Tuesday 19 September 2017

'I love you too much' - Mum shares heartbreaking letter she wish she'd sent her son before he took his life

The anonymous letter addressed to 'Patrick' was published as part of the Sunday Independent's 'The Letter I Wish I'd Sent' series.
The anonymous letter addressed to 'Patrick' was published as part of the Sunday Independent's 'The Letter I Wish I'd Sent' series.
Independent.ie Newsdesk

Independent.ie Newsdesk

"I love you too much to let you go."

These are the emotional words written within a heartbreaking letter a grieving mother wishes she had sent to her son, before he took his own life.

The anonymous letter addressed to 'Patrick' was published as part of the Sunday Independent's 'The Letter I Wish I'd Sent' series.

In the powerful letter, the mum explains to her son how much his suicide would impact his family and leave them with a "dark cloud of sadness" for the rest of their lives.

Patrick's mum tells him how much he is loved and urges him to remember that life is worth living.

"Did I ever tell you that the moment you were born, I saw a light surrounding you and could not take my eyes off you for a second. You grew into a fine young man. Your smile was your signature, it was disarming. Do you really know what losing you would do to me? How everything would change, even though it might look the same, it would feel different, alien even? My life, my spirit would be shattered knowing I couldn’t help my darling son at his darkest hour," she writes.

In the letter, the mum remembers how difficult it was when Patrick moved to Australia, and said she could never imagine living without him forever.

"How could we possibly adjust to you never being around again. How would I sleep a proper sleep again? How would I wake from this nightmare to realise on waking that this is real?"

Patrick's mum urges him to consider how valuable his life is, and reminds him of the positive impact he has had on his siblings and those around him.

"There is no going back if you do this. I know you are hurting and see no other way, but there is another way, there is always another way. This dark blanket of pain can be lifted from you and with help you can again see that life is worth living. Please stay with me, Patrick, and share your future with us all. We love you so much and are so proud of you and all you have achieved. I want you close to me always, but it is not my choice," she writes.

In the emotional letter she wished she'd sent, the mother signs off by telling her son how much she loves him.

"Please don’t do this to me Patrick, don’t do this to your mother. I love you too much to let you go," she writes.

A note attached to the mother's letter said she wished she had written the note to Patrick a week before his death, and said he hoped the letter would help other people struggling with their mental health.

"This is a letter I wish I had sent to my son in the last week of his life. I have agonised over sending it to you, but my hope is that if published, it might make another poor soul think twice before acting."

You can read the mum's letter in full below

For anyone affected by the issues raises in this article, contact Pieta House on 1800 247 247 or the Samaritans on 116 123

The Sunday Independent is encouraging readers to write the letters you wish you'd sent as part of a series celebrating the art of letter writing. Send your letters, including your address and contact details to: The Letter I Wish I'd Sent, Sunday Independent, Independent House, 27-32 Talbot Street, Dublin 1, or email snews@independent.ie clearly labelled 'The Letter I Wish I'd Sent'

 

Dear Patrick,

It came as a major shock to hear that you hadn’t been yourself all week, you of all people who took everything in your stride. We found out by chance when we met your flatmate in town on Friday. By the time we found you at Granda and Nana’s grave, you had already tried to end your life twice in the past three days. We brought you to the ‘Services’ but the “they didn’t believe” you needed their help. Our GP was more sympathetic and requested help for you. “Hold on Pat, I know this appointment will come, it’s early days yet” — I’m trying to reassure you, but you’ve been so quiet all week. I wish you would open up and talk to me. Your friends and work colleagues have been so supportive but I feel you are holding out.

Do you really know what would happen if you carried out your plan? Do you know that our family would be plunged into a dark, irreversible cycle of grief and guilt?  How could we possibly tell your adored nephew that he will never see you again? His face lights up when you walk into the room. He’s not three years old yet but he worships the ground you walk on.

How will Dad cope? You both are so close, he loves bouncing ideas off you, he depends on your friendship, your company, your opinion. You are so important to him. He loves going to football matches with you and that would definitely end if you were not around. You have a way with him that no one else does.

Your brothers and sister would have to carry on with their lives, probably in denial but racked with guilt and pain. Losing you would cast a dark, dark cloud of sadness over them for the rest of their lives leaving them with the conviction that they could somehow have prevented this, although logic says otherwise. Do you really want to lay this on them? I know you are in unimaginable pain right now and believe you have a way of ending this. In reality what you will do is cast all of your anguish, all of your past and present hurts on to all of us. It would be like picking up a relay baton except for its immense weight for all of us to carry for the rest of our lives.

Me? I just can’t imagine a future without you in it. Did I ever tell you that the moment you were born, I saw a light surrounding you and could not take my eyes off you for a second. You grew into a fine young man. Your smile was your signature, it was disarming. Do you really know what losing you would do to me? How everything would change, even though it might look the same, it would feel different, alien even? My life, my spirit would be shattered knowing I couldn’t help my darling son at his darkest hour. How could I deal with the paralysis of grief? I would constantly call your name, wonder where you are. How could it be possible that you are no longer here? More guilt, more pain, a sense of loss beyond belief.

When you went to Australia, for a year or so, your Dad cried the whole way home from the airport, I cried for the next two weeks at the mention of your name. But we eventually adjusted to you not being around and visited you in Oz and loved spending time with you there. You were always such easy company to be in. It was tough being without you then for such a long spell, how could we possibly adjust to you never being around again. How would I sleep a proper sleep again? How would I wake from this nightmare to realise on waking that this is real? Yet I would long for the day to be over in the hope that I could blot all of this horror from my mind with the possibility that sleep would eventually take over.

I’ve been walking so much during this past week to try to clear my head and now realise the precious moments I have missed with you. There is no going back if you do this. I know you are hurting and see no other way, but there is another way, there is always another way. This dark blanket of pain can be lifted from you and with help you can again see that life is worth living. Please stay with me, Patrick, and share your future with us all. We love you so much and are so proud of you and all you have achieved. I want you close to me always, but it is not my choice.

Please don’t do this to me Patrick, don’t do this to your mother. I love you too much to let you go.

Mam XXX

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