Kristine E. Brickey

27: the age he would have been today. 16: the last birthday he celebrated. 10: the number of years he hasn't sat at my table. He was only a few months away from his 17th birthday. Had he stayed, I would have, over the last decade, watched as he'd grown broader and taller. I would have cried and laughed and been frustrated over things he said and did. I would have hugged him tight and embarrassed him with kisses. I can imagine what he might have grown into, what we might have (fill in an emotion here) about these last ten years. They are only imaginings. There's no way to know what would have happened, had he stayed. This morning, however, on his 27th birthday, I do know. I know that within a few minutes of waking up I would have been singing 'Happy Birthday' to my son. Whether he was stationed overseas, living down the hallway from me, or couch surfing between friends' places, I would rise up and be singing his birthday song to him in person or into a phon...

Note: This piece was written by a former student (now a grown adult) and shared on her social media. For obvious reasons, it hit home with me in a powerful, emotionally provoking way. When I asked if I could share, Taylor Siebecker immediately gave permission. Aside from a bit of formatting, it is exactly as she wrote it. Thank you is simply not enough.  *possible suicidal triggering 63 various pills used to rest in the bottom of my purse in a ziplock bag; 63 various pills that I carried around, waiting to be taken to end what felt like my endless suffering. 63 reasons why I thought my life was not worth it. 63 pills that felt like they weighed thousands of pounds. I wrote my suicide letter, tears streaming down my face as I tried to explain why I did what I had planned. I still have that letter, buried in my closet; I read it often when I’m alone or wond ering what my purpose here on this earth is.  The thoughts that once raced through my head; they consumed m...