When it comes to making decisions, I am not one who hesitates or wastes any time hemming and hawing. I am not known as an indecisive woman or as one who changes her mind.  Once a decision is made, I stick to it. 

Perhaps my ability to condense choices down to either A or B and remain resolute with my selection originated from becoming independent at an early age. In other words, before puberty hit, I had to become a grown up. 

Change of Mind 

The death of a parent by suicide certainly interrupts a child’s life. It altered mine in many ways. For instance, my childhood innocence came to an abrupt halt and suddenly, I found myself taking on adult responsibilities. 

With Dad’s death, Mom was forced to work full-time. When she’d arrived home from work, she’d go straight to her bedroom, close her door and go to bed. As a result of her absence, the chore of cooking dinner fell onto my shoulders as did the house cleaning and laundry. I took full charge of household tasks.  

Mom never sat me down and asked me to do these things. It was simple. She no longer did what she used to do. Though my brothers were old enough to take out the trash, if they’d cooked, cleaned and sorted laundry, it would have brought about disastrous results. So, I took charge. 

My pattern and ability to decide on a course of action; what to cook for dinner, how to clean the house and when to do the laundry resulted in positive results. What needed doing, go done well and with efficiency.  But, my efficient method of making the “right” choice, came to an abrupt halt shortly after I’d graduated from college. 

While still in college, I’d read an article for a psychology class assignment. The commentary pointed out that children who lose a parent to suicide are in fact, at risk to also dying by suicide. 

Though this knowledge frightened me, it also caused my stubbornness to kick in. I told myself that I did not want to end up a statistic, dying by suicide, and resolved to disprove the author’s theory as though a theory could be willed away. 

Then, a while later, I found myself in the midst of an emotional dilemma. I was taken aback when the thought of suicide crept into my mind as a viable option. Up until my father’s suicide, the whole idea of taking my own life was a foreign thought. After his suicide though,, it seemed like a door leading to ending my life was now opened. Thankfully, though, I reconsidered my choices. 

Yes, I felt helpless, but hope was also presented to me, in a supernatural manner, which got my attention. I did not have to follow in the footsteps of my father. Instead, I could choose life and a different way to live. 

Why bother reconsidering our decisions? Yes, I know how to make decisions quickly and efficiently, but sometimes, reconsidering them is a difference between life and death.