It Can Happen To Any Family

The Beginning of the End
Chapter 1
Two hours earlier, we had left Greenville, Maine, after a weekend of snowmobiling. Halfway home, we stopped to have dinner, and before we left again, my husband, David, pulled the truck over to the service area to fill the tank. I watched him from the warmth of the cab and noticed how worn his red work hat had gotten. I made a mental note to remind him to order some new ones. His red and black plaid flannel shirt hung neatly over his jeans as he walked inside to pay the clerk. After he finished, he jumped in the truck and began rubbing his hands together to warm them up. “Boy,” he said, “ the weather’s cold.” Even though I was eager to get home, I sat there relaxed, listening to the music on the radio. I felt sleepy as the sunshine poured inside the truck onto my face. When my cell phone rang, I was thinking how, in so many ways, our lives were good. David worked hard to keep his excavating business successful, and we were enjoying spending leisurely time together. When I noticed my brother’s number on the caller i.d., I knew he wouldn’t call for anything trivial, and so I clutched the cell phone to my ear as the truck sped south along the Maine Turnpike. “Ah, it’s about Candice,” he said hesitantly. “Are you almost home?” “No, we’re still a couple of hours away, ” I answered, worried. We never knew what Candice would do next. She was our second child, 18 now, and she was clearly not making an easy transition into adult life. She had not wanted to come north with us and we had let her stay home alone for the weekend. Had that been a good decision? Our son, Travis, was ahead of us in a separate truck with our friend, Bruce. My younger daughter Chelsey was staying with her friend, Jordyn, back in Berwick, Maine, where we lived. “What about Candice?” I asked, thinking I was prepared for the worse. “She got really depressed and cut herself up her arm, and I think she took some pills,” he continued. “Justin and Steven are with her now at your house. They think she’ll be all right.” Candice was very close to her cousins, Justin and Steven, my brother’s sons, so I was glad they were with her. However, I felt anxious and helpless as we charged down the turnpike still miles from home. I was listening with all my attention. “I got a call from her friend, Brandon. She phoned him and said she was messed up,” he added. “He asked me to go check on Candice.” My brother, also named David, was in the habit of checking on her while we were gone. I hung up and quickly exchanged words with my husband. We weren’t surprised about the cutting because she had done it at least once before—the psychiatrist called it self-mutilation—but we were very concerned that it had happened again and we felt powerless being still two hours away. Then, we agreed I should call Candice. Neither David nor I knew what to expect. We never did. A slurry, groggy voice answered the phone. I pictured her lying down while she was talking. Her depressed, sleepy tone sounded familiar. “Hello, Candice,” I said. “WHAT!” she demanded, with a distinct attitude. She knew her Uncle David had informed me of her situation. “Candice,” I asked, ignoring her tone of voice. “Is everything all right?” “I’m all right, Mom,” she said curtly. Her voice blasted me, as cold as that day’s bitter winter wind. Her tone chilled me, and I realized it wouldn’t work to try to deal with the situation before we got home. I was glad it was me and not avid who was calling because he sometimes got angry when she spoke this way. He did not put up with lack of respect.