do not question, just listen and take their hand

Many years ago, when I was young, but somehow also old...a friend I loved attempted suicide.  I was in the house with her. I knew what she was doing, when she remained in that locked bathroom for too long.

I pounded on the door. "Open the door!" I shouted. 
"No!" was the reply.

I waited a beat, then, "I'm calling Henry!" -her psychologist friend.
"You won't." she shouted back.

Walking as loud as I could, I went out of the room and down the hallway.  I paused there for a brief moment. 

I was at the bottom of the stairs to the second floor.  At the top of the stairs, through the doorway on the left, was a telephone. 

I lifted one foot, tapping hard on the bottom step, I tapped that foot hard on the step..... BANG..BANG..BANG.  Mimicking the sound of going up the stairs.

The bathroom door flew open. I ran back down the hallway to her. She was grabbing the phone off the wall.  "Stop!" I shouted.

She let go of the phone. "What DID you DO!" I demanded, as she began to pace rapidly all around the first floor of her parents house. She began to speak rapidly, "it'snot supposedtohappenthisfast." words strung together in panic.  Pacing faster, faster,...speaking more words so fast they are strung together, incomprehensible. 

I run to the bathroom, grab the single item in the trash bin: a prescription bottle, empty.

"We're going for pie." I tell her, and she moves rapidly to the front door.
"Put on your coat." I command.  She opens the closet and gets her coat, I reach past her for my coat.
"Put on your mittens and hat." she does as I say.

Moving much slower, as she tries to comprehend what we are doing, she goes outside in the winter chill, and heads for my car.  I run past her and open the car door, to make sure she gets in.
I hurry around to the driver side and climb in.  She is silent now. Too quiet. 
I am thinking, where are her parents tonight?... yes, there, I know where they are, I will call them from the emergency room.

We had had dinner with her parents.  They then left for different destinations in town, meetings, obligations.  She and I watched television, and she regaled me with stories of past suicide attempts, some foolish and a few thought out carefully. As she talked she looked up information in a Physician's Drug Reference book, and other medical books. I listened to her talk, and asked questions, and made comments.... I thought she was just talking,...I thought that she would not try with someone in the house.... but I underestimated her need to live. 
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It is hard to understand the desperation and desolation. With empathy (too much empathy) and age, not that many years later, I arrived at a place where I can, in a minor sense, understand the desperation and desolation.  They are utter and they are overwhelming,... and people don't know how to make others understand.... it's an ugly place. a lonely place.

Some find their peace in it.  The rest of us do not understand it.
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My friend? I talked to her on the drive to the hospital. I asked her questions. She did not reply to my pleas.  I cannot know what was in her mind, as I drove -ever fearful that she would try to get out of the car.... she cannot remember that night, she never will.

At the ER I tell the person at the desk precisely: "My friend took these." I put the empty prescription bottle on the counter. "She is trying to commit suicide." I whisper. 
The person stands and comes around the end of the counter, takes my friend by the arm and gently propels her. 

I go to the pay phone and take up the receiver and put coins in the slot.
After what seems like a very long time her father arrives. 
They let us see her, her father takes me with him, grabbing my coat sleeve.
She is sitting on a bed. There is a tube in her nose. Charcoal. They are trying to get the drugs out of her. (When you take activated charcoal, drugs and toxins can bind to it. This helps rid the body of unwanted substances.)  She does not speak, nor acknowledge us at all.  Her father takes her by the hand, she stares blankly.  The nurse sends us out again.

Her father goes off to fill out paperwork. I stay, unable to just go home. It is very late.  Her father returns, see me still there.... we go to a 24 hour restaurant across from the hospital, and have coffee.  He tells me things about relatives...things that are none of my business,... some grandparent may have had mental illness.  It is not relevant to this situation, but I let him talk, because it is what he needs to do. 
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She was admitted to the hospital, later to the psychiatric ward, there to remain for a period of 3 weeks.  School will wait until the following year.  We will gather near this young woman, a number of us, and help her regain her life and return to school.

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the only epilogue that can offer is that my dear friend lives to this very day.... many years later, a wife, a mother, a devout Christian.  more I will not say.  I did not have permission to tell this story, thus the lack of names.

My reason?
A new friend. A person about whom I care very much.... a person I hope will be a lifelong friend.... has experienced a terrible loss.  someone she loved is gone.
my friend: talk all you want. cry as needed. I will listen. I will offer my shoulder.
I hurt alongside you, not the same as you, but with empathy.
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