Drop The Reins
The front desk receptionist and my supervisor came hurriedly toward me across the expanse of the large office floor. I heard voices simultaneously saying:
“We've left messages at your desk phone.”
“You need to go home.”
“There has been an emergency at your home.”
“There's been a shooting.”
“Do you need someone to drive you?”
The morning of March 4, 2014
Bright sunshine streamed through my windshield. The drive from Boise to Eagle took less than 20 minutes. I do not remember breathing. I felt as if I was floating the entire time.
I arrived at our trailer park. As we were the large corner lot at the entrance, I immediately saw the entire perimeter was beribboned with yellow tape, surrounded by multiple police cars, three ambulances, a firetruck, and uniformed officers were everywhere.
I also noticed groups of regular persons not in uniform, notebooks in hand, walking together. Young looking people. Later I found out these were the detective squads and narc.
I parked my car just outside the park and walked steadily toward the nearest police car adjacent to the front of my home. I saw the body. It was not my daughter's body. I turned back.
A uniformed officer who introduced himself as Captain S. greeted me. His eyes met mine and he asked if I was o.k.
I said, “I haven't been told what's happened. Where is my daughter?”
“Your daughter is fine, she is at a neighbor's home with an officer.”
I fell to the ground. My knees just buckled under me.
The police Captain helped me to stand up. I used the trunk of the police car as leverage to keep standing.
He continued speaking, “She's currently being questioned. You do not need to worry. She is safe. You will be able to see her later. She is being questioned. There is a young man, we think he is her boyfriend. He has been shot.”
I had seen with my own eyes what must have transpired. I did not know the details of the event, but I had my one question answered.
I waited and waited, watching the flurry of activity around my home and the leave-taking of some emergency vehicles and the arrival of the County Coroner vehicle. The morning became mid-day.
I could see neighbors standing at a distance in small clusters then leaving to return inside their homes.
The police captain returned and said I could now see my daughter at the neighbor's home. He would accompany me. He said if I wanted to avert my eyes from the front of my home as I passed so to not see the body of the deceased. His body would not been moved until the investigation had been concluded.
I looked as I passed by. I saw the young man's body curled up on the ground, the back of a white tee shirt and dark blue jeans, partly hidden in the bushes by the bottom of the porch stairs.
The first thing I noticed when I saw my daughter was she was smiling and she was wearing my purple flannel pajamas.
One Month Before. I had a dream that woke me up in shock and fright. I had seen myself standing over the body of my daughter. She was dressed in my purple flannel pajamas. She was lying face down, the shirt folded back from her shoulders, her back hunched up, and I could see, as I reached out to touch her that her skin was the color of cement with light pink stripes. She was dead.
The dream shook me so badly that I prayed daily for her safety from the actions of her estranged, abusive boyfriend. I am not proud about this, but I prayed God would take him out.
The Police Captain stayed with us until we were packed to re-locate later that night to an undisclosed friend's home. The young man's mother was making threats on our lives.
He also related to me that he had never seen an ending such as this. God had to be involved. It was the only answer. We had been blessed by divine intervention. He explained that there were two bullets in the rifle. One had been discharged, one remained in the chamber. The first bullet had been meant for my daughter. It was their summation that this had been planned as a homicide suicide.
The Police Captain also counseled me that I was now on suicide watch with my daughter, for at least one year. Suicide is contagious. It's a phenomenon that has been recognized and parents must become aware of.
Two Days After. I had to find them and destroy them.
I found the purple flannel pajamas, tightly tied them inside a large black Hefty bag, and threw them in the nearest dumpster. (Just in case this was not 'the time' in my dream.)
Epilogue
I must share a word I treasure that my friend spoke to me and my daughter regarding the suicide:
“Even if your daughter had been jumping up and down on top of the trailer yelling, “Do it! Do it! Do it!” this would not have been her fault. It was his choice. He chose to take his own life. He was a broken human being. It was not anyone's fault, not even his.” - K.B.
Ten Days Later
His suicide united our family and close friends and the teen church group. We had to deal with this suicide. We had to mourn our loss of a young man that was now gone.
March 14, 2014.
We gathered together on the early afternoon of March 14. After a group prayer led by our Pastor, we shared our favorite stories of him. Stories of a young man we knew as a straight-A student, a passionate car mechanic, an artist, a jokester, an X-Box gamer, a friend, and one who lost his way and took his own life.
We released 18 bright orange balloons. March 14 would have been his 18th birthday. His favorite color was orange, the bright Crayola orange. We watched silently, some smiling, all thinking our own thoughts, watching for several minutes as time seemed to stand still except for the balloons climbing higher into the sky. Tied together, the balloons were carried by the wind and then climbed even higher into the far blue sky, higher and higher until out of sight. Our love and wishes attached to them.
What are balloons for? They bring happiness and lightness of sorrow. They represent the need to let go. When we let go of a balloon filled with air it rises up into the sky, no longer tied down to the earth. Set free to fly, they symbolize a sense of freedom in every heart.
This is the many colors of suicide.
When God becomes real these are the stories to be told.
God has you and your beautiful family in the palm of His hand. Ariel is beautiul, a little mini you :-) xoxo