Day 1: Wednesday, July 7th
Day 1: Wednesday, July 7th
J
uly 7th 2010, would start out like any other day. My usual wake up time is between 6am and 7am where I ponder the day’s activities, wishing I had two more hours to sleep, and remind myself yet again, that I need to go to bed earlier. It’s Wednesday morning and I am lying in bed thinking of all the things that I need to have in order before next semester’s lecturing begins. A thousand thoughts traverse my mind, but a sense of contentment accompanies them all. Semester break has been extremely productive and there is a sense of expectation of what the coming months will bring. Martin and I have just put our names forward to pastor a Church, and that is looking both promising and immanent. I have just brought myself a great new toy, an Ipad to transfer my entire lecture notes onto which took two weeks to reformat, no small feat, and Saturday saw that task completed. This semester at Harvest Bible College will be both exciting and somewhat daunting for me as they are going to film the whole series of New Testament Survey Lectures that I will be delivering. Being a typical girl my focus turns to crucial matters. I start to mildly panic at the thought of the camera adding 10lb’s to my physique, so I really need to shed some extra kilo’s, perhaps an exercise regime needs to be put in place, fast. Unfortunately, with only two weeks until the start of semester two, perhaps I might be better off focusing on a new wardrobe, and a range of clothes that will flatter. Yes, much more exciting, considerably less effort, and much more enjoyable, this week I will go to my favorite clothing shop; this weekend perhaps, yes, good, all organized. My role as women’s pastor is going well; the women are rising to leadership, which is very much my heart. Our bi-monthly women’s events are going well, not as big as I would like, but new women are stepping up to preach and the Holy Spirit is moving in the events. I feel incredibly blessed at the opportunities I have been given, and thank God for them. My thoughts are interrupted as my mobile rings, it’s 7am, I look at the
The Morning After Suicide
name on display and it’s my son. Why would he be ringing at this hour perhaps he is inviting himself for dinner. “Mum, there’s been an accident ... it’s Jade ... a car crash ... did you know she had a baby ... she has a husband ... there’s talk of a gun ...” he says. “Stop it ... this is not funny ... is this some kind of sick joke?” I respond. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, I’m shaking, I can’t imagine this to be true, I think of my little girl, there is no way she can be dead, this is not what I saw for her. She would come back to Melbourne one day and walk through my door, yes, all grown up with her own family but not this, and a gun what nonsense, totally incongruent with the girl I know, she would never be around guns. “It’s true mum, dad’s here if you want to talk to him,” he says, passing the phone over to his father. At that moment I knew there was some truth to it because him being a Jehovah’s Witness, he has not and will not speak to an ex Jehovah’s Witness, me, as it is against their rules. My journey out from this cult to freedom will be the subject of another book. He confirms what my son has told me and elaborates that Jade is believed to have shot her husband and her son, and then crashed her car after she left the scene of the shooting. He gives me the name of the officer in charge to ring, and I yell out to Martin to turn on the television and there it is on the early news report: “Twenty-two year old woman, shoots husband and son in a bitter custody dispute, and crashes her car into a tree,” it is on every channel. I sit and watch, numb, totally in disbelief of what I see before me. This does not happen to a believing Christian, a pastor’s child, are the thoughts that flow through my mind. I call the officer in charge and he
Day 1: Wednesday, July 7th
calmly tells me of the events, as they are able to piece them together. I still can’t believe it, how do they know it’s her, perhaps there has been a mistake, she has no identification on her, she has been lying in hospital from 8pm till 2am on life support as Jane Doe. The decision was made to turn off life support by hospital staff after it was ascertained through an xray that she had a bullet lodged in her brain; they had no idea who she was, so no relatives could be contacted. The damage was so extensive; the physicians determined this was a non-survivable brain injury. I need to think, what to do, cannot be true, I am going to get on a plane and see for myself, nobody has seen her that knows her, and there is a chance they could be wrong, surely, it has happened before. I book a flight to Rockhampton, ring back the officer in charge, tell him that I am on my way, will be there in a few hours and I want to identify her. They will be waiting at the airport for me. I had absolutely no idea where Rockhampton was and was surprised that I needed to change planes to get there. I ask Jade’s father for his phone