After seven years, I seem to go about my day to day life fairly 
normally.  I enjoy music and sing in the church choir which
supplies a lot of support.  I manage to read a lot.  Reading has
always been enjoyable to me.  Now, I find great comfort in
transporting myself into a fictional life and can actually shed 
my grief-filled existence for a time.  I wrote several poems in 
her memory.  They are a reflection of my ongoing grief and an 
outlet that I find clears my soul.

Depression lurks.  I feel its paralyzing weight.  In some of my worst 
days following Shari's death, I caught glimpses of the pit that dragged 
her in.  It is a very dark place.  I made a promise to myself to fight
depression off by seeking help when I need it, by helping others which 
for me, takes my mind off my own sorrow.  I recently received an award 
from my church district for "Encouragement" of others so I must be 
appearing to succeed.  I see the award as an example of the grueling 
work it takes to overcome the terrible curse that I feel was put on 
me by the suicide of my beautiful older daughter.  I will probably 
never look at life from any other vantage point.
  
Flashbacks.  I learned a technique of turning the radio to a different 
station, literally and figuratively.  But flashbacks were unavoidable 
for the first three or four years.  A song on the radio, a certain 
word, dark weather, Wednesdays, and Halloween were all triggers. You 
never knew what would zoom you right to the scene. Usually to the part 
where I figure out that she has a belt around her neck hung over a hook 
located high on the doorframe.  Even typing that here has started it, 
but I know the trick. Switch channels. Concentrate on something.  Like 
the Lamaze training I took for her birth.

Her birth was pretty amazing.  She took about six hours from the first 
tiny labor pain.  She was in a big hurry and the doctor almost didn't 
make it to the delivery room in time.  She was very beautiful, right 
from the start with bright copper hair.  She seemed to be a happy child 
except when her allergies were bothering her.  When she was five, she 
went into the emergency room for an asthma attack.  For the rest of 
her life she battled that disease.  Many a time she struggled to breathe, 
it totally baffles me that she would purposely strangle herself.
  	
My younger daughter Melinda is an amazing person.  Talented 
in many things, art and creative writing especially.  She continues to 
rise above the pain inflicted upon her by Shari. Much of the joy that I 
feel in my life comes from her ability to make me laugh. Jim, my husband of 
twenty-eight years and counting, continues to be on the road many days of 
each week. I am looking forward to a day when he is not gone from home 
so much.  After reading how many marriages fail after a child dies, 
and how many marriages fail in general, I feel that our marriage is strong.  
We are there for each other even when the miles separate us. 
  	
For the past many years I was lucky to have been working with the children
of the area YWCA, a job I had for many years before Shari's death.  In giving 
me the time I needed to grieve, the YWCA was really there for me.