Inspiring and Entertaining Writing - Writers International

If only
by Elizabeth Braden

The call came at fourteen past two. She had been expecting it for some time now, but it still came as a shock. A guilty sense of relief swept over her as she finally realised that it was all over, that she would never again have to suffer the agony of 'what if'.

The memory of the past few years flooded back like a wave as she sank to the floor, the telephone receiver falling gracefully, hitting the ground with a crash. She could still hear the voice on the other end of the line, but it was all surreal, all somehow false.

She thought of all the times she had warned them, all the times she had tried to get help. All those closed doors; people who could have helped, but didn't. She remembered her mother's threatening voice, threatening to disown her if she called anyone.

She had tried so hard, but it was inevitable. Her mother wanted to self-destruct, and she was determined to succeed. She didn't want help, she didn't want help, she wanted oblivion.

Well now she had succeeded. The cold voice on the other end of the line telling her that her mother was gone, that her mother had taken her own life. She had known it was coming, yet she had been powerless to stop it.

She sat against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chin, sobbing uncontrollably. If only someone had listened, if only someone had cared, if only someone had put aside bureaucracy and actually helped.

If only, if only, if only ... all those if only's weren't going to bring her mother back.

There was nothing she could do; she had tried everything to let people know her mother was serious, yet still the grief was overshadowed by guilt.

If only ...


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If only by Elizabeth Braden The call came at fourteen past two. She had been expecting it for some time now, but it still came as a shock. A guilty sense of relief swept over her as she finally realised that it was all over, that she would never again have to suffer the agony of 'what if'. The memory of the past few years flooded back like a wave as she sank to the floor, the telephone receiver falling gracefully, hitting the ground with a crash. She could still hear the voice on the other end of the line, but it was all surreal, all somehow false. She thought of all the times she had warned them, all the times she had tried to get help. All those closed doors; people who could have helped, but didn't. She remembered her mother's threatening voice, threatening to disown her if she called anyone. She had tried so hard, but it was inevitable. Her mother wanted to self-destruct, and she was determined to succeed. She didn't want help, she didn't want help, she wanted oblivion. Well now she had succeeded. The cold voice on the other end of the line telling her that her mother was gone, that her mother had taken her own life. She had known it was coming, yet she had been powerless to stop it. She sat against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chin, sobbing uncontrollably. If only someone had listened, if only someone had cared, if only someone had put aside bureaucracy and actually helped. If only, if only, if only ... all those if only's weren't going to bring her mother back. There was nothing she could do; she had tried everything to let people know her mother was serious, yet still the grief was overshadowed by guilt. If only ...
A note from the author This is my worst nightmare, but it's also my reality. I go through this every time my mother tries to kill herself, or threatens to kill herself, and the doctors just send her home. I wrote this piece after yet another call to the police, when Mum had threatened suicide. As always, they sent her home.