Just Trying to Shake a Bad Thing
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Last Monday, I learned that the mother of one of the boys my son went to pre-school with, and who is currently on his baseball team, took her police officer husband's service revolver and shot herself with it. It happened last Saturday at 2:30 in the afternoon, and from what I have heard, most of her family was in the house at the time. She was the mother of 4, three older girls and her youngest, the boy Tony went to pre-school with. I have been trying to make some sense of this since learning of it. Trying to figure out how a mother, troubled as she obviously was, does something like that with her children so close by. Clearly, no answers have come to these questions.
She was a lovely woman, beautiful, a nurse at a Boston hospital in the labor and delivery department. She was pleasant, smiled a lot, pretty much kept to herself. I saw her the week before at one of the boys' baseball games, and as we have for the many years our sons paths have crossed, said hello and smiled. And she is gone, just like that. And I have hugged my son many, many times this week, thinking every time about that little boy who will never hug his mom again.
It is a sad, sad story, but there are many sad stories out there. Every time I think I've managed to keep the tears from streaming down my cheeks at the thought of this, they come again. I spoke today with a good friend of mine who works at the school this boy attends (different from my son's) and she is a good friend of the teacher of this boy. The children were on spring break this past week, so they have not been in school but will return on Monday. She told me her friend, the teacher, has been devastated this past week, and that this boy has written in his daily journal every day this year about his mother. She, like I, just doesn't know how a 7 year old boy is supposed to recover from something like this, never mind the older girls (age range from about 9 to 13).
A wise friend of mine once told me when we were talking about someone else we knew who committed suicide that even if we were to know exactly what made the person do it, it would not make sense to us, because the despair that a person who does that to themselves is feeling at that very moment is not a despair that someone not in that state could ever understand. And I'm okay with that..but all I can think of is that this woman did this in her home with her children there..and I just can't shake it from my brain.