My daughter just called. The one who lives in Seattle - 3,000 miles away. She said that a friend of hers was just disconnected from life support. Thursday night this friend took too many pills, then called my daughter. They were on the phone till the friend fell asleep. My daughter called everyone she knew who knew the girl, hoping someone would pick up and go find her. It was the middle of the night on the east coast, and no one picked up. She had no idea where her friend was. My daughter didn't sleep much, and then the next day she found out about her friend: in the hospital, in a coma.
And today she died. She was 21.
My daughter called sobbing. Telling me it was all her fault. That she didn't call the right people, she should have called the police. That she should have done something. My heart broke. Shattered in pieces. For her friend. For her. For the parents. For us all.
And my daughter is 3000 miles away. Growing up. With grief. With pain. Without me near. I remember the days of kissing away the hurt, and brushing away the fear. Now I just hope she will keep talking, keep calling, keep reaching out.
And, I hope that in Seattle there is an adult who will be there for my child. To console her. Let her know it isn't her fault. That she's not alone. That she doesn't need to do anything dramatic. Just cry. Be sad. But keep talking.
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