#mayday.

Our community has lost two mamas to suicide in the past week. We need to talk about this; we’re fools if we don’t.  I won’t pretend to understand the depth of depression these women struggled with, but I spent many nights in my 30s laying in bed, drowning in panic attacks and sadness and eating hopelessness like it wasn’t the bitterest thing I’d ever put in my mouth.  I have wondered if death wouldn’t be preferable to that madness and if the world wouldn’t be a better place without my crazy in it.  I’ve never been suicidal, really, but I have wondered.  And until we bring this dark, soul sucking disease of depression into the light, we will continue to suffer in ear shattering silence.  It will kill us.  It is killing us.  

Mama, if you are struggling with the desire to be done with this world, this is for you: your kids? They need you.  Your husband?  He does too.  And if you don’t have kids or a husband, if you’re not even a mama, the world needs you.  It does.  You matter.  Even with the cloak of depression weighing your shoulders down, we need you.  Even in a diminished, fragile, needy state of mind, we need you.  Your life matters in whatever capacity you are living it.  And if there is a voice right now that is telling you otherwise, then please do this: go into your closet, shut the door, put a pillow over your face so you don’t freak the children out and scream as loudly as you can to shut up.  If you like to use swears, this would be a fantastic time to do so. You scream your fighting words into that pillow and then you have to do this next thing because it’s vital.  I want you to text a friend, a neighbor, a coworker, your mom just one word: MAYDAY.  It is their signal that you need help.  They will come.  We will all come.  Just please hold on until we get there.

Sisters, can we agree that we need a battle cry and that MAYDAY is a killer one?  I don’t know what you believe, but there is truth that goes like this: there is a God, who is all powerful and all knowing and bursting with perfect love.  He made you.  He loves and accepts you and you matter to him.  He, and he alone, gets to decide when your work here on earth is finished and I promise you that if you surrender into his soft hands, he will hold you so tightly you won’t ever want to be let loose.  All your sadness won’t melt away because it doesn’t work like that, I’m sorry to say.  Instead, you will find in him the ability to cope with this crappy world and all it’s hurt.  And you will find a purpose worth living for that will help you get out of bed in the morning and start working.  Because there is no hurt too big to heal, so whatever you’re dealing with, bring it.  We won’t fix it because we are woefully unqualified to do so, but we will drive you to someone who can.  We will hold your hand and text you love notes and we will travel your road with you because you are not alone.

Mamas, the world does not have your back, but we do.  If you are living in darkness so deep you can’t see any other way through but suicide, Mayday.  If you are buying the lie that your babies would be better off without you, Mayday.  If you believe your husband/family/friend deserves more than a depressed wife/mother/friend, Mayday. You text those 6 letters like your life depends on it, because it does. And we will drop dishes, power down our computers, jump out of the bathtub and come.  Hair askew and panting and with only ourselves and hope to offer, we will come running for you because you are precious and you do not need to suffer alone.  We are here.  We are listening.  We love you. #mayday

This is me being real.

end.

There are two more days of school and they will kill us.  I left to attend Tess’ End Of Year! Celebration! with these instructions to the boys: don’t let the dogs out because they just sprayed for spiders and study for your exams.  Two hours later I arrived home to find the dogs outside and the boys sleeping.  Peter turned in all his textbooks and study guides today, staring at me blankly when I asked how he’s going to study.  He’s now doing quizlets on his phone.  Online quizzes produced by his peers and proctored by absolutely no adults.  This is a fool proof study plan and he is killing it.

I made possibly the best pasta I’ve ever made tonight.  The sauce was simply browned butter with garlic and salt and poured over al dente pasta and cruciferous vegetables.  Three people hated the broccoli.  One cried over the cauliflower.  Two spent the better part of an hour separating out every single pea.  I ordered them to work together to do the dishes, which took all of four minutes because there are six of them and we ate on paper plates.  I just found all the dishes in the sink, which means they think doing the dishes means clearing the table.  I want to eat chocolate and hit stuff.

Tess had a wart frozen off her foot this morning.  I have a three and a half hour dentist appointment tomorrow morning to have crowns put on two molars.  I’m skipping it and spending the money on recreational drugs.  I had to wash saddle pads yesterday and, even though I spent forty five minutes cleaning the hair out, my shirt smells like horses.  Someone spilled red down the front of the cabinets but no one will fess up or tell me what it is.  One of the Smalls just slammed the door so hard the handle fell off and, even worse, I was glad because at least someone is finally closing a door.  The dogs dug up the sprinkling in one of the beds, again, positive because maybe, just maybe, now I’ll have enough water pressure to get the conditioner out tomorrow morning.

The teacher gifts are ready to go, but every time I sit down to write the cards, I start to cry because these teachers have given everything and they deserve so much more than a gift card to amazon.  They deserve a hundred thousand dollars in a Swiss offshore account in the Bahamas and a kidney.  I give our school crap often on fb, but mostly it’s just aimed toward classroom parties and other ridiculous things.  I really do love that place. It’s filled with the best sorts of people doing beautiful work.  Work that is far harder than we give them credit for.  Anyone who has listened to a child try to read knows this.  Teaching my kids how to read (A-N-D spells and.  Now and forever more.  On every page.  Any time you see the letters A-N and D, it will always spell and.) deserves the whole world and a side of guac.  It is a thing that nearly costs me my salvation and I have two people learning to read.  I can’t.  But they do and I pledge them my allegiance for it.

We need to talk about summer being here and how it’s jamming my son’s feed with bikini pictures of girls I can only assume are orphans because no one is proctoring their posts.  But that’s a talk for another day.  For now there is us, barely keeping our heads above water and still needing to publish book lists and make stuff for tomorrow’s pool party.  All of which we will do, me with an ice pack held to cheek since the family volleyball game we played tonight ended with Dan punting the ball into my face, which only hurt once I stopped laughing so hard I peed my white jeans in the front yard.  Good luck on exams and preparing for them, ‘specially if they’re only using quizlets to prepare.  Solidarity is my offering if you’re saying Good-Bye to a school that has loved and held your babies.  Solidarity and tissues tucked into bra.  Strength if you’re planning to join in forming a tunnel of parents and teachers as our sixth graders run through to the busses for the last time.  I’m always near the end, weeping and yelling, WE LOVE YOU, WE BELIEVE IN YOU, WE ARE HERE FOR YOU!  Two more days.  We do not go gentle into that good night.

this is me being real.