.
When mom and I got there and were looking through his clothes, praying for a note- my cousin Becky found the case to the gun. It was a 22 Ruger. I always thought 22's were just high powered BB guns and they wouldn't hurt anyone seriously. Guess I thought wrong.

My dad had a hard life. Growing up his mother didn't have much to do with him, he was sent to live with grandparents, uncles, and from stories he's told- pretty much anyone who would have him. The person he credits for raising him was his grandfather- a hardcore Southern Baptist minister. He grew up fighting his way through school, mostly in Indianapolis in a rough area. When he was younger some guys actually ganged up and tried to hang him from a tree. He had an older brother, a younger brother, and a younger sister. He was always coming to their rescue any time they were in trouble. He was the "responsible" one as far as I can remember. Out of his mom, brothers, and sister- he was the only one who wasn't an alcoholic until I was about 16. There are countless memories that I have of his brothers and sister living with us and my dad taking them in when they had no one else to turn to.


When he started drinking, of course his relationship with my mom went downhill. She was strong for many years and stood by him. I don't know of many women who would put up with the things my mom put up with from him. He was her life, and regardless of how much he drank or how much shit he gave her- she was still there. Sometimes not realizing she was an enabler, or even nagging too much- yet still there nonetheless. When no one in his family was there for him, my mom was.

But no matter what- dad couldn't win the battle. The alcohol had too strong of a hold on him. I know he hated it. I know he hated what it made him. I know he hated who he had become. But he couldn't let it go. And eventually, it was going to be the death of him. Whether it would have been cirrhosis or a gun, it was still suicide either way.

My dad was the best man I'll ever know. And if you've met him, probably the best man you'll ever meet. Even when he was drunk, he wanted the people around him to be happy. Even if he was in a bad mood, he'd smile and crack a joke just to get someone else to laugh. He took everyone under his wing as if they were his blood. He loved kids and animals, and I had yet to see a child or animal that didn't love him back. When you met my dad, you instantly loved him. He had the warmest brown eyes and the goofiest grin, and never a bad word about anyone unless they did him wrong. He was never one to be walked on but he was always quick to forgive and to give second, sometimes third or more chances. My dad loved and feared God. He believed in fairness, and earning your way. He hated charity and worked for everything he ever had in life. He was a wonderful father, and even when drinking- a great husband. Yes, he had faults. I am in no way implying he was perfect. But when he wasn't drinking he was probably as close to perfect as a human can get. He was a very respectable man, and sometimes too smart for his own good. But from what I've seen, sometimes the most intelligent and wonderful people are the most tortured by their own minds.

My dad had no idea how much he was loved. He always told my mom that if he ever died he would only have one friend that would show up to his funeral. Well if he could see the funeral home, he was surprised. It was packed. People my mom and I had never met or heard about. So many people crying because they knew a wonderful man was now gone from our lives, and way too soon.

I must admit that I am so mad at him right now that I could scream. If he would have woken up for just 10 minutes, 5 of those would have been be cussing him for leaving me and the other 5 would have been me telling him how much I loved him and begging for him to stay.
I am also so hurt that he would do this to us, to me. He wanted me to have him a grandchild so bad for so many years. He would always say "You're never gonna have me a grandbaby." Well, I finally am and he left me. I don't know how I'm going to do it without him here. He's supposed to be there for me to tell him when I find out if it's a boy or a girl. He wanted a grandson, but even if it's a girl he would have been happy. He's supposed to be at the hospital holding my hand telling me it's worth it and making sure I'm ok. He's supposed to be there to take his grandchild fishing. The last time I talked to him was last Sunday and he told me he had a dream that I had a boy. My son was going to be blonde with brown eyes (like Dad) and chubby. And in my dads dream he was fishing with my little boy and my sisters little boy. How can his dream come true if he's not here???

But the other part of me feels guilty for being so selfish. I know my dad was tortured. I know that my dad was miserable and in pain. And I know that he is finally resting and finally at peace. I should be happy for him that he finally gets the peace and quiet and rest he deserves. He is no longer tortured by demons or alcohol and no longer has to worry about his family.
I always heard that if you commit suicide it's an automatic sentence to Hell. I finally did some research on that, and nowhere in the Bible does it say that. So in that case, if God really is the forgiving and loving God I was raised to know- then He'll know that my dad is worthy of his wings. He'll know that my dad deserves to walk down the streets of gold in Heaven. And that brings me peace.

I just wish I could tell my dad all these things I've typed. I know he knew how much I loved him. And I know I was his world. There is no question there. But I just wish I could say it. I just wish I could tell him what this is doing to all of us. I just wish I could have saved him somehow.
I was hoping that writing this would help, even slightly. But it doesn't. But all I can do is beg any of you that read this…

If you or someone you love has ever thought of or mentioned suicide, please don't take it lightly. Get help! Don't believe that old cliché that "if they talk about it they won't do it". My dad talked about it for years. And he finally did it. Taking your own life is never the solution. It leaves gaping holes and too many unanswered questions. It leaves behind so many broken hearts and wounds that will never heal. It leaves guilt, pain, blame, anger, grief, and a host of numerous other emotions that can't even be described. It doesn't help anyone and it's the selfish way out. There is never a problem big enough that suicide is the only answer.

So in closing, I ask again that everyone just pray for my family to heal. Pray for my fathers soul. And don't ever think that there is a problem so big that you have to end your own life in order to solve it. Tell people that you love them, smile at strangers, always try to make someone's day a little brighter. You never know when they are actually thinking of doing something this drastic and your kindness may be their salvation.
I love you all. God bless.


Written a few years ago....

To My Alcoholic Father, from Your Little Girl
© Meesa
I see you struggling with the pain
and the hurt of a hard life,
I see the weariness in your eyes
and I realize now that you're not
superhuman.
You just want to give up sometimes
and lay down and rest
forever.
That's why you drink that poison.
You think it will all go away
if you just get that one good buzz.
That floating feeling will send all of your hurt
straight to hell
and you will be okay again.
No more suicide attempts,
no more fighting with the demons
that possess your spirit.
Your strength is gone now because
it has been drained from you
due to the stress you've had to deal with.
I understand this now, Dad,
because I've experienced it a little.
I am learning the hard work and the heartbreak.
I can see in my eyes now
what I so often wondered what it meant in yours.
It pains me to see this in the mirror
because I saw the same emotion in your face
for so many years
and I am so scared to ride down
that path named after you.

But I am proud of you now, Dad.

You're turning it all around.
I know your intentions were good.
I know you wanted to make our dreams come true.
And if anyone asks your little girl if you did,
the answer will always be yes.
With your good and bad times
you made me who I am today,
and that was always one of my dreams...
to be like you on your good days
and to be a strong person with a loving heart.

And that makes me want to mend
your rough working hands
and your shattered knee,
just so I can repay you
for giving me the life I had.
I just wish I could heal you
and thank you at the same time.
But I just wanted you to know
how proud I am of you
and that no matter what...

I will always be your little girl.