Posted on 05/28/2015 8:42:43 PM PDT by rickmichaels
On my hospital bedside table was a photograph of my four-year-old son, Cillian. I looked at his cherubic cheeks and his smiling face, and my heart broke. A few hours earlier, my wife had begged me not to kill myself. She said that she might eventually accept my death but that Cillian would never get over it. I couldn’t bear to look at his picture any longer; I put it in the drawer. Then, I went back to doing what I had been doing for weeks on end – sitting on my bed in a locked psychiatric ward, lost in my morbid thoughts, staring out the window. The building across the street was partly demolished, its exposed, ugly, walls half-standing. I realized that I was like that building: My life was in ruins.
(Excerpt) Read more at theglobeandmail.com ...
website isn’t opening on my browser.
Interesting read. Thanks for posting it.
At the darkest moments one has to have a purpose - stay alive to serve that wonderful wife of his. Raise and guide his son, and above all, remember you belong to God
Or do you not know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God, and you are not your own? For you were bought at a great price; therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God’s.
1 Corinthians 6:19-20
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.