It Happened on a Thursday
It Happened on a Thursday
It happened on a Thursday.
It happened during the month of May.
It happened on the second day of the month.
It happened in the morning hours.
It happened while I was out buying groceries.
It happened right in the middle of a hundred other pressing things that were all already happening, all vying for my time and attention, my thoughts and emotional energy — it happened most inconveniently, as if it could happen any other way.
It happened in a moment, and yet it impacted every moment after and still to come.
And now, I have a lifetime of Thursdays and Mays and second-days-of-the-months and mornings and trips-to-the-grocers and right-in-the-middles and moments still to come. And as they come, they come with reminders that it happened.
On Thursdays, I remember how you left us — abruptly, horrifically, and far too soon.
During the month of May — filled with graduations and birthdays and wedding anniversaries (my own included) and so many other joyous occasions — I remember that unquenchable feeling of profound loss.
On the second day of each month, I remember your mother and father, brother and sisters, and I wonder if it’s gotten any easier for them to breathe since the breath first caught in their throats that Thursday morning, May 2.
In the early hours of each morning, I remember how things were before, and my mind races through a series of “what ifs,” “could haves,” “should haves,” and “would haves,” until I am finally able to come to terms with the reality that what is, is. And then I resolve to focus the rest of my day on what still can be, and to do my best to accomplish that.
When I visit the grocery store, I remember the tremor in my husband’s voice on the other end of the line as he courageously uttered those unspeakable words: “[She’s] gone. [She] killed herself.” And I remember the rage and the awful, aching emptiness that followed.
In the middle of a hundred other pressing things, all vying for my time and attention, my thoughts and emotional energy, I remember the last conversation you and I shared together. I replay it over and over again in my head, and I try especially hard to remember the sound of your voice — to hear your tone and inflections. I hope never to forget those things.
And in the quiet moments of every day, I remember you, and I wish desperately that you were still here.
It may have happened on a Thursday; but it’s a Wednesday today, as I write this, and it’s still happening. And that, I believe, is precisely the point: for those of us who get left behind, it never stops.
When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:
“Death is swallowed up in victory.”
“O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?”
- 2 Corinthians 15:54-55 (ESV)
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In loving memory of Breigh Harden (September 25, 2003-May 2, 2019). Originally written and published on October 2, 2019. Still just as true today.
September may be National Suicide Awareness Month, but depression and suicidal thoughts are not confined to a single month of the year, and so it’s important to address these issues at other times as well. And let’s be real — you can be a Christian and also struggle with depression and/or thoughts of suicide. Trust me, I know…
If you’re currently struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts, know that you are not alone. You are important, valued, and prayed for; and this life would not be the same without you in it — it would be so much less. So talk with someone. Let someone know you’re struggling. Ask for help, and let someone help you. Please don’t try to fight this battle on your own. We need each other.
And if necessary…
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
Crisis Text Line: text HOME to 741741
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