By Donna Moss, Development Coordinator
About three years ago, I received the call that one of my best friends, Calvin, had committed suicide. In that moment, a numbing wave washed over me. Feeling like I took a hit to the stomach, I couldn’t talk, let alone breathe. In the days following the news, my breath returned, but the numbness failed to subside.
My world completely shattered. As a student working through college, I felt I simply didn’t have the time to pick up the pieces, so I stuck to my routine. Each morning, I would wake up, brush my hair, pull on whatever clothes laid in a pile on my bed, and I’d head off for work or class – often times both. Each evening, I would return straight to my bedroom, peel off each layer, throw them back on my bed, and crawl into bed for the night. And on I went.
One day when I returned from class to begin my evening routine, I entered my bedroom to see that my clothes were neatly folded and put away. My roommate had cleaned up while I was out for the day. It doesn’t seem like the biggest gesture, but it showed me that someone cared about me and that I needed to begin to care for myself. The numbness began to dissolve as I finally addressed that I was not okay, and in the days, weeks, and months that followed, I began to take the time to pick up the pieces.