My mother: Grossly overweight. Morbidly obese.
In denial, I tell myself it can't be my mom. She was
never overweight, and she was always so perfect...Her
hair is now different shades of gray, and falls in a
tumbled, unkempt, oily, swirl around her face. A face,
once beautiful, and laughing, now filled with agony and
tears. I overhear her tell my aunt that since my
sudden death, she felt so empty, isolated, pain filled.
That she kept trying to fill void...with food, alcohol,
every drug she could find. Nothing helped. Not even
for a second - nothing even temporarily filled, the
bottomless pit of agony and despair. She cried how the
memories of her little "Angel" were all so very painful
and heavy now. "Oh mom," I cry, "You still think of me
as your little special angel." "Mom - mom," I reach out
to her as I cry a sudden cry of a broken hearted,
wounded child. "Oh my dear, sweet mom, is it the
grievous memories of my death making you so heavy and
misshapen now?" I watched as they held each other, and
shared heart wrenching soul destroying sobs. Crying how
she continually, and desperately tries, in vain, to fill
the bottomless pit of misery. The good old days -
because of me - forever gone.....

I thought the memories would be kinder by now. Gentler.
I believed she would be better off with me gone. She
would soon forget - her life would go on,and she would
share her musical special gift of laughter with the world.
I honestly believed that she would have happier memories
to carry with her - laughter, and good times. I didn't
understand that it was that one last, horrible, unforgivable
memory of me - cheating myself of life and miracles, that
would haunt her the rest of her days. And loss....
The unbearable loss of her child. Oh, how wrong I was.
"Oh, mom.....I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.
I just didn't know......Mom, how could I know?"
"Mom, please? I love you so. Please don't let me destroy
your life too. Your life used to be so perfect mom,
just like you."

My father: A broken man. Unlike my mom, his stature has
wasted away. He no longer stands tall, and erect -
proudly greeting the world. He is weak, and bent and
trembling. Almost unrecognizable to everyone who knew
him before, this I am sure of, for I can't believe that
he's my beloved dad. The dad I always turned to for
silent, but sturdy support. The person I depended on
for all his unspoken wisdom. The man of my dreams.
The man I loved [ - and still love]. I watched him for
a long time, but he never spoke. Sat alone with his
thoughts, and memories, and sadness. All alone.
Silent. His eyes no longer danced like when I lived.
His hands trembled, and gone was the smile, the dimples,
the excitement and anticipation which he used to greet
the world. His eyes were masked in a dark, hollow stare
of foreboding, and doom. He no longer drank though.
I suppose his demons no longer needed alcohol to come
alive. His demons dwelled within him - night and day,
constantly interrupting any peace of mind he might have
known before. Before. Before I sentenced him to death.

I never thought for a second his golden years would look
like this. He used to be the life of the party. Always
a joke at hand. His laughter echoing throughout the house
like a symphony. Now the house was filled with just the
screaming of the broken hearted, heavy, never interrupted
silence. "I'm so sorry dad. Please forgive me. I didn't
know. I love you, dad. Please - smile for me?" I scream,
I sob, I reach for him again and again, but only grasp the
emptiness of agony.

My brother: Life to him had become like a parade.
A parade of different women. Night after night,
a new face. A new body blessing his bed. So
determined never to be alone with his thoughts
and feelings, and memories - Reality...
His goal in life; personal happiness, and endless
parties.
He shows his pain in a different way.
He laughs, he smiles, he jokes - and alas, his life
has become exactly that - a joke. A facade.
He is so determined to be happy - and to live -
that he denies that any unhappiness is a certainty
in this life. He denies his life, because he is so
afraid to die. Because I wasn't strong enough to
live, he is too afraid to die - and yet, I am sure
he knows, none of us escapes our final death -
when it is time..... Again I weep endlessly at all
the needless misery that I have ignorantly caused
the ones I loved the most. "I'm sorry, Jeff.
If I only knew - If I had only listened.
If.... If.... If....."

My sister: She's all grown up now. A professional
workaholic. Alone. Afraid to share her life with
another. Afraid of the heartbreak she saw my endless
parade of men bless upon me. She, too, has been
affected by my passing. She too suffers, in her own
unique, and futile way. There are no children in
her future. She visits my mom regularly, trying to
cheer her, get through to her, somehow make her have
the will to live again. My sister won't even consider
having a child, for she sees the pain that losing a
child can bring. The misery. The endless tears,
and wasted years of grieving for what never had to be.
When I took my own life, just how many others did I
recklessly claim, because of my selfish ignorance?
Sobbing uncontrollably, blinded by my own tears,
the truth of just exactly what I did so long ago,
slowly seeps inside me.


