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She did it. She actually did it. She'd been talking about it for years, but she actually drank a whole bottle of Benadryl, then a bottle of muscle relaxers, and convulsed to death in her
car on a lonely road off a deserted highway.
Obituary
Roberta Jean Abbott Jensen, age 46, beloved mother, wife and daughter departed from her earthly existence with all of its struggles on September 21, 1995. She will be remembered by all
who encountered her beautiful spirit and were touched by her in so many ways. Most of all she will live on in the lives of her children, whom she loved more than words can express.
My Mother
I am the second to the youngest child in a family of six. My three older sisters had moved to college during my teenage years, so my mother turned to me for womanly
bonding and friendship. As a teenager, I did not understand our relationship as I do now. I completely missed the loneliness my mother felt. I thought she was trying to be my friend for my sake. I didn't realize that she yearned for a close relationship to fill the emptiness inside her.
In 1993, my mother landed her dream job as a park ranger at the Dinosaur National Monument. She got paid to hike hundreds of miles of trails so she could give specifics about each
hike to the tourists. I often accompanied her on these long hikes and we became extremely close. Sometimes she spoke about her dreams for the future. Other times we enjoyed the silence.
She never talked about the past. I was oblivious to the hurt that she lived with every day.
When my mother died, I couldn't imagine a time when I wouldn't feel the pain of her
death every moment of every day. But the intense pain passed, as did the anger and the seemingly unbearable sorrow. In the back of my mind, I am always thinking about my mother. Sometimes
I get angry with her for taking herself away from me. Sometimes I become terribly frightened. Sometimes I become unbearably sad. In my lifetime, I have experienced thoughts of suicide.
But I would rather live my life in excruciating misery than put my loved ones through the hell suicide creates for those left behind to cope with their death.
In the summer of
2000, I decided to get married to an amazing man. I knew nothing about wedding etiquette, wedding dress shopping, where to get the necessary paperwork, invitations, photos, and so on. My
married sisters had my mother's assistance but were now busy with their young families. I had no one to guide me through this time, no one to share the joy or the stress. To simplify
things, we decided not to have a wedding, and we got married at the courthouse.
Now that I am married, I have discovered that I need my mother's advice now more than ever. How I
would love to hear my mother's advice on a myriad of marriage issues, like money, cooking, sex, children, different religious backgrounds, equality and roles. Instead, I am left to piece
together advice from a thousand different sources and try to fit them into the framework my mother began.
It has been over seven years since my mother took her life. Society
expects me to be over her. I shouldn't still be encountering "mother-issues" as I call them. The hardest part about losing a loved one is that everyone surrounds you right after
it happens, but too soon they forget your misfortune. Life goes on, but now you have this terrible pain to cope with while you try to navigate the hurdles of everyday life. I miss my mom
every day.
My Father
When I was a child, I knew that my dad was the best dad on the block. He took us shopping, camping and treated us to meals out on special occasions.
He took us for rides on his motorcycle, one kid at a time, for hours. He told me on a regular basis (and still does) that I am his favorite child. Two years ago I found out he told this
to each of us when we were alone. This is how I would like to remember my childhood.
However, most of the time my father would come home late and go straight to his bedroom without
saying a word. He would dismiss the beckoning of his children as though he did not even hear our cries for attention. Occasionally he would come home in a rampage and yell at my older
brother. My brother was always acting out and getting into trouble with the law. My father didn't know how to deal with him on top of all the chaos in his own life. My father was
spiraling downward and his life had become unmanageable.
Treatment
It was late one night during the Christmas Season of 1987. My father was still not home from work. My
mother called us all into the living room and began speaking very calmly and softly. She told us that my father was sick and would not be home for Christmas. He had checked himself into a
hospital three hours from our home. She told us that we were also going to spend Christmas at the hospital for a week of family therapy. I was only ten years old at the time. I didn't
understand the magnitude of the situation. Mostly I remember being excited because my uncle generously offered to pay for our stay in a ritzy hotel for the duration of the family therapy.
It wasn't until nearly a decade later that I realized how much this night would change my life.
