Broken

My daughter would be dead.

The alarm goes off. I wake up. I get dressed. Instead of heading into work like I usually would, I head towards the make-shift dining room office. I boot up my computer. The low glow of the logo illuminates as it loads up for the day.

I get there is stress in everyone's daily lives. This particular recap of events isn't a brag, nor is it to get empathy about how hard I have it. It is merely a retelling of what happened, not only to myself but also with my wife and daughter. I am going to be blunt. My daughter prepared to die by suicide. Yes. She planned on taking her life cause she didn't want to be sad anymore. She wanted the dull, lifeless pain to stop. I am not telling this story from my daughter's point of view. This story is being told by her father's, me. I am a father of four. I have a child in the military. I have a child home from college. I have a child that recently had a 2020 graduation and will be attending college this next fall. I have a child going into her Sophmore year of high school, post/pre/during the pandemic.

The daughter that is the focus of this tale is the one home from college. She is a beautiful young woman. Let me share the girl that I used to remember. The one from high school and before. She was a spit-fire. My wife and I joked that you dare not challenge this young lass to anything, especially to something that you would not like that outcome. Let's say eating a hot sauce packet for a dollar. I am not saying I provided said challenge, but I do not deny it either. Let's just say she earned a dollar. And at the age of eight, that was probably translated to around $100 give or take a hundred. I digress, made friends easily, outspoken, and was tough, but she had empathy. Oh, did she have empathy. It sort of was a curse for her. Having empathy is good, but combine that with anxiety, well, you got a child that didn't want to ever go to college, nor did she ever want to leave mom or dad's side. Literally, she slept by our bed into her pre-teens. As she grew, so did her spirit. She found a sport she loves and thrived. She loves the beautiful game. In case you might not know what that is, or have your own idea of what that might be, I am referring to soccer.

Before my wife and I knew it, we were forking out more dollar signs than I thought possible to clubs that specialize in such games. Oh, did I mention she was a perfectionist? If this girl received an A-minus on any assignment or test, it instantly translated to an F in her mind. So she thrived in a sport she thrived in academics. She was getting tested for TAG, talented, and gifted in grade school. Years went by, and she was involved with leadership, she made varsity in soccer than the captain of the team, took honor classes, and participated in school clubs. She graduated with honors and received quite a few scholarships. Sort of a fairy tale type of life. Am I right?

Well, I was wrong.

So back to the day at the dining room table. One of my other daughters had a scheduled appointment at her doctor's office. Her boyfriend ran her into it, and I was going to be picking her up. It gave me a few moments to put in some work before I headed in. With the pandemic, I do have the ability to work from home when needed. In a way, it is helpful, especially for instances like picking up my child from the doctor's office. The oldest daughter was still in bed, but she had an outpatient online group therapy session a little later that morning. While the oldest daughter was home, she met a young man on a dating app, went out a few times, but ended up getting calf. Yes, a calf. There is more to that story, but this calf lives out in our field amongst our other farm animals. Yes, we have other farm animals. This calf still is being bottled fed. I figure I would feed this calf for my oldest daughter before I left to pick up my middle daughter from the doctors.

Just another day in the life of rural country living. It was about that time to leave, my youngest daughter wanted to tag along, and I do enjoy her company, so the two of us went. We grabbed some food and coffee and headed into the big town to grab the middle daughter. She had a procedure done at this doctor's appointment, which required some sedatives to be prescribed. So when we picked her up, she was a little bit loopy but happy. I grabbed some more food, don't judge, not just for me, but for middle daughter and headed back home. After a few more stops, we got back home and headed into the house, where I figured I would find the oldest daughter engaged in her therapy. I was mistaken. She wasn't, and still in bed. The day's mood started to decline, but nothing to prepare me for what I experienced later. I wake her up. Middle daughter heads towards to bed to sleep off the medicine. Youngest daughter goes and cleans up dog messes that occurred while we are gone. Well, of course, we have dogs and cats. We have two puppies that are sort of, but not really being potty trained...in our house...by the front door...just about every morning.

The oldest daughter gets up and sits out there with me in the make-shift dining room office. Nothing is really said between us.

