My Dearest Collin

My Dearest Collin

In the time that has passed since your death, I have struggled with why you did it…why you killed yourself.  You had no mental illness. You didn’t struggle with depression.  You had no previous attempts or cries for help.  You had a loving girlfriend that wanted to marry you.  You had a good job, good friends…a family that loved you.   So you had received several speeding tickets and lost your license.  So you got caught driving on a suspended license and extended the suspension of your driving priveledges.  So, you drove your inebriated friend home from the bar because he was in no shape to drive and got caught driving without a license again.  So they took your dad’s car.  So what?  Surely that is no reason to commit suicide.  Surely that would not cause you to come home and sit on the couch by your brother and chat with him while he watched TV, all the while you were typing your “Goodbye” letters on the laptop.  Surely that wouldn’t have been so bad that you would pack your sisters bookbag with the gun your father had bought you for your HS graduation, take your sister’s fourwheeler (the sister 10-years your younger, that you loved and adored as your own child) and drive back into the neighbors property where you and your brother grew up riding dirt bikes and four wheelers, put the cold metal of that gun behind your right ear and pull the trigger.   Surely, not.  Surely not.  Surely not.

Over the past year, I have been haunted by this.  At first, I would pray to dream of you, to talk to you, to ask why, but when sleep would finally come, you would evade my dreams.   I felt that I was to blame.  I should have been home when you came home that afternoon.  Surely, I would have noticed that something was wrong, so terribly wrong.  I have played it out in my mind so many times, how I would have noticed the packed bag, the quad starting.  I would have followed you.  I would have intervened.  I would have saved you.  But I wasn’t and I can’t.  Then I come back to “why”.    It must have been the fact that you could not bear to disappoint us with the news of your latest ticket and the impounding of your fathers car last night.  You couldn’t face the trouble you were in.  But it still didn’t make sense.  You would never have left your little sister when she was about to have a serious operation.  It just didn’t make sense.  Then about a couple of weeks ago I began to dream of you.  I relived portions of your childhood and your teen years.  I relived conversations between you and I. I see the “accident” that I was not present for.  I hear you crying.  I frantically and desperately run down the gravel lane, but my legs won’t go fast enough.  I can’t ever gain ground.  I am desperate to reach you.  I hear the gunshot.  I failed.  And now I am acutely aware of “why”.  I can’t escape the weight and oppressiveness of the “why”.  It looms over me, within me.  I do not seek your pity, I seek your healing and forgiveness.

I have come to the profound realization that I failed you. It weighs heavy on me, always there naggingly reminding me of what I have done. I have flashbacks of the many times I failed you as I tried to “parent” you. I can see the many ways I went wrong. What I thought was responsible parenting and discipline: repetitive grounding for bad grades; verbal lectures and nagging over disorganization and messy rooms, dishes shoved under the bed and couch, dirty socks tucked in furniture or just laying about; arguments and yelling over speeding tickets; nagging you to be more motivated and productive – was not parenting at all.  It was the opposite of good parenting.  I see now that I failed.  I failed you.   I let you down epically and now I can never fix it.  I can never right my wrongs.  I can’t ever make it better or apologize for not being the mother you deserved.  So many times, your dad and I focused on the failures…poor grades, lack of organization, laziness, speeding tickets, more tickets, etc. and failed to point out all of the very wonderful, beautiful qualities that you possess that made us so proud to be your parents.  We neglected to praise all of the wonderful things you did right, every single day.  We failed to convey how proud you made us.  How proud you made me.  I was proud of you. I just failed to talk about that as much as we talked about what you were doing wrong.! I am so sorry, Collin. The truth of it is, and what I failed to realize then, is that all of the things that you got in trouble for, the “failures” that we would yell at you about, were my faults, too. You learned them from me. I didn’t focus on details, I wasn’t organized and never taught you how to be, I was lazy, I constantly sped when driving and even lost my license for speeding tickets. You were just doing what you had been taught.

