The apparent suicide of Don Cornelius left me quiet.
I needed a minute to sit with this one and think about how I feel about it.
Of course I feel shock and sadness.
I feel confusion, too, about the way Mr. Cornelius left this life.
But in some horrible, inexplicable, morbid way I feel understanding.
I understand what leads you to think about it.
I understand what leads you to attempt it.
I understand because I’ve been there more than a few times myself.
In a strange way, it can feel like a last ditch effort to regain control of a situation and resolve a problem that seems to not have an answer.
I understand how in a lot of ways it is, but I remind myself that truly, it is not.
I remind myself that the part or parts of my brain that make me feel so depressed that I can see no other way, are simply not good parts to rely on.
I remind myself that the first time I ever had these feelings and tried to act on them, I was about 4 or 5 years old and that with all of the down times in my life, I have had some good times, too. I never would have had those good times had any of my previous attempts been successful. (Strange that they call a completed suicide, “successful.”)
I understand that in spite of one’s many accomplishments, sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.
And sometimes even if is enough, it doesn’t change the pain you feel when you are feeling it.
I wish it did.
I wish, more than anything in the whole world – for me and for us all, - at least one amazing moment of pure, unadulterated joy, but really as many joyful moments as there are days in your life if and whenever possible.
And I wish that when we can feel no joy, that we can at least feel hope.
From the bottom of my heart, with tears in my eyes, and terrible sadness in my heart, I wish for hope between the joy.
God bless you and thank you, Mr. Don Cornelius.
You are loved, you are loved, you are loved.
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