She asked me if I wanted to join her for a bowl of oatmeal. I replied "No, I am going to take a shower and get ready to go." Those were the last words we said to each other. When I got out of the shower, I found her. She was still alive. I tried to make her breathing easier but there was nothing I could do. When I realized what happened, I called for help. I didn't know whether to feel mad or hurt. I was out of it; I didn't know how I felt. It was a day I will never totally heal from. Life must go on, especially now. All of her hurting is over. She will feel no more of anything. It's a lot tougher to keep on living. (Note: Sixteen-year-old Marcy shared this entry from her diary with me shortly after her nineteen-year-old sister shot herself in the head. Although Marcy continues to improve through counseling, she still has occasional flashbacks, nearly four years after the suicide.)
Sarah Sarah was eleven when her mother hanged herself in the living room while the rest of the family slept. After a brief, intense period of grieving, Sarah appeared to adapt to her mother's death. When she turned eighteen, Sarah hanged herself in her bathroom. A letter of rejection from her mother's alma mater was found in her nightstand.