The summer after we'd been married for a year...

The summer after we'd been married for a year,

one friend set an appointment with the doctor, 

and I asked another friend to recommend a therapist.

Tina cut herself.

Her therapist sent literature. 

We talked about self-harm and suicide. 

Friends reminded me to rest. 

We learned to say we'd try 

and to turn back if something was too much.

In July, we saw Les Mis' in New York City.

Something in music 

still gave her some hint of life.

 

In September 

Tina contemplated suicide.

Her mother came to stay with us. 

One night some friends talked Tina out of buying 

razor blades and sleeping pills

while she wandered the super market.

October 5, her therapist called me at work. 

I'd just sat down for lunch.

Tina couldn't promise to be safe. 

We went to the hospital.

I locked up medicines, and knives, and scissors. 

Her mother came to stay with us again. 

Nothing softens the not knowing 

what each day might bring, not knowing 

whether what you say or do gets through.

She cried when friends' babies passed away. 

And then she started wanting life to change

instead of only wishing it would end.