Nightmares

The dreams have been coming.

Hangings.  Everywhere.  I wake to them.

And then I get up and live my life.  Most of the people I interact with on a daily basis would be shocked to know that my daughter died by suicide.  At work, folks don’t know me well and for the most part I function either somewhat anonymously or at least at a reasonable level of competence.  I don’t ooze grief.

But that doesn’t mean.  For one second.  That the dreams go away.  Or that I am somehow “over” this nightmare.

Molly’s suicide is part of me.  Forever.  But I am not going to give these dreams more of my life than they have already taken.

I love the 5 year old mastering the monkey bars, the 10 year old at ease on a horse, the 14 year old with such incredible music and drama skills, and the 16 year old who chose to leave this life.  I love them all.

Part of my story is plainly horrific and emerges in sleep, but Molly is special and loved and even sacred to me.   I will not be afraid of my own memories.