I finally ask, "Why didn't you do your group therapy today?"

"I only have three days a week this week, and I emailed them to move until tomorrow," she says a bit defensive.

"I didn't know that," I respond.

She grabs her laptop and opens it up. With it being faced away from me, I had no idea what she was about to do with it. Then I hear voices echoing out of it. I realize she began to watch Grey's Anatomy. As she occasionally glances up at the screen, she grabs a puzzle piece from the table and continues on her masterpiece.

Except for the characters from Grey's Anatomy speaking their lines, it was silent between the two of us. I don't want to say it was an uncomfortable type of silence, but it exactly wasn't peaceful. This continued for a bit.

My wife gets home. She's usually tired from a long day. She starts it before I even think about opening my eyes for the day. She is an essential worker, a first responder, a registered nurse. She carries stress like a purse, from days upon days. As we are in the final week before we take our daughter back to college, my wife remembers the items that need to be done. I do not know if I mentioned this before, but we are a family that suffers from procrastination. Today we are helping on getting our daughter's school loan approved for this next year.

Questions begin.

Stress is beginning to rise for each of us.

There is a particular male in our oldest daughter's life that we do not appreciate being there. He lives out of state. He degrades her almost on a regular. My wife and I have "googled" what he emotionally and mentally does to her, and found terms that best describe him and his methods. I would say he is a narcissist. He gaslights her. This relationship started on a dating app, but also after our oldest daughter was sexually abused at a college party by two college guys. Didn't see that bomb being dropped, huh? Again I remind you the reader that this is my view. This is how I am interpreting my feelings on the situation. As a parent, I feel that I have failed my daughter on many different plains, one of them being protection. Then having a man treat my daughter so horrible that she cries daily. As a parent trying to find ways to either stop or prevent this toxic relationship, to only be told that they are adding to the poison, but also creating a path for her to want this person even more. Also, to be noted that it was not just my wife and I that saw these red flags, but her therapists and friends as well. She kept going back to him. As I say, trying to prevent her from running into a busy road, only to have her keep doing it. As my wife says, getting your ass emotionally handed to you repeatedly and going back for more.

As our stress rises, we ask for our oldest daughter's phone to get the two-factor authentication text code to apply for her student loans. My wife sees a text message to and from said, not nice person above. The gun had been loaded, and this pulled the trigger.

The wife asks, prying intimate questions.

The daughter quickly gets defensive and retaliates with anger and distrust.

Mom and oldest daughter are very similar. The wife keeps pushing with heated intensity.

Daughter storms out of the room. Wife storms out of the room.

The wife goes for a walk. The daughter comes back into the dining room. I take it upon myself to try and be the peacemaker. I defend my wife. She is not wrong. Her heart aches and cries out for safety and help and love for our daughter. I try to explain my wife's side, only to really start to learn how broken my oldest daughter feels. She lashes out at me.

She makes another bottle for her calf and goes outside as evening begins to settle in. I am the parent, and I am not done talking, I tell myself. I follow her to the field as she feeds the calf. I am working hard on being the one that sees both sides. I am working hard on trying to be empathetic and understanding, and yet stern and protective. My wife joins us in the field.

I consider myself a slow learner. I do not say this as an insult, but rather a self-discovery. It takes me longer than most to learn particular things. I begin to get schooled. The class is the inner mind of my drowning daughter.

She blames herself for the assault. She tells me questions about what her motives were that night of the party. She was drunk, but she knows she did not want what happened. The boy that she knows in her mind treats her poorly. But her heart and emotions are telling her a different story of love that she so badly wants. It clouds her intellectual side to the point of dense fog. She does not know why. She hates herself.

She pulls out her phone.

She pulls up a video she made.

It is from her.

It is her suicide letter.

She explained why she was doing this.

She told her siblings and friends that she loved them, and it was not them and nothing they can do.

She has her prescription meds in hand, which she had "googled" how many it would take to overdose.

She pours them into her hand.

Her last words were, "I can't do it."

I have never been so happy and so sad to hear those words. I am thankful and broken to have watched that video, but to have been able to watch it with her there.

What is next?

I do not know, but it will be one step at a time. And I pray every day.