I didn’t spend enough time telling you and everyone else how wonderful you were, otherwise you would have known. So creative, and witty and caring. So dedicated and loyal. So funny and lighthearted. You always elevated the mood in whatever group or situation you were in. You loved me. Your work ethic was amazing. You worked most every weekend of your young teenage life, and never complained. You always thought of others and how to make them happier. You were a bright light!  The world is darker without your light.

It was my job to create a safe haven, a home base, a shelter from any storm, but instead I created a place where you felt like you could never be enough, do enough or achieve enough to make me happy, by constantly asking for more instead of praising what you had already achieved and become. I am so sorry Collin. I was a terrible, awful parent. I failed you. I didn’t mean to. I truly thought I was doing the best things. I thought that I needed to push you. I didn’t see then that you didn’t see the point in trying harder because you felt that you could never please us. I never let you know that you pleased me. I thought highly of you. I was proud of you, I just didn’t tell you. It wasn’t because I was intentionally withholding praise, affection or acknowledgement from you. I think I just took it for granted that you already knew. But how could you know, when I never told you. You wonderful, beautiful gift from God. I should have cherished you more. I should have looked into those beautiful blue eyes several times a day and told you how lucky and thankful I was to have been given such a wonderful blessing from God. I should have modeled the behavior I wanted you to show. I should have been the person I was asking you to be. I should have been more involved and encouraging. I should have always made sure that you knew that whatever mistakes you made in life, were just that…mistakes. Things that could be fixed. I should have made sure that you knew that bad grades, messy rooms, and speeding tickets do not make you a failure at life. I should have made sure that you understood that you were already a huge success in our eyes and that those little mistakes were only little inconsequential road bumps in life. They were opportunities to continue growing. I should have made sure you believed that I was dedicated to helping you succeed and fix your mistakes. That I loved you without limits. I should have been your safe place, the person that you could bring any problem to. The person who would never judge you. The person who would always have your back. I should have been your biggest cheerleader. I should have taught you that mistakes were a necessary and expected part of learning. I should have been a good mother. I should have been the person wonderful you deserved. I thought I was. I thought I was teaching you responsibility and motivating you to improve yourself.  I was so terribly wrong. I failed you. I can’t fix it. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, because you left.

I am to blame for your suicide. I am acutely aware of the certainty and terminality of this. I failed to make you see the beauty in yourself and the eternal love and devotion I have for you. I failed to convey to you my unconditional and eternal love and devotion to you.   I failed to make you understand your infinite and invaluable worth, not only to me, but more importantly to God. I failed to make you realize that you were a special gift. I was the failure, not you.

I failed you, Collin and I am so sorry. I see now that you felt like such an unworthy failure that you couldn’t bear to continue on with life. I see now that I made you feel like you had no worth. I made you feel like the only way out was to kill yourself….to end you precious and wonderful life. It’s my fault. I wish I could tell you now. I wish I could change it all. I wish I could do it all over again and be the parent I should have been for you. I wish I could have been what you deserved. I would give anything to change places with you. Have you come back and me leave. But I can’t.

I see your face in my mind. I see your head drop and your shoulders slump when we would be getting on you about a mistake you had made…grades, tickets, messy room, etc. I can hear the crack in your voice. I thought then that you were just shutting down because you didn’t want to deal with us nagging parents. I thought you were just zoning out so that it would be over and you could go back to what you wanted to do. I know now that you felt beat down. That we were just breaking your spirit a little more each time. I’m so sorry. I m so sorry. The grief and guilt and shame I bear now after realizing these things are so heavy. I will live with this for the rest of my life. I know that I let you and God down in the most profound way. If I could only make you understand that you are so important.  If only you could have seen the devastation your loss would bring.

God, please forgive Collin for taking his life, for he did not know how precious it was to you or I.  This is my fault.  I am to blame. Please show him the love and acceptance that he deserved all those years, and that I failed to convey. Please show him his worth and merit. Please fill his heart. Take away his self-doubt and fears. Please forgive me for my failures as his parent and my failures as your child.

Collin, to you I pledge to be better.  I will be a better parent for your siblings.  I’m sorry it took your death to make me see.  I’m so very sorry, Collin.