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My mom passed away on January 31st, 1983 of double
pneumonia and cirrhosis of the liver, due to years of drug
and alcohol abuse. The events that ensued seventy-two hours
prior to my mother’s death led me to believe I murdered my
mother, by way of a prayer. We had a heated argument three
days before she died; right after that contentious encounter, I
ran to my room, immediately dropped to my knees on the
side of my bed, and asked God to take her. My exact words
were, “God, please take her away. Remove her from this
I slipped into the worst kind of depression, the type of
mental downfall that’s almost impossible to detect. It’s the
type when an individual would smile, joke, and laugh when
people are around, but when they were alone, they would go
into the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet to stare at
pill bottles, for the sole purpose of taking them, falling
asleep, and never waking up! My biggest apprehension at the
time was that I didn’t want to be in any pain once I took the
pills; that was the only reason for my hesitation.
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