number, so that I can contact him when I go and identify her body and let him know if it’s her or not, he is reluctant to give me his number. I remind him that our daughter has just died and that he needs to get over these religious issues. I can barely fathom the stupidity, at a moment like this. Thousands of questions are flooding my mind on the drive to the airport. I can’t cry, I need to think, I’m angry, I’m determined to know it’s not her, I’m confused, a husband, a son, a gun, a shooting and a suicide ... nothing makes sense ... perhaps someone shot her and it was self defense ... I’m confident they’re wrong and it’s not her. It’s a long flight compounded by delays, I just need to get there. More calls to the officer in charge, they have to go home, they have been on shift for twenty-four hours; they will have someone else on hand to pick me up from the airport. Martin calls me from Melbourne, he is on his way, he will get the next flight, but I do not want anyone around me, I need to think, I need to process, he needs to stay behind and look after my son. After much
The Morning After Suicide
protest, I convince him to stay behind. I finally arrive at Rockhampton airport and two officers drive me to the hospital morgue. On the drive to the morgue the young officer asks, “Have you ever had to view a body?” “No,” I reply. “You won’t be able to touch the body because there still needs to be an autopsy,” he states firmly to me. I become somewhat indignant, “If I want to touch her I will, or I will forbid an autopsy,” I snap back. If it is Jade, no one will tell me what to do with her body, she is my daughter, I brought her into this world. In his wisdom, he becomes quite silent and we arrive at the morgue and again they prep me for the sight that will greet me of what is believed to be my daughter, it is now 11pm. They lead me through security doors, down a narrow corridor to a sitting area and through the window into the next room. I can see a table with a body underneath a draped white sheet. As I stand next to her body there is a moment of hesitation, and then the morgue assistant lifts back the sheet to reveal her face. Still with a bloodied breathing tube in her mouth, so pale, with bruised eyes, and a bandage around her head, I lean forward to see. The officer is eager to know, “Is it her,” he asks. The moment feels surreal. I know in my heart it is her, but I do not want to admit it, I need to know for sure, I need to see her birth mark on her back although it is faint, it’s a unique mark that she has. We can’t find the mark, there’s bruising and dirt on her back ... I want to search further ... her body is so tiny she doesn’t even look as though she has had a baby ... her head is so swollen from the gunshot wound, it looks disproportionate to her body. I look at her teeth, at the particular enamel discoloration she has always had, and must now concede it is Jade. The autopsy would be at 5am in the morning, but I will return in the afternoon to see Jade again and her eight-month-old son, my grandson, James.
Day 1: Wednesday, July 7th
The drive to the hotel was sombre, it still has not hit me, and I feel as though I am in a dream. We arrive at the hotel and I need to give my name and details, and then the flood hits; I cannot speak, I can barely stand, the officers take me to the room. They are talking to me, but I cannot take in anything they are saying, I just want them to go away, I cannot communicate, there are no words left. Stop talking … please … please … just stop talking. After some time, I manage to compose myself, I call her father, brother and Martin to confirm it is Jade and then the plethora of questions cascade like an avalanche in my mind ... didn’t I pray enough ... what decisions had I made in life that brought her to this point. The hotel room is dingy and cramped, I lay on the bed with the TV on all night, I cannot sleep and the news reports are constantly going over and over the same story: “Twenty-two year old woman shoots husband and son in a bitter custody dispute, and crashes her car into a tree; it is also believed she suffered from a gunshot wound as a gun was found next to the car she was driving.” It is on every channel; I cannot get away from it. I want to turn it off, and yet, I want to see what they were reporting. I am trying to connect Jade with the reports but I cannot; I cannot make sense of any of it. Nothing seemed real, I wanted it to be over, to wake up and realize it was all just been a bad dream. I feel sick, it was as if I had just been dropped into a dark, deep hole and there was no way out; it feels like I am suffocating and cannot breathe. I just lay there numb, with the image of her lifeless body in front of my eyes and the smell of the morgue still strong in my nostrils. It was a long, dark, lonely night, seemingly without end. If you would like to purchase the entire book detailing the full story and challenges associated with discussions on suicide, please go to: Lulu Publishing: http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/staley2atbigponddotnetdotau