A guest blog post by Michelle Vincent…

I am a mother. Being a mother is my proudest achievement.

I have two children; my daughter Makenna who is 20. Makenna is currently attending college and commuting from home. She has always kept me active with her social life and sports activity.

My son is 17 at the time of the event, 25 days before his 18th birthday. He was attending college and was an athlete on their basketball team. Carson also kept me very active. His senior year was the craziest. He had broke his right hand during football and we didn’t realize the damage until the week before basketball would start. This would be Carson’s third year on varsity. His junior year he had great states, broke a school record, and voted best in their conference. As we began senior basketball he had to teach himself to be a left handed basketball player. It was frustrating at times but he did it! He worked hard. The team won the conference; in fact, they won all conference games but one. This game loss made Carson feel like it was all his fault. The team kept fouling him out knowing he couldn’t make those free throws due to a broken hand. I knew he beat himself up over this, he really felt like he let the team down.

But the more I learn about mental illness, this particular instance could have been more dark and internally painful than I could have ever imagined. The team goes on to also win districts; first time in years. They also beat a particular team; that has not been done in some time. Carson personally had incredible stats and broke the school record that he also broken the year before. He hit over 1000 points making him the second highest scoring basketball player in his school’s history. With all of this we had scouts at every game and were trying to fit in college visits.​

---

September 16, 2018 is a date I will never forget. Carson came home for the day from college. It was a typical Sunday. I got him groceries and I was washing his laundry. He was going to do some target practice with his dad and uncle. He told me he would be back soon because he needed to get back to school for basketball practice. I got a text from his girlfriend stating that all of a sudden he was texting her some crazy stuff. I asked her to forward it to me and believe me it was nothing I would have ever of imagined. The only text I remember seeing was, “Tell my family I left them a note in my top dresser drawer.” I ran to his room. THERE IT WAS. There was the letter right where he said. I ran to the living room to call my husband to let him know and to take Carson out of the situation and put away the guns. I didn’t make it to my phone in time…. It was already calling me…

It was my husband and the words I will never forget, “Michelle he shot himself, he is gone!” I screamed! I ran to my car to drive to him, I called 911, and in all honesty I don’t remember even driving there.​ I got to my father-in-law’s, I parked, and I start running to field where the truck is parked. The whole way there I had convinced myself he shot himself in the foot and he was worried about basketball season. A woman stopped me and told me I couldn’t go over there, he was gone.

I screamed and I collapsed! And I asked, “Can we have an open casket?” I don’t know why, I think this told me more than what I wanted to know. I wanted to think it was an accident and not on purpose. I cried. I screamed. I blacked out. I cried some more.

I laid there on the ground calling a few important people and trying to locate my daughter. I laid there thinking this was not real and was only a bad dream. I remember a few calls, a few words, and only a few people.

We sat in the yard for hours watching police, people trying to drive up and be nosy,along with close friends and family coming over. My cell phone was blowing up with heart felt message and friend requests. I sat there and looked at the truck he was lying next to.

As time goes on and we wait for the coroner, I remember asking if I could go sit with him and just hold his foot. I knew he was scared and I wanted him to know he was not alone. I was told, “No.” This hurt and made me cry; I just wanted to be with my son. He was cold and alone in a field. I just wanted to be with him. They told me they would come pick him up and take him to Sparrow Hospital to do an autopsy. I asked if I could go; again they told me, “No.” I wanted to go so bad. I wanted to ride with him, hold his hand, and let him know not to be scared and that he was not alone. They wouldn’t let me go. “That’s not fair!” I screamed.

Hours passed and everyone had left; it was time to head home. His groceries were sitting there and his laundry folded on the couch. A few friends came back to sit with us. I sat on the couch with no feeling. I looked at my phone: hundreds of messages, friend request and calls, none that I even remember. One friend made me some mashed potatoes and I took three bites and I was done.

We sat there. And we sat there. Finally, shortly after 4 a.m., I closed my eyes and opened them again shortly after 6 a.m. I woke crying.​ My friends were there to help. My daughter and my husband stayed in bed as one friend helped pick up. Another friend made arrangements for me to get in to see my family doctor so I didn’t need to go in when there was a lobby full of people. I knew I needed help if I was going to function.

During this first week, people came and went and brought meals. And at night, even more people were over; which helped distract me for a few seconds at a time. But then, the reality of why they were there popped in. My three friends would be the key to why I would get up and keep moving forward. They will never know the strength they gave me.​

This first week we had viewings that I don’t remember all of; and I don’t remember all the people. There was lots of crying and hugging. Then, that Friday we, held his memorial service at the high school. This was the biggest place to hold everyone. Over 1000 people were in attendance. His coaches spoke, his close friends spoke, his sister and girlfriend, and even me. I don’t remember.

Another week goes by; and those two weeks I barely remember. But it wasn’t until the end of those two weeks that I finally knew the date. It was always “Sunday” or “last Sunday.​”

Weeks have gone by now and we are actually hitting 3 months. Within these three months, he turned 18. His college basketball team had their first game. Neither of these big life events did he get to be a part of. It sucks! There are days I cry and there are days I scream. So many days I wonder, why?​ What could be so bad that he couldn’t take it any more? This question I will never know the answer to.

There were no signs, there was no discussion. He would sleep during the day’ but wasn’t this “typical” teen behavior with school, sports, and homework? He went to college and was “busy” and couldn’t answer every text message but this too was “typical.” ​The only words he left me was that he wasn’t strong enough mentally and physically for this pain. He couldn’t take the nightmares anymore. WHAT PAIN? WHAT NIGHTMARES? I would have done anything! I would have gotten him help. I would have kept it quiet. I would have done anything!

He could not see that this pain was temporary. However, he made a choice that was permanent. I will never see him play college basketball. I will never see him walk down the aisle. I never get to watch him raise his children. I never get to have a daughter-in-law. I never get to be a grandmother to his children. I would rather worry about him every day and every night verses not having him here.

I do believe Carson is living with regret. If he knew this was the outcome and we would have this pain, he would have asked for help. But we have this stigma out there that says it’s not okay, or you must be crazy. Well, the reality is that it is so much more common; but we don’t talk about it.

STOP THE STIGMA!

I started a Facebook page called Vinnie’s Voice. I want to share my story; all of my story. I want to share Carson. I want to share my feelings: the good the bad and the ugly. I want to be rare and be truthful. I want to talk. I want to talk about mental illness. I want to talk about suicide. I want to talk! I want people to know they are not alone. I want people to know it’s okay to not be okay. I want people to know its okay to talk and its okay to ask for help.

Thank you, Michelle, for sharing your story! It is raw, and powerful, and provides a perspective that everyone needs to hear. I encourage all of the Jim Ladiski Writes readers to like and follow Vinnie’s Voice on Facebook and learn how to help reduce the stigma surrounding suicide and mental illness.

Be well…

P.S. If you have a story to tell and would like to join Jim Ladiski Writes as a guest blogger, please contact me!