' The Pain That Was Mine, The Darkness, And The Hope'; Part I Of III

' The Pain That Was Mine. The Darkness, And The Hope "; Part I, ' The Pain That Was Mine'

Feb 07 2012

To
my very, very dearest friends, and wondrously kind, and loyal readers, I can
truly never in near-full measure, ever thank you enough for your encouragement,<support, and love; nor can I ever than you sufficiently for be-friending
me. It may have been but chance that I
came to MDJunction seeking what, I knew not of, though in my secret heart I
cannot ignore, nor disallow a gentle push by angels; for I was lost, hurting,
and quite alone.

I
really did not know quite what I'd find, but what I found were soon friends who
really cared for me, and understood, and-in spite of my frequent moodiness, and
agitation, while, for the most part pain-driven-yet you have continued to care
about me, and for my welfare. And while
amazed at your kindness, yet I know your feelings to be true, as I hope mine
are true as well.

I
must tell you that you are quite unlike any single, or group of friends that I
have ever had; and my heart in its gladness, could only try to fashion for you
a mirror of my true regard.

And
how your reading of my diary as you know, brings me great joy, as your
evidenced increasing readership has shown.

I
must confess to you that-in general-for you, as well as for myself-I labor long
and hard to bring you entries that I hope might interest you, or prove, somehow
to be of some possible help.

Usually,
although such things cannot suffer the intense scrutiny of being thought of as ‘usual',
I try to write a diary entry at least every-other day, which, in between,
should give me better time to marshal my errant thoughts to put to paper.

This
time-however-owing to the nature and the gravity of the work, I have decided to
divide it into three parts, over five or six days; so, following a needed
explanation, I shall enter ‘Part I; tonight.

But,
first, I have a story I would like to share with you.

My
dear friend, Joan, who is disabled, and legally blind, has lived at a
too-expensive ALF for three years+ now.

One
of the nurses there ( Kelly ) had become friends with Joan, and so-of course,
Joan learned about Kelly and her family.

Almost
two-and-a-half years ago-now-at Easter, Kelly and a couple of her daughters
were out shopping for a few, Easter-related things; they had had a most
enjoyable afternoon; the weather was Florida perfect, and Kelly had the day
off; her husband was still at work.

When
she and her daughters arrived home, some hours later, though, they found her
sixteen year old son-Shawn-- had committed suicide, by hanging himself in his
bedroom.

There
apparently had been no previous indication of how her son felt, nor of why he had
done what he had done, and, in an heartbeat, the family's world was torn apart.

Immediately,
Kelly took leave from work, and then was reassigned to another position. The parents blamed themselves, and had bitter
fights; the other children in the family were equally as dumb-struck.

Shortly
thereafter, my dear friend Joan asked me if I would please write some kind of
piece that hopefully might help to console the family in its unimaginable
grief.

My
dear, dear friends, I worked for hours and hours, and hours on that note: one I
thought that Shawn might have written to his family, were he to have left a
note.

I
can tell you with complete honesty, that that note was the hardest thing I've
ever had to write; at fifty-five, I had to try to assume the mindset of a very
troubled sixteen year old boy, AND, in trying to do so, explain in his voice something
that I most sincerely hoped would help deflect some of the blame the parents
and siblings had apportioned on themselves.

By
the time I had finished it, the nurse has already left the facility to work
elsewhere, and so, the ‘note' lay dormant for almost three years, and by then,
I had misplaced my copy and notes and copy; Joan had the only copy left.

Ten
days ago, Joan ran into Kelly at the ALF, attending to another patient.

By
act of sheerest Providence, Joan stumbled-across her copy, and told Kelly about
it; apparently, the family is still broken up about their son's death, and Joan-again,
as do I-hope that the note might help ease their continued suffering. And hopes to give Kelly the original next
weekend.

As
you may well imagine, after almost three years have passed, the note has again
become an emotional powerkeg.

And
while I have NO idea of your beliefs, as I often have scarce idea of my own, I
think it-somehow-important to share ‘his' note with you.

While
it may be unkind of me, I actually did not write the note for the boy at all,
but, rather, to the family, in hopes of saying that which should perhaps have
been said some time before.

After
nearly three, long years, in which I have seen both Joan's and my health decline,
with often days of unbearable pain, I find the note upsets me greatly still.

And,
I would ask for your patience, your kind forgiveness, and, should you be so motivated...your
considered comments, please.

Please
know I love you dearly,

‘Zahc/Charles'

" The Pain That Was Mine, The Darkness, And The Hope "