It Was Time To Say Goodbye

When I was sixteen I unexpectedly found myself in a dark place, a secret dark place. I hid it well. My mother was the only one who knew me well enough to see through my smile. She took me begrudgingly to a doctor and told him I was depressed. He listened to her and then met with me privately. I knew what to say and easily convinced him otherwise. My mother was ticked when the doctor reported to her that I was a lovely young lady and she had no need to be concerned. We went home. My parents had an old 1980-something Ford Bronco II. It was two-tone brown, manual transmission, and completely paid for. I had chosen it specifically for that reason. They wouldn't miss it. I drove it up to Providence Canyon. At the top of the canyon, there was a mountain of loose gravel. I had been there many times with my friends on our "digging" adventures. I easily maneuvered to the top of the hill and parked on the lip, looking back down the canyon from where I'd just traveled. This was a happy place, Providence Canyon. I had grown up here, shot BB guns here. If I was going to die, this is where I wanted it to be. I parked the Bronco on the lip of the mountain and cried. I mourned my life, the failure that I thought I was, and every pain I had inflicted on others. I sobbed from my feelings of doubt and regret. I mourned the life I had lived as well as the life I wouldn't know. I was broken and empty inside. It was time to say goodbye. I don't know how long I sat in that Bronco overlooking my passing, but I do know this, I was not alone. I didn't see angels or hear God's voice, but I knew He was there. I was important. I did have a purpose. My family loved me and this wasn't His plan for me. I drove home slowly, allowing enough time to let my swollen eyes heal. No one knew where I had been and I never said a word. I got up the next day, and the next, and one day at a time, I survived. That was all I could do, and that was enough.