Suicide and Depression

Is suicide selfish? Maybe. I mean, selfish means lack of consideration for others, and if someone commits suicide without considering how it will impact their family and friends, then I suppose that makes it selfish. I think most people who commit suicide do think about the impact though. They just can't take it anymore; they see no other way. Maybe they even think it will be better for those they leave behind if they are no longer there.

You know what is definitely selfish? Telling someone that they should continue to live their life in pain and misery because it will hurt you too much for them to be gone. Yep, that's selfish. Now, I'm not saying that anyone should kill themselves. I don't think it should be glamorized or romanticized because suicide isn't pretty. It's terrible. But it's probably not selfish.

Is suicide taking the easy way out? I can see how it looks like that on the surface. I mean, life sucks so you end it. That seems pretty easy. But when you really look at it, is it so easy? It has to be incredibly difficult to actually follow through and kill yourself. I mean, you have to be at a really low point and have absolutely no hope that things could ever possibly get better. You have to say goodbye to all of the people you love and know you will miss their futures. You have to acknowledge that they will go on without you. And then you still have to actually perform the act. That doesn't sound easy.

All of these snide remarks about people who have committed suicide do nothing to help anyone. At all. You know who they hurt? Everyone. Yep, the survivors of attempted suicide, those left behind by someone who saw no other way out, those who watched as a loved one made a suicide attempt, and those who are depressed and see no other way.

Depression is a serious mental illness. It is not something you choose, and once it takes hold of you, your choices are not yours. Depression affects your brain. Know what your brain does? It allows you to think, process, problem-solve, and make good choices. Depression can put a halt to all of that. It is a dark cloud that penetrates into all of your thoughts, and you can't make it stop no matter how badly you want to.

So stop saying that people are selfish. Stop saying that they are taking the easy way out. Start listening, really listening. Be there. Choose love. Always.

Yes, I realize a lot of this post is snippy and that goes against my choose love motto. I am not taking the time to control my emotions and write in a balanced way. Wanna know why? Because it is too personal. I live every day in fear that a loved one is going to give up. I live every day wondering if I will ever see that loved one again or if we've already shared our final goodbye. I live every single day fearing that that dark cloud has grown too big and blocked the view of all the other options.

And if this person were to end it all, I would not find them selfish. I have watched the struggle to regain control and find happiness. I have seen the consideration paid to those who would be left behind. I've heard the list of ways it would hurt everyone around this person. I know that committing suicide would not be taking the easy way out.

And every single day I pray that it does not happen. Because selfishly, I would rather my loved one live in pain and misery than be gone from my life forever.

Grieving the Loss of a Dream

There's something we don't often talk about in parenting circles – the completion of your family before you are ready. Sure, we talk about miscarriages, stillbirths, babies who have lived only hours or days, but we don't talk about the babies who were never conceived in the first place. At least not the ones who were to be younger siblings to those children we have already birthed.

I have no doubt that carrying a baby in your womb or knowing that one grows in your wife's and then losing the baby is an indescribably painful loss. I cannot even begin to imagine the pain of losing your child minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, or years after they were born. I am in no way trying to minimize those tragedies.

There is a population of women and men, who desperately want to conceive a child and cannot. For those who are infertile, we wait with them to see if this month will be their chance, if this month will bring their joy. And we grieve with them each month that the pregnancy test fails to show two glorious lines. I've always felt empathy towards these individuals, who wanted nothing more than to be called mom or dad. And in a way, I've joined them. But not fully. You see, I have two of the most amazing little boys in the world, but I long for the third child I will never have.

Before we married, my husband and I discussed the number of children we wanted to have. He wanted two, and I wanted three. We compromised as those in relationships are apt to do. We would have at least two, and if circumstances were such that we felt we could be good parents to three, we would have another. After my son was born, I knew that even three wouldn't be enough. I wanted five children. My husband was pretty sure three would be his limit, so while I joked about getting pregnant with twins or triplets the third time around, I knew that I would never have more than three children.

When we became pregnant with our second child, my husband expressed his concern about having a third. He wasn't sure it was a financially sound decision, given that I had become a stay-at-home mom, and he wasn't entirely certain he could handle being a father of three. So we made another compromise. If baby #2 was a boy, we would try for a third. If baby #2 was a girl, our family would be complete. We welcomed our second son in November 2010.

I was so happy with our two sons, and I couldn't wait to bring another amazing little person into the world. But in early 2013, we learned that my body wasn't meant to carry anymore children. I have spent the last year and a half wondering what I did wrong. I have questioned every choice I have ever made. Was I not a good enough mom? Was it the years of birth control ironically taken to save my remaining ovary so that I could one day conceive a child? Was there anything I could have done to prevent this? I'll never know. I realize that, and yet every night I beg and plead and hope that I will magically see those two elusive lines one day. I have never wanted anything more.

But to those I tell that I cannot have another baby, I receive replies that are meant to be supportive, but ultimately rip my heart in two. 

“At least you have your boys.”

“Some people don't get to have even one baby.”

“Two is a good number.”

"Your family is perfect as it is."

I love my sons, and wanting another child does not lessen that love. In fact, it is quite likely that I want another baby because I love my children so much. How can I look at them and see all of their wonder and beauty and kindness and brilliance and not want to create another?

I know there are others out there like me, others whose families were deemed complete before they were ready for them to be. To you I can only say, I feel the deepest sadness for you, and I hope you find peace. I know that one or two or even ten isn't the number of children you dreamed of. I know that you didn't have the opportunity to complete your family as you wanted. And your feelings are valid. It's okay to grieve the loss of something you never had. The loss of the potential to fulfill a dream. And it's okay to hate the world and the universe and even your own body for failing you. Just remember to love yourself because no matter what caused your infertility, you are still worthy. You are still valuable. You are still perfect in all your human imperfection.