I haven’t mentioned this in very many places, and probably only a few know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I realized the other day that I needed to process it further, and the way I do it is by writing. On the 12th of February, one of my clients from my previous job committed suicide. I had worked with her mid-June of last year, and the last time I heard from her, she was in crisis. I was ready to go on maternity leave, though, and the case had already ended, so I wasn’t able to help. She committed suicide one month after her daughter was taken into state custody.

I am deeply, terribly disturbed by this. It feels so strange and intimate that someone I personally know, someone I worked with and someone who’s touched my life and someone I cared about (albeit on a more professional level) is no longer living. Her daughter I’ve also worked with about 5 years ago, when I was a school counselor. This feels so personal, so intimate. I am deeply disturbed and saddened by this news.

I had a dream the other night that I had called her up and asked her if I could see her one last time for a nice goodbye visit. A “closure session,” as they say. She said she was so happy to hear from me, and that she would be available that evening for our meeting. She said she and her daughter were going to move to Texas to start a brand new life together, and that everything will be okay. I was so happy in my dream, and I was looking forward to going to say goodbye to her, and I was happy she was going to start over and that her voice had such optimism in it.

And then I woke up, and I realized it was all just a dream. And she was still dead. She was still gone. She had still killed herself. She is still gone. I think the thing that gets me most is not that she passed, but how she passed. She viably chose, beyond a reason of a doubt, to kill herself. To end her life. She was only in her 40s, and she had two children. Now, these children are without a mother. I am not angry with her as I am frustrated with the system. She needed a lot of help, and when I was in the picture, I tried convincing EVERYONE how much help she needed. I tried getting her admitted into a mental institution so she could get the appropriate psychiatric care. She actually agreed at one point, and I went through this whole process to admit her… but the state said they wouldn’t support it as there was no “evidence” that she needed it yet. Meaning, there was no evidence that she was going to hurt herself or her child yet. Meaning, they needed someone to get hurt before they would agree to something like this.

I was so mad, I was so angry, I was so frustrated with the system. That here was this woman who was ready for help, who was actually responding to me (after years of refusing therapy and psychiatric care from everyone else), and they turned her down. Here was this woman who so clearly qualified, and if she didn’t admit herself, something would happen in the future where someone would get hurt. I just knew it. If it wasn’t herself, she would hurt her child. I just knew that it wasn’t a matter of “if” but a matter of “when.” And I was so frustrated at the bureaucracy of the whole thing. I was just so angry that no one would listen when I asked for help. That people were just waiting for her to actually hurt herself or hurt her child before something could be done.

And now, look at where we are. There is one less life on this earth. There is more pain on this earth because of that lost life. That 8y/o child lost both parents within the span of 6 months. Both committed suicide. What is this child’s world going to look like? What is this child’s future going to be? Had her mother gotten help, things could have been different. Sometimes, every so often, I blame myself for her death. Maybe I could have done something differently? Maybe I shouldn’t have given up too easily? Maybe I should’ve pushed it more? Maybe I should’ve convinced her more? Maybe I should’ve done something more. I don’t know. But somehow, I feel like what I did and how I tried to help amounted to nothing because the end result is that she’s dead. She’s gone. What good was I in their home if I couldn’t change that? If I couldn’t plant a seed to help fix things for them? What good was I, after spending 8 months with them, if all that happened was that this child is now without a mother, without a father, and in foster care, going through intensive trauma therapy because I couldn’t help the mother? What good was I? What good AM I?

The tears have not come yet. I still feel numb about it all. I am so saddened, so shocked that this had happened. I can’t help but dwell on it. This is a life. I should have done more. I should have been a better therapist. I should have been a better advocate. I should have done more. I should have made sure that this child wasn’t going to be left with no one. I should have been better.

I need closure, but I don’t know what this closure looks like. I don’t know how to get it. My best friend and I worked on this case together, and we both feel the same way about it. We both need closure, and we just don’t know how to get it. Every so often, one of us would mention it, and the room would go silent, and the air would grow stale. And the atmosphere would suddenly change.

I could have been better. For her. For them.