LOSS Program Office
721 N. LaSalle Street
Chicago, IL 60654
Main Line: (312) 655-7283
Fax Line: (312) 948-3340
Past Essays & Poems
- Is My Child Grieving
- He is Gone
- Message for the Week: Getting through the first year of grieving
- This I Believe
- Choice of Words and Words of Choice
- Our Choice
- Support Groups of Belonging: A Survivor’s Experience in Healing
- Pitfalls of the Healing Process
- I Wish I Didn't Know Now What I Didn't Know Then
- CAUTION: NO LIFEGARD ON DUTY
- The Dividing Line: Reflections on Living Beyond Suicide Loss
- Was it a Dream?
- Life Without A Mother
- Today is Not Easy
- If This Helps...
- Beatitudes for Survivors of Suicide
Was it a Dream?
by Robin La Buda
I wonder how it’s possible, that day was not a dream,
I shake my head in disbelief; it can’t be what it seems.
I’m sitting in my car, that day the future is all mine.
No way, I say, it’s surely a mistake,
It can’t be true, the sky is blue and you must be a fake.
I don’t believe it, it’s all a lie,
He took his life and didn’t say goodbye?
Damn this life, how can it be, he’s only thirty-two.
I pound my fists, without a thought, onto my steering wheel,
I raise my window; no air is what I feel.
I scream and scream until a knock.
“What’s wrong,” he says, “are you in shock?”
“Call my husband,” I say out loud, as I’m falling to my knees.
The lights are flashing all around and also in my head,
They’ve come to help me, but it’s Jack who’s dead.
We all just saw him, “Did he seem okay?”
Why, oh why, would he go this way?
His heart was broken, he felt alone,
He took this road with no way home.
An option he did think about,
He carried sadness and was burdened by self-doubt.
So many friends who really cared,
Painful thoughts he never shared.
Cute and bright, a shining star,
Dark and cold, he’s in his car.
“Didn’t you think, didn’t you know?”
We talked, you promised, I loved you so.
I hold your letter and I still pretend,
I found you first, before the end.
Two years it’s been, time has passed,
Truths now faced, dreams can’t last.
It’s an uphill road, everywhere there’s fog,
The air is cloudy and it feels like smog.
It’s very sneaky, like poisonous gas,
It brings you down so deep and dark,
It beats you up and leaves a mark.
It sucks on you, like leaches sticking,
No joy is left and my feet are kicking.
It’s not a dream and it’s no joke,
I screamed for you and no one spoke.
You went away and left me here,
To wonder why, you didn’t care.
Not really true, I know you did,
Why couldn’t you tell me, instead you hid.
No way out, as good as it gets,
If only I knew, there would be no regrets.
We’re still here, why didn’t you wait?
You made a choice that chose your fate.
I try really hard to continue forward,
Knowing the options, I’ve also explored.
But carry on and remember well,
The times we shared, the stories I tell.
Still, there’s moments when time stands still,
I struggle and fight, climbing up life’s hill.
Each time I finally reach the top,
I wipe my tears and there I stop.
Up to the sky, I take a look, “Restore my faith I say,”
Make my brother’s death a dream, if only for one day.
I wrote this poem two years after my brother’s suicide, and right before learning that there were others who understood my unique type of grief. By hearing their stories of loss and survival, I began to find my own courage. In honor of my brother, Jack Ira Kernes, and a life that is truly missed.


