Someday I’ll tell my boys how they saved me. We’ll talk about tough pregnancies and hormonal imbalances. We’ll talk about how I gave birth and didn’t want to leave the hospital. How I was scared. Scared of the inevitable darkness that I could already feel settling in on my soul.

We’ll talk about dark days. How the sun never shone. How I could feel the sunlight leave my heart as the sun went down. How I would dread night time. Sleepless nights. Or dreams. Terrible, horrible dreams.

Someday we’ll talk about my anger. My anger at God. My anger at myself. We’ll talk about how my anger was rooted in fear. Fear of abandonment. By God. By all. Fear for my life. Fear of the darkness.

We’ll talk about running away and seeking help. We’ll talk about counselors and doctors. Diagnoses and antidepressants. About the medication-induced haze. About emotional emptiness and spiritual emptiness.

We’ll talk about leaving our home in desperation. About uprooting our life in search of help. We’ll talk about the love we received. The help that was sent. Our family.

But most of all, someday I’ll tell my boys that what kept me going, what kept me alive, was them. We’ll talk about how their breakfast-wanting got me out of bed. We’ll talk about purpose. My purpose. Their purpose.

I wouldn’t have ever left my bed, except for them. I wouldn’t have gotten dressed, but they wanted to go outside. I wouldn’t have eaten, but they were hungry. Always. I wouldn’t have sought friendship, but they were lonely for playmates.

I wouldn’t have stayed alive. But they needed me.

And I needed them.

Someday I’ll tell them.

But for now…for now I will kiss them goodnight. I will tell them I love them. How they are special to me. I will pray with them. I will listen to their stories. I will teach them. I will love them. I will continue to need them. Because they need me.

They have saved me.


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