11:02 Pm

My life hasn’t always been easy... this is true. I have many recollections that my mind would love to disregard, but somewhere in the core of my existence it is just damn near impossible. I could sit here and tell you I’d love to forget the time momma forgot to tuck me in bed when I was only four years old because daddy came home drunk again. Or I could reveal to you about the time when I saw my sister-in-law Michelle take her final breath after taking her off life support. But I have only ONE memory I wish to lose sight of. St. Patrick’s Day 2011 at 11:02 pm. (yes, I still do remember the exact minute) The last three months had been such a blur. My sister Karen had been missing since New Year’s Eve. (She had been suicidal since Halloween) the highs and lows the wheres and whats the heres and theres Yes, I would love to forget those three months of agony wondering if she was still alive. Waiting for a phone call from her expressing that she just needed time away alone to “find herself”, or she was searching for healing and needed to do it on her own. It had been three months of posting “missing” flyers, news reporters, front page headlines all over the Metro Detroit area. This was a big deal where I live. Did you know that if someone has a mental illness, authorities make more of an effort to find them if they are missing? I learned that very early. And yes, my sweet sister was mentally ill. Her depression ran so deep she craved to end her life like she was starving for bread- She thirsted for death like she was dehydrated and the only thing that could quench her was an ocean of fatal ebon waters. Why do I remember the exact minute of the moment I wish to forget more than anything else in the last thirty-eight years of my life? It was when I heard that doorbell ring. It was like a profound resounding alarm of demise. A constant nagging gong that wouldn’t go away. I knew who it was, and I knew what he was going to say. The thirteen steps of stairs I climbed to the door was like an acute ache in the marrow of my bones. My heart pumped blood so quickly as if my ribs were going to puncture my skin. I opened the door, there he was as I suspected…Detective Plaunt. The last three months of torture raced through my mind as he was about to tell me what... I already knew. (numbly listening) I heard, “we found Karen’s body”. The next thing I heard was, “she left a goodbye note”. The last thing he said was, “hopefully now you can have closure”. To this day I do not remember the detective’s face, nor the tone in his voice. No, I don’t recall what I did after I closed the door or even if I slept that night. The only thing I remember is that awful sound of the doorbell reverberating through my mind. For nights I would hear it when I closed my eyes. It’s like hearing “death knocking on your door”- literally. It will be eight years this New Year’s Eve since Karen took her life, and another eight will join me all too soon. After two years of suffering through hearing that doorbell go off when someone came over, I finally replaced it with a new one. This one plays the soft tune of a piano. I think for those two years I didn’t want to forget what death sounded like. I wanted a daily reminder that she was gone because I felt that I deserved the pain of losing her. It was all the self-blame and shame of not being able to save her... (survivor’s guilt) Even though I destroyed that tangible button of death on my porch, I still have nightmares with that blood-curdling noise vibrating through my mind. It is honestly the one thing I remember that... I WISH TO FORGET. Remembering What You Want to Forget Contest October 7, 2018