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On a summer morning 10 years ago, I woke up early, sick with worry. “Call Megan,” were the words spoken to my mind.
So, I did. I called my older sister.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“I’m in the hills by mom and dad’s house,” she said in a shallow voice. “I can’t do this anymore I just can’t do this anymore,” she repeated over and over.
“I’m coming,” I told her. “Hold on. I’m leaving now.”
Right then, we lost reception, and I didn’t know what to do. So I packed a bag of clothes, my two small children and my very pregnant self into our minivan and made the three-hour drive to meet her in the hills near my parent’s home.
Where in the hills, I wasn’t sure, so I kept driving along a road until it ended. Seconds later, Megan emerged from the wooded area wearing no shoes and looking like a shell of what once was a vibrant, confident woman.
During our conversation that day, I found that she had spent the night in the hills, contemplating life and whether it was worth continuing on.
Despite my efforts that day and the days and weeks following, I would find myself delivering the eulogy at Megan’s funeral just two short months later.
To read the full article on Deseret News, click here.
Herm OlsenSeptember 21, 2016
Thanks for sharing this tender and thoughtful message. I have discovered over the years that Depression kills people, and friends, family members and society needs to recognize and reach out to the victims - as you did.