Children

This note, written by and given to me by my younger daughter on the night my world crashed.
She was 7.
I had locked myself in a spare room and was on the phone with Crisis Hotline. She called through that door to me and I told her, in as calm a voice as I could create, that Mommy needed a little timeout, and that I would be out soon.

I felt no assurance whatsoever that there was any truth or wisdom to that, but just that thought alone and the discussion with the disembodied voice on the other end, was enough for them to tell me that I was too rational to be insane and that I should talk with my husband about a visit to the ER if I felt unable to manage the depression through the night.

Sobbing, I thanked the voice, hung up...and stared at the gaping blackness I was being swallowed by.

I was far from ok. I couldn't remember one single aspect of what "okay" was, so I knew I was nowhere close.

Sitting, contemplating what to do next, a small sound at the door caught my ear, and as I watched, a slip of paper appeared from underneath it, pushed into the room. I heard a brush against the door, saw the gap filled in a section and heard breathing. 

My girl.

I held on to this slip of paper for 2 days, physically. And I've had it since. 9 yrs now.

Suicide had already been decided against...I might die from this, I remember thinking, but it wouldn't be by my hand.

I had no idea of how I was going to keep going, but I was going to keep going somehow, and figure out again what OK meant.

I'm cleaning out spots in the house to get it ready to sell...and found it in it's safe place.

(Ps...I had a friend who worked for a pharmaceutical company, and we had many notepads with such on them. I don't know what the med is, but it wasn't one I used)