Sarah White
Bio
Hi, my name is Sarah and I’m a suicide survivor. Not a suicide attempt survivor. That is a totally different animal. I survived the suicide of my 17 year old son. I share my thoughts here as therapy for me and hopefully insight for others.
Stories (5/0)
The Dark Night Of The Soul
Grief is like a churning sea. Just when the rolling begins to ease and a brighter horizon seems to appear in the distance a sinister sort of undertow inevitably grabs hold and down, down to the deep dark again. Days, sometimes weeks pass while down in the darkness and the hope for some kind of illumination is all but consuming. Aside from my begging the universe to not let Robbie’s death be true, I was begging Robbie to send me some kind of sign so I knew that he was still here somehow… somewhere but the darkness just lingered. Here, in the dark, all of my worst fears began shambling towards me.
By Sarah White3 years ago in Families
Tears Bring Life
TEARS GIVE LIFE Crystal shivered and pulled at the ragged edge of her worn quilt. The ground was just as hard and unforgiving as usual but the air that morning crept in with an unusually uncomfortable chill. The morning breeze had the distinct scent of the promise of rain. Crystal could hear the clanking of the others in the camp hurriedly putting out whatever belongings they had left that were capable of catching some rain water. She groaned quietly under her breath. Her bones hurt. She was only thirty years old but sleeping on the ground for the last few years had taken its toll. She did not relish the thought of moving from the little indention in the earth she had wiggled her way into during the night. She was finally comfortable. Well, as comfortable as she could be in a refugee camp in the middle of nowhere. Crystal and her mother were actually among the fortunate few the other refugees had voted to allow to live in a small cave the group had discovered. She shifted a bit and tugged at her quilt, then decided she’d better get up and put out their few cups and pots or she and her mother would run out of water again. Crystal stretched out her hand to rouse her mother and let her know she was going to set out the dishes. Touching her softly, Crystal whispered, “Momma, it smells like rain. I’m going to set out the cups.” Her mother did not respond… not even with the typical annoyed grunt. Crystal shook her mother’s shoulder gently, “Momma.” Her mother still did not respond. She did not move. “Momma!” Crystal shouted, seizing her mother by the shoulders. She was cold. She was gone. Crystal pulled her mother’s lifeless body toward her and nuzzled her face in the thinning silver hair of her mother’s head. Crystal rocked back and forth clutching her mother close to her and cried for a moment. Looking down she noticed her mother’s hand in its predictably clenched fist. Gently prying her mother’s fingers open she saw for the first time in a very long time her mother’s prize possession. Clutched in her unrelenting little fist it had remained for at least ten years. No one was allowed to touch it, no one was allowed to even see it for fear it might be taken from her or lost. So, there it finally was laying defenseless… without its unremitting protector. The heart-shaped locket.
By Sarah White3 years ago in Fiction
Mothers, Brothers and Others Left Behind
Obviously the loss of a loved one is earth-shattering for just about anyone. Losing a loved one unexpectedly is mind numbing. Losing a teenage child to suicide is completely debilitating… for a time. I must confess, I had already considered the awful thought. I used to rock them to sleep at night and sang to them (all my babies). Simon and Garfunkel, John Denver, mostly Don McLean. When I got to the part in “Starry, Starry Night” where Van Gogh commits suicide I always hummed that part… “…and when no hope was left in sight on that starry, starry night you took your life as lovers often do…” but I could have told you, Robbie, “this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.”
By Sarah White3 years ago in Families
Oh, How Time Flies on Motionless Wings
I don’t remember much about the days after I learned of my Robbie’s decision. There was a lot of wailing, a lot of denial, a lot of wishing that it was all a horrible dream from which I would mercifully soon awaken. At the same time all I wanted to do was sleep. At least in my dreams I stood the chance of seeing my precious boy. This side of consciousness was much too gut wrenchingly real. So I cried, I slept, I begged the universe to “not let it be true”. “No! No! No!” I thought, perhaps if I just kept yelling, “No!”
By Sarah White3 years ago in Families
When Your Child Commits Suicide
Hi, my name is Sarah and I’m a suicide survivor. Not a suicide attempt survivor. That’s an entirely different animal. I survived (so far) the suicide of my 17 year old son. I don’t pretend to be a consummate writer or even a mediocre one. Indeed, you will definitely find far too many commas in the wrong places and most likely a dangling participle here and there, but my purpose here is not academic or even financial. I’m not going to beat myself up trying to come up with engaging content or compelling storylines. I’m just going to recall the whole journey to the best of my ability. I’m not really interested in this being a source of income. It’s more like free therapy… for me. My hope is that by sharing my story I might somehow help someone else… somehow.
By Sarah White3 years ago in Families
