Hands outstretched fumbling, feet slowly stumbling, I have no mentor lighting a candle to show my path. I scour online retailers, local stores, anywhere with books. I find books written by survivors of suicide. I find books by women on infertility and miscarriage. Where are the books on infertility and multiple miscarriages and major surgeries with little support of friends or family that have a ray of hope who 21 years later die by suicide? Hoping to find someone to lead me I interview counselors and those I know. Secretly I am thankful no one can lead me so maybe no one else has to wander down this same path. Reality sets in; no one really follows the same path as another. Some must have led a similar and maybe worse path. Who are they? Where are they?
A great mentor would be a friend. I would not expect a superficial friend hanging out watching a game. Our culture thinks people who come around when you laugh, cheer, and celebrate are friends. This friend would listen, call me out on any meanness or wrong thinking in the most gentle of ways. They would sit and let me vent. When needed the mentor would suggest steps and let me know why they are important. Most importantly, when I take a misstep, they would still be around to patiently help.