My father is a sole practitioner from a small town. He is known for his outgoing
kindness and generosity. He coached youth sports teams, he was a leader in the Boy Scouts of America and he held a high position in the LDS Church. Very few people knew the pain that my
father was drowning in all those years ago. He was a very visible professional man in the community. He became overwhelmed with all the pressures of running his own business and providing
for such a large family. He carried the burden of religious duties along with the conflict of his religious beliefs. His marriage left everything to be desired. My parents were definitely
not on the same team. However, for the sake of the children, they never fought in front of us. I think they assumed that we wouldn't know they were having trouble if we didn't hear them
fighting. It got to the point that he did not want to go home after work at all. Of course, this made things much worse with his wife, so he came up with a remedy. He began
self-medicating.
My mother spent her days yelling at her children and trying to get us to help her with the household chores. She tried to make job charts, but they never lasted
more than a week. She tried to discipline us, but we ignored her and did our own thing. She decided that it was easier to run the home all by herself than continue nagging her husband and
her children. She tried threatening us with the traditional, "wait until your father gets home." However, my father was timing it so that his drugs would kick in just when he
was arriving home. By the time he got home, my mother was exhausted and frustrated with her role. She began to furiously resent him. One day my mother had been nagging us for hours to do
our homework when my father arrived home with bags of candy and popped in a video. This is just one example of the rift that consumed my mother and father's marriage.
After years
of fighting, I think my parents stopped talking altogether. My father had a colleague and a friend that convinced him to check himself into a residential treatment center. My father was
blessed with an incredibly understanding staff at his practice. They cancelled all his appointments until further notice. Some of them even told him that they would stay employees even
though they had no idea when my father and the practice would be functioning again. My father spent over a month in treatment and learned the skills to help him turn his life around.
While my father's life gradually got better, my mother's did not. My father was altering his approach to life and applying new skills he obtained in treatment. My mother did not have
those skills. She did not have the support groups that my father was building in the recovering community. Her hopelessness eventually became unbearable because she didn't have anyone
that she felt like she could relate to and share with.
I am happy to report that my father is remarried to a loving woman that has a wonderful daughter. He has successfully been in
recovery for many years. He is not perfect and he has "slipped," but today he is clean and sober. He is active in his recovery and has no misconceptions about recovery being
easy. My father has shared his experiences with anyone that will listen. He speaks at professional and church meetings whenever he can. He believes that if his experiences help even one
person, it is worth the trials he has been through. He still has rough days, but he is living them one day at a time.
Me
A few years after my father had checked himself
into a treatment center, I found myself in the same position. My parents had no idea what to do with me. I was hanging out with a rather sinister crowd and experimenting with every drug I
could get my hands on. I was acting out sexually and placing myself in extremely dangerous situations. A severe depression had consumed me, and it affected every area of my life. I had
attempted suicide several times before my parents found out about it. I swallowed a bottle of aspirin one evening to ease my pain. I became violently ill. My parents took me to the
emergency room and I was forced to drink crushed up charcoal with 7-up mixed in. When I recovered, they sent me to a therapist who put me on medication. I would not cooperate with the
therapist, and I resisted taking the medication, so I went to treatment.
I wasn't in treatment long, but I felt camaraderie among those teenagers with the exact same problems as I
had. The treatment center provided hours of individual therapy and honest group therapy amongst my peers. I was encouraged to talk about the bad and the good in my life-and people
listened! They wanted to hear what I had to say. I finally got the attention that I was craving without having to act out by hurting myself.
Today
I have grown up more in
the past ten years than most people do in a lifetime. I found meaning in my life through the people that I love. My family is stronger than I ever could have imagined. We would do
anything for each other. I know that I have a support group that would be there for me no matter what. I have also found a man that makes my life worth living. I have been blessed with a
man for whom I feel an intense and fulfilling love.
I believe that the same things that made my mother take her life are the same things that encouraged my father to abuse drugs.
Financial, familial, marital and religious struggles affect every one of us. Left untreated, these issues can bring us to our knees - or worse.
I am a member of the legal community
in Utah. I am a legal assistant. I am also the administrative assistant to Lawyers Helping Lawyers. I am the person I am today because of the experiences life has presented to me. I feel
like my past has made me much more compassionate and aware. I am dedicated to helping other people who are suffering and feeling alone. My involvement with Lawyers Helping Lawyers allows
me to reach out and connect with people who are feeling hopeless and afraid. I only hope that those isolated souls will seek the support they need wherever they can.
Call us at Lawyers Helping Lawyers. We have a network of professionals who listen and who want to hear what you have to say.
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