Yesterday, I shared fiction, today, David reflects with haunting narrative nonfiction, as Stephanie so well described it, "A true story of dying in media res, and how the living can provide the last chapter of an unfinished story."
Let David words wrap you up ...
He went there every fall, with his dog, to a little garage in the mountains. Around it was a plot of land with young pine trees. He would go out every morning to check on all the saplings, make sure they were supported, growing up. It’s where he went to reflect, and while he wandered between the trees, the dog would run and play in the fields.
He was divorced, and he loved that dog. But one year, she got sick, and he had to take her for emergency care in the town. But she couldn’t be helped. The dog died abruptly. And the death pushed him over the edge.
He left the forest and drove home, “worse than a drunk,” he described it. When he got home, he took a bottle of pills from his bathroom, swallowed most of them—then right before it killed him, he called for help. He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t ready for his story to end.
After two weeks of intense treatment, he got put on medication. Something for his depression, something else for anxiety. He had a bad thyroid, and his emotions would fluctuate more than most people.
But he started to stabilize, and after a while, he decided to simplify his life and move on: sell some things, give away money, volunteer for a local politician. He even started going to church, and after two years of that, he decided that he was going to be a missionary.