Having been exposed to death as a child, I understood it as something that happens. It is unavoidable and inevitable. There is a beginning and an ending.
During high school, I lost a close friend to a car accident. I could not understand how someone so young could die. At 18, I lost my Grannie, one of the absolute greatest people in my life. She shaped me into the person that I am now. Less than a year later, I lost my first best friend to multiple sclerosis. At 21, I miscarried for the first time. I felt guilty because I actually felt some relief because I was not ready to become a parent. At 23 years old, I had a daughter that became my world. She was perfect in every way. We did everything together. Tragedy struck 14 months later when I miscarried again. I thought my world was ending. Yet, I looked into my daughter’s big beautiful eyes and realized I could still see world in all its beauty. She got me through it.
I love them too much.
Thirteen years, one month, and eight days after she was born, my world ended. Suicide took her away from me, and part of my heart died with her.
I did the things that I had to do. I made funeral plans, and I called in family. Even though I surrounded myself with people who cared for and loved me I felt that I had no reason to live. I grieved for my family, friends, and my kids, but I never grieved for myself.
I loved you too much.
I made it three weeks before the plans of suicide crept into my mind. I thought long and hard about how I was going to do it. I saved up prescriptions that I thought would get the deed done. The night before I planned to end my life, I took my husband and kids out to eat. We bought them costumes and other things. When I came home, I went through my daughter’s stuff.
I didn’t sleep that night. I watched my other kids and husband sleep. In my mind, they needed someone who wasn’t broken in their lives. They needed a good mother and wife. I knew what I needed to do.
We woke up our kids earlier than normal. We put them in their costumes since they could wear them to school. I hugged and kissed them to the point that they pulled away. They got on the bus. I kissed my husband goodbye as he fell back to sleep. I was ready to end my pain.
I took all of the pills that I had collected and washed them down with a bottle of Nyquil. I lay down in my daughter’s bed. I was ready. I was in so much pain. I was toxic to the ones that I loved. I was a burden. I went to sleep.
I love them too much.
My daughter came to my husband in a dream, and he woke up and started looking for me. By this time, I was unconscious. He called and people I knew personally fought to keep me alive.
When I woke up the next day, a friend told me that I said, “I wasn’t suppose to wake up.”
After laying in ICU and then a regular room, I began to grieve. I had no choice. It is like I had a brain reset.
Nine months later, I am still grieving but I am seeking help. I wish I had talked about what I was feeling with others.
I am a story that had luck thrown in at the last-minute.
They love me too much.
I want to make a difference. Please help our community with By Chaney’s Hands. We can make a world of difference, but we need support.
There is one death by suicide in the US every 12.3 minutes. There are an average 105 deaths by suicide daily in the US. There are 38,000 deaths by suicide yearly in the US. (CDC)
Chaney was one of the 12.3 minutes. One of the 105. One of the 38,000. Let’s work together to decrease these numbers.
How will you make a difference?
If your life has been touched by suicide, I would like to hear from you. You can reach me on my personal Facebook page, Angel Flippen-Blackmon, or my email address: