AMY
February 18, 2013... what were you doing that afternoon? It was a Monday.
I was exhausted and emotionally spent after a long day with the kids, but looking forward to spending some time with a few girlfriends that evening. David got home a bit early and told me to go ahead and get out of the house and read for a bit before meeting up with the girls.
I can't express how overwhelmingly grateful I am for the way he cares for me. I've been battling a lot of dark thoughts and sleepless nights over the past few months...
What were you doing that afternoon?
It was my parent's 34th wedding anniversary.
I thought about how, exactly 8 years ago, I was in the hospital recovering from an excruciating spinal fusion.
My husband was home with with all three kids... probably wiping dirty faces and runny noses.
My longtime childhood friend, Heather, was working out at the gym. She glanced down at her phone... several missed calls flashed across the screen.
You see... while we were all busy with the hustle and bustle of life that afternoon... one precious life came to an end.
Heather kept running on the treadmill as the missed calls kept flooding her phone. She knew something was wrong, but she just wanted to pretend otherwise for a few more minutes. Little did she know that, as she stepped off that treadmill, she was stepping into a new world of loss and grief. Just one step... one blink of an eye... that's all any of us are from 'life as normal'.
She would soon learn that her dear sister, Amy, just four years older... had decided to end her own life that afternoon.
Sweet Amy... daughter of Norm and Sue... younger sister to Michael... older sister to Lora and Heather... mother of Tyler and Reaghan. She is gone at the age of 36.
We grew up together. Making whirlpools in the little baby pool in our backyard. Tea parties and birthdays. Riding bikes in the court across the street. Riding on that crazy 'whirly-gig' in our garage on rainy days. And I can even recall a very emotional funeral for her pet bunny.
Heather and I were dear childhood friends... they were our favorite neighbors, and we stayed close even after moving to different neighborhoods. I would always want to go to her house to play. Being the oldest child... I was completely intrigued by the idea of having older siblings. I thought it would be so cool to have a big sister like Amy... mostly because she would make us those 'no-bake' chocolate and peanut butter cookies... which are still my favorite to this day. It's strange how such a small act of kindness lives on for a lifetime... Just a big sister taking a few extra minutes to make us cookies... and I still remember it as if it were yesterday... and still think of her every time I make them, which, if I'm honest with myself, is a bit too often.
Our families have kept in touch throughout the years... weddings... lunch dates... baby showers. I think of Amy's son ,Tyler ,every year on October 18, since we're birthday buddies. It's funny how you can start off with nothing in common other than living next door... and before you know it, you're joined together with funny (and some not so funny;) stories and memories that make up a lifetime together.
Amy battled depression for years. She was a deep thinker. She was compassionate. She was not self-involved. It seems to me, a common misunderstanding that 'selfish people' commit suicide... but all who knew Amy would say she was one of the least selfish people you'd ever come across. She had a deep burden for the less fortunate. She'd stop and notice the people that most of us would pass by.
I'm sure her family knew she was depressed... and I imagine it became more obvious to her friends, especially over the past few months. But I can only imagine that that sweet smile had so many of us fooled for too long. Depression is ugly... and confusing. Family members go into survival mode... they try to help... but end up feeling helpless.
I've battled depression for quite some time... and I can tell you that most of us dealing with depression are fighters... What some people see as 'quitting' is really 'fighting'. You want to quit... but you fight to get out of bed. You want to quit... but you go about your day and smile, even if it takes every ounce of energy you have.
I imagine that Amy was quite the fighter...
At her funeral yesterday, her sister read a journal entry that Amy had written years ago. It was profound. Her son was in the 3rd grade, at the time, and had gotten himself ready for the day when she accidentally overslept. Amy records such a 'proud mother moment' as she realized that her little boy was growing up a bit... and that maybe she had done a few things right. The small things affected her. She found such deep meaning in something as simple as her son getting ready for school for the day. She felt deeply... lived deeply... loved deeply.
Her older brother, Michael, spoke beautifully of his sister yesterday. He spoke of the things that so many of us seem to get caught up in... appearance, social status, what people are thinking about us ...
"Amy didn't give a damn about any of that." is what he said. I admire his passion and tenderness. He grabbed the picture of his dear sister before he continued her eulogy. He walked through the rows of people... he desperately wanted us to see her face and remember that dear smile.
Lora, six months pregnant with her second child, sobbed and laughed through sisterly fights and memories. It just tears my heart out to imagine the grief.
Heather didn't speak that day... but I have no doubt that she'll be the backbone for her family in the months and years to come.
As Amy's 12 year old daughter, Reaghan read a poem she had written for her mom... I felt like my heart was about to explode with a million different emotions. A life cut short. A tragedy. A twelve year old girl shouldn't have to speak at her mother's funeral. A mother shouldn't have to bury her 36 year old daughter.
Most people say... "Oh, I can't imagine." ... but the terrifying thing is... I can.
I keep replaying those last few hours in my mind... and I can imagine the hopelessness she must've felt. But I also believe that that last desperate act must've been met with mercy. I believe in a God that wraps His arms around us and says... "Of course you didn't do everything perfectly... but MY SON did. And WHOSOEVER believes in HIM will not perish, but have eternal life." John 3:16
Amy is gone all too soon, but her life and death are not in vain. There was a church full of people yesterday afternoon. We could've been taking naps, watching Oscar pre-shows or listening to another analyst determine whether Beyonce was lip syncing the National Anthem or not... but instead, because of Amy... we were gathered together doing the most important thing that any of us will ever do. We were faced head-on with some of the most important questions we'll ever have to answer.
What do I believe? What do I believe about God? What happens when I breathe my last breath? What is the point of this life? What was the purpose of Amy's life?
I think Amy was right. Right to think deeply. Right to recognize that this world doesn't satisfy. Right to be confused by the disconnect between the deep anguish in her soul... and what this world has to offer.
Depression is real. It is painful. It is misunderstood. The confusing thing is... although it's a real medical condition involving chemicals and hormones... it also involves our thoughts. Our unique, own, personal thoughts. When you break your leg... other people can see it and identify it as, indeed, a broken leg. But depression is tricky... the problem with depression is that it isolates you. When dark clouds fog your mind, it's easy to lose your compass. You start believing the lies that tell you 'everyone's just better off without you'... and if you keep those lies to yourself... they start sounding like the truth. Nobody else can reach into your mind and fix it.
I am all too familiar with that lie... I've heard it often... 'they'd be better off without you.' But, thankfully, I've learned to identify it as I lie. The truth is... this world was a better place with Amy in it.
I can't express how overwhelmingly grateful I am for the way he cares for me. I've been battling a lot of dark thoughts and sleepless nights over the past few months...
What were you doing that afternoon?
It was my parent's 34th wedding anniversary.
I thought about how, exactly 8 years ago, I was in the hospital recovering from an excruciating spinal fusion.
My husband was home with with all three kids... probably wiping dirty faces and runny noses.
My longtime childhood friend, Heather, was working out at the gym. She glanced down at her phone... several missed calls flashed across the screen.
You see... while we were all busy with the hustle and bustle of life that afternoon... one precious life came to an end.
Heather kept running on the treadmill as the missed calls kept flooding her phone. She knew something was wrong, but she just wanted to pretend otherwise for a few more minutes. Little did she know that, as she stepped off that treadmill, she was stepping into a new world of loss and grief. Just one step... one blink of an eye... that's all any of us are from 'life as normal'.
She would soon learn that her dear sister, Amy, just four years older... had decided to end her own life that afternoon.
Sweet Amy... daughter of Norm and Sue... younger sister to Michael... older sister to Lora and Heather... mother of Tyler and Reaghan. She is gone at the age of 36.
We grew up together. Making whirlpools in the little baby pool in our backyard. Tea parties and birthdays. Riding bikes in the court across the street. Riding on that crazy 'whirly-gig' in our garage on rainy days. And I can even recall a very emotional funeral for her pet bunny.
Heather and I were dear childhood friends... they were our favorite neighbors, and we stayed close even after moving to different neighborhoods. I would always want to go to her house to play. Being the oldest child... I was completely intrigued by the idea of having older siblings. I thought it would be so cool to have a big sister like Amy... mostly because she would make us those 'no-bake' chocolate and peanut butter cookies... which are still my favorite to this day. It's strange how such a small act of kindness lives on for a lifetime... Just a big sister taking a few extra minutes to make us cookies... and I still remember it as if it were yesterday... and still think of her every time I make them, which, if I'm honest with myself, is a bit too often.
Our families have kept in touch throughout the years... weddings... lunch dates... baby showers. I think of Amy's son ,Tyler ,every year on October 18, since we're birthday buddies. It's funny how you can start off with nothing in common other than living next door... and before you know it, you're joined together with funny (and some not so funny;) stories and memories that make up a lifetime together.
Amy battled depression for years. She was a deep thinker. She was compassionate. She was not self-involved. It seems to me, a common misunderstanding that 'selfish people' commit suicide... but all who knew Amy would say she was one of the least selfish people you'd ever come across. She had a deep burden for the less fortunate. She'd stop and notice the people that most of us would pass by.
I'm sure her family knew she was depressed... and I imagine it became more obvious to her friends, especially over the past few months. But I can only imagine that that sweet smile had so many of us fooled for too long. Depression is ugly... and confusing. Family members go into survival mode... they try to help... but end up feeling helpless.
I've battled depression for quite some time... and I can tell you that most of us dealing with depression are fighters... What some people see as 'quitting' is really 'fighting'. You want to quit... but you fight to get out of bed. You want to quit... but you go about your day and smile, even if it takes every ounce of energy you have.
I imagine that Amy was quite the fighter...
At her funeral yesterday, her sister read a journal entry that Amy had written years ago. It was profound. Her son was in the 3rd grade, at the time, and had gotten himself ready for the day when she accidentally overslept. Amy records such a 'proud mother moment' as she realized that her little boy was growing up a bit... and that maybe she had done a few things right. The small things affected her. She found such deep meaning in something as simple as her son getting ready for school for the day. She felt deeply... lived deeply... loved deeply.
Her older brother, Michael, spoke beautifully of his sister yesterday. He spoke of the things that so many of us seem to get caught up in... appearance, social status, what people are thinking about us ...
"Amy didn't give a damn about any of that." is what he said. I admire his passion and tenderness. He grabbed the picture of his dear sister before he continued her eulogy. He walked through the rows of people... he desperately wanted us to see her face and remember that dear smile.
Lora, six months pregnant with her second child, sobbed and laughed through sisterly fights and memories. It just tears my heart out to imagine the grief.
Heather didn't speak that day... but I have no doubt that she'll be the backbone for her family in the months and years to come.
As Amy's 12 year old daughter, Reaghan read a poem she had written for her mom... I felt like my heart was about to explode with a million different emotions. A life cut short. A tragedy. A twelve year old girl shouldn't have to speak at her mother's funeral. A mother shouldn't have to bury her 36 year old daughter.
Most people say... "Oh, I can't imagine." ... but the terrifying thing is... I can.
I keep replaying those last few hours in my mind... and I can imagine the hopelessness she must've felt. But I also believe that that last desperate act must've been met with mercy. I believe in a God that wraps His arms around us and says... "Of course you didn't do everything perfectly... but MY SON did. And WHOSOEVER believes in HIM will not perish, but have eternal life." John 3:16
Amy is gone all too soon, but her life and death are not in vain. There was a church full of people yesterday afternoon. We could've been taking naps, watching Oscar pre-shows or listening to another analyst determine whether Beyonce was lip syncing the National Anthem or not... but instead, because of Amy... we were gathered together doing the most important thing that any of us will ever do. We were faced head-on with some of the most important questions we'll ever have to answer.
What do I believe? What do I believe about God? What happens when I breathe my last breath? What is the point of this life? What was the purpose of Amy's life?
I think Amy was right. Right to think deeply. Right to recognize that this world doesn't satisfy. Right to be confused by the disconnect between the deep anguish in her soul... and what this world has to offer.
I couldn't help but notice something as I sat down to write this... I stopped to watch as my son Elliot played with his wooden toy trains. You know... the ones that connect with a magnet on each end? Well, the poor kid was so determined to get these train pieces together. I watched as he tried to force the wrong sides of the magnets together. My poor 2 year old is definitely his mother's child. He tried frantically to force the two magnets together... but eventually fell apart out of frustration. Now, Evangeline my 3 year old... would have simply thrown the train across the room and forgotten about it in a second. But Elliot thinks deeply. He knew that train was suppose to fit together... and his thoughts were consumed until he figured it out.
Trying to weld together the deepest and darkest parts of our soul with the pieces of this world... will only end in frustration. Like forcing the wrong ends of the magnets together... the more you try ... the more they repel each other. The deepest longings and questions of our souls can only be answered in eternity.
Depression is real. It is painful. It is misunderstood. The confusing thing is... although it's a real medical condition involving chemicals and hormones... it also involves our thoughts. Our unique, own, personal thoughts. When you break your leg... other people can see it and identify it as, indeed, a broken leg. But depression is tricky... the problem with depression is that it isolates you. When dark clouds fog your mind, it's easy to lose your compass. You start believing the lies that tell you 'everyone's just better off without you'... and if you keep those lies to yourself... they start sounding like the truth. Nobody else can reach into your mind and fix it.
I am all too familiar with that lie... I've heard it often... 'they'd be better off without you.' But, thankfully, I've learned to identify it as I lie. The truth is... this world was a better place with Amy in it.
What can we learn from this? What can we do? How do we honor Amy's life... without glorifying the way in which she died? How do we help others without being consumed with guilt of how we could not help her?
It tears me up to imagine that I was peacefully reading a book and having a cup of coffee that afternoon. She lived right down the street... less than 2 minutes away. Did I pass her on the road that day? Could anyone have stopped it? The truth is... all the 'what ifs' in the world can't bring her back or bring comfort to those who have lost her.
But one thing we can do is to think of Amy next time someone shares that they've been depressed lately. Next time you have that fleeting thought of... "Hmm, I haven't seen 'so-and-so' in a while." Next time you're standing in line at Target... perhaps look around at the faces of the people around you, instead of staring down at your iphone. There are many 'Amy's' in this world... beautiful souls that are tethered to this world by a mere mortal body. Souls that could be gone from this world in an instant. Souls that are in pain, looking for answers, trying to make sense of the fact that so many people seem to 'have it together'... while they feel so lost.
Depression is real. We aren't just lazy... or in a bad mood all the time. We are battling. Fighting for many things that seem to come easily to so many others. Let's help each other. What a relief it can be to learn that you're not battling alone.
To the Phelps,
Our thoughts and prayers are with you... and will continue to be in the journey ahead. I'm sorry that this grief has shaken your world. Life's not fair.
Amy will not be forgotten. The world is a better place because of her. She was a wonderful mother... all you have to do is spend a few minutes with Tyler and Reaghan to know that.
Please don't feel guilty... Amy wouldn't want that. I can't imagine a stronger or more loving family than yours... and I believe the Lord will use you to comfort others one day.
Much love to you all... Jessica
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