Copyright 2024 – Rebecca Nietert
When Shari was only six years old, I distinctly remember the first time she attempted to take her own life. Sadly, this was not an isolated incident. I witnessed many moments where she would retreat to the back of a closet, seeking solace from the world or persistently trying to bring an end to her suffering. It breaks my heart to recall these memories because Shari was truly an innocent and delicate little girl with a remarkable sense of humor. If she had ever pursued a career in comedy, she surely would have found immense success.
I believe that witnessing my mother’s frequent fits of rage, where I bore the brunt of her anger, must have profoundly impacted Shari. The full extent of her motivations remained a mystery to us, but as I matured and sought therapy for my own struggles, I gradually realized that Shari’s depression ran deep. She was a young girl who lacked the ability to effectively communicate her fears and inner turmoil. It became apparent that something was gravely wrong, and yet, Shari carried this burden throughout her nineteen years of life, unable to change her desire to put an end to her pain.
Then one evening when Shari was 19 years old…
I received a call that shattered my world, a call filled with rage and despair. It was my sister on the other end, struggling to deliver unthinkable news. My younger sister, Shari, had been taken from us in a cruel twist of fate – a victim of a sudden and tragic car accident. The words pierced through me, but my mind struggled to grasp their meaning. I collapsed to the floor, my body unable to bear the weight of such devastating truth.
Through the blur of tears and confusion, my best friend Linda came to my aid. She lifted me up, guided me into a cab, and together we arrived at the hospital. I stumbled towards her room, my heart pounding in my chest. And there she lay, my sweet Shari, so small and fragile. Her face was marred by bruises, unrecognizable to my bewildered eyes. I wept uncontrollably, my desperate prayers filling the air, begging for a miracle that would never come.
As if to compound the agony, the doctor entered the room, his words forever etched in my soul. He confirmed what I couldn’t bear to accept – she was gone, forever lost to us. The weight of such surreal news crashed upon me, leaving me numb and drained. Tears streamed down my cheeks, the anguish consuming every fiber of my being. And then, as if in a cruel twist of fate, the doctor delivered another blow. My shattered family awaited me in the chapel, ready to discuss the unimaginable – the end of her life.
I leaned over her, planting a tender kiss on her bruised cheek, and whispered the painful truth that hung heavy in the air. After all the struggles, after all the battles she fought within herself, it seemed as though she had finally achieved her wish. The lights of hope dimmed and darkness engulfed us all.
In that devastating moment, my world shattered into a million pieces. Waves of grief and sorrow crashed over me, threatening to drown me in their depths. The pain, oh the pain, felt insurmountable. It was as if a weight had been placed upon my soul, crushing it with an unyielding force. How could I bear this agonizing loss?
Her absence, the absence of Shari, felt like a void that could never be filled. She was so young, just nineteen, yet she had already faced her own battles, her own demons. How many times had I tried to shield her from the pain of our shared upbringing, only to realize that I couldn’t save her from herself? And now, I wouldn’t have the chance anymore. She was gone.
The tears ran dry, leaving me empty, hollow. I stumbled blindly through the darkness, trying to find a sliver of light, a glimpse of hope. But despair enveloped me like a black tunnel, its grip tightening with each passing moment. I collapsed into the arms of the doctor, seeking solace, seeking any semblance of comfort.
Looking back now, I wish I had possessed the knowledge and understanding I have acquired over time. It pains me to think that there may have been ways to support and help Shari if only we had been equipped with the awareness and resources we have today.
The tears may have stopped, but the ache in my soul remained. In this desolate landscape of sorrow, I vowed to find a way to honor Shari’s memory and find solace in the love that still surrounded me.