In Class Jeri Rowe

 Time I was most scared:


I will never forget the day I got the call that my godmother took her own life.


I was in 6th grade. My mom and I were driving home from my piano lesson on an early, rainy, Friday evening in November, the week before Thanksgiving. 


I was so excited for the weekend, just like any other elementary student.


Particularly this Saturday, I had plans to go to a pottery art class with my godmother, Michelle. 


As my mom and I were discussing the layout of that day, we had an incoming call from my brother and Michelle’s son, Ashton, as they just got off of the middle school bus, going to spend the night at Ashtons house. 


My mom answered on bluetooth for us all to talk and laugh about our days, like we always did, but this time, that was not the case.


They were in a complete panic.


The only words we could understand out of frantic shouts were help, my mom is hanging from the bed, unresponsive, should I call 911.


After 7 minutes of silence, speeding to the neighborhood, my mom and I showed up to the house to see that Michelle had hung herself.


I was speechless.

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