My grandma drove over from the desert to Yuppieville so she could go to her doctor's appointment.
She arrived late in the evening, and sat down on the couch. She started to talk about her drive, and then finally said, "I want to kill myself."
I gave a scripted answer. "I think you should see a doctor for your depression."
"No, it's I don't want to drive back and forth anymore. It's a two hundred mile trip. I want to find doctors in [her hometown]."
I let the subject drop. I didn't know what to do except call county's mobile crisis.
I called my mother the next morning while I was walking the dog, so I could have some privacy, and I told her what grandmother said.
"If you turn her in, she will never forgive you, at least not for years," my mother warned me. "Spend some time with her, ask her questions, play amateur psychiatrist and see how she's doing. "
I was with her all day, looking for clues into her mood. She seemed her usual self. That's no way to determine suicidality. SEverely suicidal people fool their family members all the time. Finally, while we were riding in the SUV, I asked her, "Did you mean it when you said you wanted to kill yourself?"
"No...I'm not the type of person who commits suicide."
"Don't you ever do that again," I said.
"Why are you so adamant about it?"
I don't remember the response I gave her, but I was silently pissed.
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