Life after Mali

This blog was started to remember our daughter Mali.

Mali was 14 when she completed suicide. My husband Tim found her body and I returned home within 5 minutes to witness the chaos of firemen, police and EMS services.  My sweet girl was lying on her back covered with a blue paper sheet, her clothes had been cut away.  Her brown curls matted down with sweat, a breathing tube hanging from her mouth.

I remember begging our Priest to give her last rights, save her soul from the ravages of hell and whatever else a Catholic mother can do to attempt to continue saving her child, hoping beyond hope she will open her eyes and sit up like Lazarus did.

The pain that ensued has been the worst possible pain we have ever experienced. It is raw, burning, aching. It’s ongoing. No amount of talking, therapy, 30 day programs, alcohol, prescription medication can numb this pain.

I have no idea where this blog will go or who will even read it. It’s for me and that is enough.

I miss you Mali. My duck. My everything. Thanks for shitting on my life.