Disclaimer: very much non hunting, and some incredibly heavy shit. If that isn’t your thing, stop reading. This is truly the anti instagram reel about life.
This is without doubt, the hardest post I’ve ever written. I debated about sharing this, and my natural inclination is to lock it away from the world where no one can see it. However, some of you are close and personal friends. Some of you are parents. Some of you will be parents. Some of you may be walking through something similar, and some of you may be in the future.
I left late morning Friday to meet a couple of friends for a season finale chukar hunt in Oregon. I almost didn’t go. My youngest two daughters had an apocalyptic blow-up Thursday while I was at work. My youngest daughter went to a friend’s house to stay while things cooled down. I thought we had things kind of worked out that we could let emotions cool for a few days, and then revisit things early in the week.
The last hour and half of the drive is completely off grid. As I drove Friday evening, I had an increasingly overwhelming sense of dread something horrible was going to happen while I was gone. I chalked it up to an overactive mind and a lifelong struggle of giving things like these a little time to settle. I prayed for peace of mind. My sense of unease lessened but didn’t go away.
Saturday, while hunting, I had an overwhelming sense of urgency to find some cell coverage. I tried climbing higher but couldn’t find any. When we got back to camp, I borrowed my buddy’s inReach to send a text to my wife. She said come home ASAP.
I called my wife as soon as I got cell coverage on the way. My youngest daughter attempted to overdose Friday night. By the grace of God, she threw up twice during the night, which probably saved her life. My wife went down to talk to her Saturday morning and ended up taking her directly to the ER. When my wife finished telling me the story, she gave the phone to my daughter. I cried so hard I had to pull over. I was almost unable to speak. When I got the hospital that night, I was able to see her. She was exhausted and barely awake. I held her and cried.
My wife stayed in the ER, and I came home to take care of the dog. Saturday night was one of the darkest nights of my life. There is a back story here. Both of my parents committed suicide when I was 25. Mental illness and suicidal tendencies are a genetic reality. I blamed myself for the pain and torment my youngest daughter was living in. All three of my girls have struggled with anxiety and depression. I struggled with the reality they had to bear the burden of my family’s past. I fought an overwhelming urge to burn the house down and disappear.
I cried. I screamed at no one. I asked God why my kids had to suffer. I read the notes she had left and cried more. I screamed until I was hoarse. I slept fitfully.
Sunday was rough. I was a physical, mental, and emotional wreck. My daughter told me I looked like an 80-year-old man. I felt like it. I cried and prayed with her. I told her I was sorry in whatever way I had let her down as a parent. My best friend sent me a text Sunday night. He told me “We don’t get a say in whatever God’s plan is for us, but it’s inevitable.” I read that over and over that night.
On Monday, a psychiatrist interviewed my daughter, and then us. He recommended inpatient treatment. My daughter was scared and wanted to go home. I wanted to take her home. She wanted to see Finn. We all cried. I told her I thought inpatient treatment would be best for her, but in the end, she would not be forced to go.
Segue to the backstory again, my mom attempted to overdose prior to her death. She was held for a 48-hour mandatory stay in the psychiatric ward in the hospital after she was released from the ER. We visited her, and she was pleading and demanding we get her out. As family, we could do so. We refused. I will never forget walking away from her room with her yelling at us to get her out. She needed help but refused it completely.
Fast forward, that memory was haunting me. I was terrified we would experience the same thing here. Finally, at 1:00PM they told her there was a bed available and she could check in at 2:00PM. I sat down by her and asked her what she thought. She closed her eyes and began to cry. My heart stopped. She opened them and said, “I’ll go.” I was completely overwhelmed with emotion. I cried pretty much uncontrollably the whole way home to get her some clothes and take Finn to see her.
The check in process was hard. She can’t have visitors. I can’t even begin to describe how scary it is to leave your baby girl in a situation like this. I am praying continually for God to watch over her, to protect her, to give her the strength to be vulnerable, to heal her heart, and to give her confidence in who she is as a person. We don’t know how long she’ll be there. The uncertainty and fear is nearly crippling at times.
The ripple effect from this is like an emotional tsunami. Where do you start picking up the pieces and sorting through emotions? The mind is an amazing and beautiful thing, but it can also be terrifying in how it works. Hug your family. We get a second chance at being whole, and for that I am forever grateful. The what ifs are incomprehensible. Don’t take anything for granted. Talk to your kids. The signs aren’t always obvious, even to professionals.
Even in the deepest and darkest canyons, there is hope.
