Today’s guest post comes from Natalie H. There’s one word that best describes me: novice. A novice at being a wife and mother. A novice at writing. A novice at the world of blogging. And, most of all, a novice at life (still). Luckily, I love learning and maybe… just maybe… someday I’ll elevate my status to “expert” in one of those areas. By day, I work as a technical writer and editor, piously correcting grammar, sentence structure, and formatting. By night, I’m ready to ditch the play-by-the-rules editor side of me and instead give voice to that pent-up wannabe creative writer. I love writing (specifically blogging), reading, photography, my knight in shining armor, and our one crazy, adorable offspring of a daughter.
It was a night in early March. My husband of just seven months and I were at an institute dance, acting like silly newlyweds and having a carefree time. Amidst the loud music, dim lights, and cheap decorations, my husband held out my cell phone to me. “It looks like your mom is calling you.”
On a Friday night? At 10:30?
Instantly my stomach clenched. My parents never call after 9:30.
In the quiet of the Institute hallway, my mom’s worried voice came through the phone. “We can’t find your brother. He sluffed school this afternoon, came home and got his snowboard, and we haven’t seen him since. We’re worried about him and I thought you should know.”
The rest of the night was a back-and-forth battle in my mind. He was probably just being a typical inconsiderate 17-year old and didn’t call. He somehow got stuck somewhere while he was snowboarding and didn’t have a phone. All reasonable excuses, but somehow in my heart of hearts I knew something was wrong.
The safe, naive world I had known until then came crashing down early the next morning with another phone call from my mother, this time in inconsolable tears. “We’re at the hospital. They found Jake* last night… he tried to overdose on pills. He’s really sick, but he survived.”
My little brother tried to commit suicide.
Amidst the million agonizing questions and thoughts that ran through my mind that day, one in particular stood out.
How could this happen?
How could a smart, comical kid, raised in a typical, run-of-the-mill loving family get to the hopeless point of thinking he had no other way out? Why did the ugly beast of depression decide to choose him, and affect him in just this way?
Now, four years later, he has nothing to do with the Church. The same depression that prompted him to make an attempt on his own life has completely blanketed his perception of his own eternal worth, and he has chosen to give in to that darkness and turn against the teachings of the church and down a road I can hardly fathom. I look at him and remember the horror of that terrible day and I have a difficult time understanding how my little brother, who was raised in the same home as me with the same, loving parents could consciously choose to toss aside every precious truth he had ever been taught, even after almost losing his life. Especially when I, on the flip side, have such a strong assurance of my Savior’s love that it’s almost overwhelming.
It wasn’t long before I started becoming more aware of the blame that’s often unconsciously placed on the parents in this kind of situation. And not just my parents – any parents of kids who have “gone astray.” Nothing makes me want to haul out and punch someone more (as un-Christlike as that may be). My parents were far from perfect, but they taught us the Gospel and, most importantly, they loved us with everything they had. As a mother myself, I now realize how important that was to me… and I wonder why it wasn’t enough for my brother.
Today, I find myself staring at my beautiful, pure, innocent one-year old baby, and the questions still haunt me. Is there anything I can do to keep her from going down a similar path as my brother? Are there any guarantees that she will grow up to have the same sure knowledge I do that Jesus Christ loves us and that this is His church? Sometimes it feels so hopeless and I worry that one mistake, one forgotten family prayer, one missed opportunity to teach her about Christ, is going to send her down the wrong path.
Agency can be such a frustrating thing. I know the answers to my questions, even though they still keep turning frantic circles in my head. Agency is the beautiful, divine center of Heavenly Father’s plan. Even if my parents had been perfect, even if Jake hadn’t been affected by depression, he still could very well have chosen the same path. And even if I were to be the world’s most perfect parent, my daughter is still an intelligent, thoughtful human being who will choose whether or not to believe the things I hope to teach her. And as much as I hate that fact and want to shove it into the dark corner of denial, I know that the decision is ultimately hers and all I can do is teach… and pray.
*name has been changed
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