Deferring the Decision

 I know that I already wrote about the holidays. I even thought that I had accepted the situation I have with my kids. But I guess I haven’t.

I ran into my second-oldest child on Friday. I saw her while I was getting off the train, but I was so tired that I didn’t realize it was her until she texted me asking if I was at Parliament Station. I told her I was and suggested she come up to McDonald’s. She said she couldn’t. She told me she was meeting a friend in Hull. It’s not far, but getting there by bus is inconvenient and involves switching transit systems.

So I went to McDonald’s on my own and ate lunch. I was deeply depressed. I felt like a failure.

I know that the enemy—Satan—wants nothing more than to kill and destroy, and part of that happens through insidious thoughts. I know these thoughts aren’t rational, but that knowledge doesn’t make them disappear in the moment. One of those thoughts is that I am worthless, and that my children are better off without me. I know that’s false, but in the moment it comes with intense shame, worthlessness, hopelessness, and sorrow.

As I walked back toward the LRT station, I caught myself thinking, Would the world be better off without me?

When the train was pulling in, I felt all kinds of emotions—most of them dark. Very dark. Strangely, I also felt God’s presence. I know that sounds cliché, but it’s the truth. I realized that I was too emotionally compromised to make a life-altering decision. I took several steps back until I was pressed against the wall. I knew I was vulnerable. Nobody around me knew what was happening, and they probably didn’t care.

So I did what I know how to do when I’m not thinking clearly. I deferred the decision.

When the doors opened, I quietly got on the train and went home.

I haven’t seen my kids since my birthday. That was two months ago. The last time I saw them, I took them to the Agriculture Museum. We had a good time, but I still felt inadequate. I wanted to have my kids over for Christmas dinner. I asked my ex-wife, but she was non-committal. She said I needed to talk to my second-oldest child, since she would be the one bringing them.

On Saturday, I reached out to her. (My oldest isn’t speaking to me.) She called me back and told me she wasn’t going to come over. She said it was too far, and that she was still upset about something that happened at my place over the summer—something that was outside of my control.

I was devastated.

I asked if we could meet somewhere downtown for lunch so I could give the kids their gifts. She said she’d think about it. I told her I worked at 5:00 and needed an answer before then, since my plan was to go after church. I’d already be downtown, and I didn’t have to be at work until 8:00 p.m.

She never got back to me.

I sent her a message suggesting a reasonable option downtown. She saw it, but didn’t reply. I called her on my break around 7:30 p.m. No answer.

I was gutted. I had a hard time concentrating for the rest of my shift.

I woke up Sunday morning after only one or two hours of sleep. I wasn’t in a good place. I was supposed to go to church, and honestly, I didn’t want to. But I knew that being there—around people, in a supportive environment—was probably better than isolating. So I went, knowing I wouldn’t see my kids that day.

There was one small positive.

On Friday, I had bought 24 pocket hand sanitizers from Bath & Body Works while they were on sale for a dollar each. I gave them out to people who serve at the church. It felt like a meaningful and practical gift—one I could almost afford. I’m pretty broke. Still, everyone seemed to appreciate them.

It was a small win.

On my way home from church, I ran into an elderly couple who were clearly confused about where they were going. I stopped to help them. It turned out they were taking the same bus I was. While we waited, we talked a bit. They told me they had a grandson a little younger than me. He was living on the streets and struggling with heavy drug addiction.

I felt an overwhelming sadness for them. I don’t know what led their grandson down that path, but I felt deep compassion. I told them I would pray for them. I walked them to the correct platform and made sure they got on the right bus.

They thanked me and left.

I guess I am still useful after all.

Author’s note:
I took a lot of time before deciding to write and publish this post. I do not want to glorify suicide or suicidal thoughts in any way. If you are feeling like life isn’t worth living, please know that these thoughts are not the truth—even if they feel overwhelming in the moment.

Talk to someone you trust. If you’re in Ottawa, you can call the Distress Centre at 613-238-3311 to speak with someone right away. You can also reach the National Suicide Crisis Helpline by calling 9-8-8 anywhere in Canada. On station platforms, the payphones have a free direct-dial button to the Distress Centre.

You don’t have to face this alone.