I lift my eyes to the mountains – where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. Psalms 121:1-2
This is without doubt, the hardest post I’ve ever written. I debated about sharing this, and my natural inclination is to lock it away from the world where no one can see it. However, some of you are close and personal friends. Some of you are parents. Some of you will be parents. Some of you may be walking through something similar, and some of you may be in the future.
I left late morning Friday to meet a couple of friends for a season finale chukar hunt in Oregon. I almost didn’t go. My youngest two daughters had an apocalyptic blow-up Thursday while I was at work. My youngest daughter went to a friend’s house to stay while things cooled down. I thought we had things kind of worked out that we could let emotions cool for a few days, and then revisit things early in the week.
The last hour and half of the drive is completely off grid. As I drove Friday evening, I had an increasingly overwhelming sense of dread something horrible was going to happen while I was gone. I chalked it up to an overactive mind and a lifelong struggle of giving things like these a little time to settle. I prayed for peace of mind. My sense of unease lessened but didn’t go away.
Saturday, while hunting, I had an overwhelming sense of urgency to find some cell coverage. I tried climbing higher but couldn’t find any. When we got back to camp, I borrowed my buddy’s inReach to send a text to my wife. She said come home ASAP.
I called my wife as soon as I got cell coverage on the way. My youngest daughter attempted to overdose Friday night. By the grace of God, she threw up twice during the night, which probably saved her life. My wife went down to talk to her Saturday morning and ended up taking her directly to the ER. When my wife finished telling me the story, she gave the phone to my daughter. I cried so hard I had to pull over. I was almost unable to speak. When I got the hospital that night, I was able to see her. She was exhausted and barely awake. I held her and cried.
My wife stayed in the ER, and I came home to take care of the dog. Saturday night was one of the darkest nights of my life. There is a back story here. Both of my parents committed suicide when I was 25. Mental illness and suicidal tendencies are a genetic reality. I blamed myself for the pain and torment my youngest daughter was living in. All three of my girls have struggled with anxiety and depression. I struggled with the reality they had to bear the burden of my family’s past. I fought an overwhelming urge to burn the house down and disappear.
I cried. I screamed at no one. I asked God why my kids had to suffer. I read the notes she had left and cried more. I screamed until I was hoarse. I slept fitfully.
Sunday was rough. I was a physical, mental, and emotional wreck. My daughter told me I looked like an 80-year-old man. I felt like it. I cried and prayed with her. I told her I was sorry in whatever way I had let her down as a parent. My best friend sent me a text Sunday night. He told me “We don’t get a say in whatever God’s plan is for us, but it’s inevitable.” I read that over and over that night.
On Monday, a psychiatrist interviewed my daughter, and then us. He recommended inpatient treatment. My daughter was scared and wanted to go home. I wanted to take her home. She wanted to see Finn. We all cried. I told her I thought inpatient treatment would be best for her, but in the end, she would not be forced to go.
Segue to the backstory again, my mom attempted to overdose prior to her death. She was held for a 48-hour mandatory stay in the psychiatric ward in the hospital after she was released from the ER. We visited her, and she was pleading and demanding we get her out. As family, we could do so. We refused. I will never forget walking away from her room with her yelling at us to get her out. She needed help but refused it completely.
Fast forward, that memory was haunting me. I was terrified we would experience the same thing here. Finally, at 1:00PM they told her there was a bed available and she could check in at 2:00PM. I sat down by her and asked her what she thought. She closed her eyes and began to cry. My heart stopped. She opened them and said, “I’ll go.” I was completely overwhelmed with emotion. I cried pretty much uncontrollably the whole way home to get her some clothes and take Finn to see her.
The check in process was hard. She can’t have visitors. I can’t even begin to describe how scary it is to leave your baby girl in a situation like this. I am praying continually for God to watch over her, to protect her, to give her the strength to be vulnerable, to heal her heart, and to give her confidence in who she is as a person. We don’t know how long she’ll be there. The uncertainty and fear is nearly crippling at times.
The ripple effect from this is like an emotional tsunami. Where do you start picking up the pieces and sorting through emotions? The mind is an amazing and beautiful thing, but it can also be terrifying in how it works. Hug your family. We get a second chance at being whole, and for that I am forever grateful. The what ifs are incomprehensible. Don’t take anything for granted. Talk to your kids. The signs aren’t always obvious, even to professionals.
Even in the deepest and darkest canyons, there is hope.
I lift my eyes to the mountains – where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. Psalms 121:1-2
