ONCE I RETURNED TO SCHOOL, though, I came unglued.
I thought that returning to my normal schedule might help assuage the pain of losing my second mom. I was wrong. Instead, I fell into a deep depression. Though I slept most of the time I wasn’t in class, I never felt like I could get enough rest. Whereas I had once been a conscientious and attentive student, now I nodded off in my classes when the teacher was up front lecturing, which meant most of the time. At certain periods during the day our dorms were off limits, but I would sneak back in to take a nap.
Mrs. Hester, our dorm mother, caught me several times. On the fourth or fifth incident, she cornered me. “I know you must be grief stricken over your sister’s death, but sneaking around won’t help. I want you to go see Mrs. Johnson.”
I just stared blankly and nodded.
While I was waiting to see Mrs. Johnson, the dean of women, I dozed off in the reception area. Her assistant gently shook me. “Keturah, Mrs. Johnson is ready to see you now.”
I grabbed my book bag and purse and went into her office. She greeted me at the door with a side hug. “I’m glad you came to see me, Keturah. Have a seat.”
I sat across from her, a number of folders neatly stacked on her desk between us.
“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through. The death of a loved one is always difficult, but a suicide . . . well, that takes grief to a whole different level.”
I nodded, willing myself not to cry.
“Mrs. Hester told me you’ve been sneaking into the dorm during the day to sleep. Your teachers said you can’t keep your eyes open during their lectures. Listen, I don’t want to pry. I simply want to help. Will you please let me?”
I uttered a barely audible, “Yes.”
Mrs. Johnson recommended herbal remedies to help me sleep and give me more energy. I tried them, but they had little effect. Bob and Phyllis Carpus were concerned about my well-being and got involved too. Together, the three of them decided I would get more rest if I lived off campus for a while and arranged for me to live with a family nearby named the Meltons. Though I slept much better at night in my new living situation, I still fell asleep during class. The problem wasn’t that I wasn’t getting enough rest. The problem was depression, not easily solved and certainly not by attacking only one component. Yes, I was always tired, but I was also numb.
The Carpuses and Mrs. Johnson suggested plan B —counseling sessions with Pastor Burnside, the pastor of the church I attended at the time in Denton, Texas. The Burnside family invited me to stay with them for a week while I underwent intensive therapy. They reasoned that I could rest as much as I needed in between counseling sessions. During this time, I slept as much as eighteen to twenty hours a day, waking up only for therapy sessions and sporadic meals.
During one session, Pastor Burnside placed an empty chair in front of me and asked me to imagine Lillian sitting in the chair and talk to her. Even though the exercise felt pointless, I did as he asked. I have no idea what I said to the chair. The pastor prayed at the beginning of each session. I don’t remember praying; I just remember going through the motions and trying to say the right things so that everyone would just leave me alone.
At their wits’ end as to how to help me, they asked my former youth pastor, the man who had led me to Christ, to intervene. He had moved to the Dallas area years before, and when he showed up at the house for a “surprise” visit, I managed to make us both a sandwich. We talked about our mutual friends and “the good old days” of the youth group. As soon as he left, I realized that Bob and Phyllis had asked him to stop by and see me. I knew everyone was worried about me coming out of my depressed state. I wondered if I ever would. It seemed like it could go on forever.
One afternoon, I woke from a marathon nap, my head groggy, stuck halfway between sleep and being awake. Somewhere deep inside me, a thought formed: You will never feel happiness again. I never questioned the idea, which I would normally do. Instead, in a matter of seconds, I accepted it completely as fact. In the same moment, I accepted that fate. Somehow it didn’t bother me to know I would live “lifeless” for the rest of my days. I acknowledged that I would never again feel joy or happiness coursing through my body. Such light, airy feelings didn’t seem possible, given the tragedies that had occurred in my life.
The deadness within me permeated every aspect of my being —mind, body, and spirit —to the point that I had no desire for anyone or anything. I couldn’t care less about what happened around me or to me. I only went through the motions of life because others required that of me. Otherwise, I slept. Weeks passed, and yet the loss of anything resembling a life didn’t bother me in the least. I didn’t want to go anywhere, do anything, see or talk to anyone.
Things I had once enjoyed doing with friends held no appeal. Instead, a deep heaviness hung over my every step, which made simple tasks —such as getting out of bed to go to the bathroom —seem daunting. I wore no makeup when I went out and barely bothered to comb my hair. I did the bare minimum to get by. This went on for months.
Spring arrived, but I hardly noticed, since I rarely went outside other than to class when I was able to. One day in class, a teacher announced a group field trip. The school had purchased tickets for every student to attend a Sandi Patty concert at Reunion Arena in Dallas. Even though Sandi Patty was one of my favorite artists at the time (second only to Amy Grant), even though I knew every one of her songs by heart, I didn’t feel like going.
I had attended a Sandi Patty concert just the year before, after begging Lillian to purchase the concert tickets for me and my friends on her credit card, and then quickly collecting money from them to pay Lillian back. I had no interest in going this year. I told the organizers of the field trip that I wouldn’t be attending.
The day of the concert, I returned to the Meltons’ house after class and immediately got in bed. The clock beside the bed read 5:15 p.m. Ten minutes later, I heard someone knocking on the front door. I ignored it, hoping whoever it was would go away.
The knocking continued, and I continued to ignore it.
Finally, the knocking became so frequent and persistent that I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep until whoever was doing it went away. I opened the front door to see my friend Kelli Green standing there.
“Hey, aren’t you coming to the Sandi Patty concert with us?” Kelli gestured over her shoulder to the car parked on the street.
“No, I already said I didn’t want to go. I asked them to give my ticket to someone else.”
“But you love Sandi Patty! Why aren’t you going?”