Eddie went to work, the mail came, neighbors chatted and trains rumbled by. Only I had changed, so that day my world stood still, and my thoughts suddenly coalesced into one singular, cohesive plan. For years, I had seen a vision of myself dropping my babies from an open window and I had learned to deal with them. But more often now, while driving near a steep embankment or over a bridge, I had other thoughts. If only I close my eyes, and take my hands off the steering wheel, it will all be over. I never could do it, of course. But the pattern of thoughts persisted, plaguing me for many years. I found myself swimming in a sea of desperation, not knowing how to tread the water that swirled around me, as a silent undertow threatened to drown me as one day bled into another. And another. And another. It didn’t make any difference what I did or how I spent my time—I just couldn’t stop being sad.