My suicide harmed many more loved ones than just my
immediate family. It darkened so many bright lives,
shadowed so many golden days. I realize now that
memories don't disappear, or fade away into the night
like a thief. They live within our hearts and souls -
forever. I understand that I may always have brought
this world some heartache and shame, but I also
brought laughter, and joy, and love. I shared a hug,
I blew a kiss, I danced, I sang. Yes, in my dark
times I cried and grieved, but it's the loving
memories I remember when I see this world, and
how it once was home to me. I know that now my
happy memories will grow less and less, because of the
destruction I have witnessed during my brief stay here.
I know that I have single-handedly deprived my entire
family of the life that they were all so deserving of,
and anticipating. In one brief moment, their world,
I destroyed.

How do you say you are sorry when you've deprived
the world of your very existence? No more laughter,
no more hugs? And the only gruesome memory that still
lives on is the realization that you decided that life
just wasn't worth it. Just wasn't worth the pain -
how do you ever get a second chance, to take your
suicide away??

As for me? How do I describe this place where I have
been "dwelling" since my exit from this world? I can
not tell you I have gone to Hell, for I have never once
heard the word "Hell" mentioned. No words are mentioned.
There is no talking, nor singing, nor laughing -
not even a smile to warm a wind chilled day.

Every day for me is the same. It is for all of us.
I remember the moment of my death. I remember vividly
panicking, realizing my mistake, and that there really
was no turning back. No second chance. The blood
curdling scream that lasted until forever. I say
this because the screams have never ceased.
The fear has never decreased. The terror of my
decision has never softened. The agony, the misery,
they are mine to keep forever. Eternally.

I will not tell you that I dwell in Hell.
Only what I hear, and what I see. I see forever.
Endless bodies, writhing in their own brand of agony.
I watch forever trembling as the faces change,
from soft to hard, to hollow - to forever
frightening, to monstrous beyond visions that words
could ever describe. We all watch each other.
Day and night. For there is no darkness, to ease
our blurry eyes. Their is no dusk to soften the
creatures features as the years go by. Yes, we are
close enough to see the ravages of our misery, and
yet too far to hug, or hold, or touch another hurting
soul in need. We are devoid of speech - no words.
None. As if it is at last too late to speak, or
comfort one another. And so, we all wait, and watch,
and listen. For eternity.

We listen to the endless screams, that only multiply
through the long months and years of eternity.
Each new suicide promises us another horrifying
screeching soul, and more contortions of what were
once beautiful, peaceful faces - innocent and loving
eyes. More misery. Misery far beyond the likes of
what earth has ever known. I know we all pray that
our abused ears will soon grow deaf - but everyone
still hears - very well....too well....they listen,
and hear, and see, and know, and realize -- too late --
that they are just beginning to understand the
meaning of pain, and what it means to really not be
able to take it anymore. We also realize that we
will withstand all the pain, and agony, and ceaseless
cries forever - for these are the gifts of suicide.
A suicide is never fast, nor easy, nor the best way out -
a suicide victim forever dies.........

There are no winners in suicide. Only losers.
Only nightmares. Only endless torment, and never
ending questions. Wondering? Blaming?

My intent is not to scare you into living -
but to scare you out of dying. You never die.
You Cannot. The pain dwells within you - the screams
curdle the days cruelly, and deafening forever.
You are never free. Never! You never have a second
chance to live again, but you forever, slowly die.
But cannot die! We don't decide when we will be born
into this world - and it is never our decision when
we'll leave it. The day we die should always be
left to our maker - never ourselves. Our candle must
glow until the last flicker is softly brushed by the
wind, and then we shall be forever free......

The next time you consider taking your own life,
please remember me. Perhaps then my life wouldn't
have completely been in vain. Maybe then I would
have detoured a sentence filled with only pain for
one poor soul....one poor family. This is my story.
It's true. But there are others waiting to be heard.
We all have just a different variation of the same story.
A story started long ago, and one, I'm sure, that will
never have an end. Suicide. Please, please, never
underestimate the horrific, and never ending legacy
of Suicide.

The End...[there is no end]

Love and Light,
Donna Wallace
a.k.a. Gentle-Daydreamer