In His Own Words

“I stumbled and fell to a couch, breathing heavily. Cold sweat beaded my forehead as hopelessness overwhelmed me. I remembered how long Eva had sewn material to make a new dress for the dinner tonight. Again, I had hurt the ones I loved so much.” Hughes continues, “Now, as I lay on the couch in my empty house, my head pounded with guilt and nausea. How many times had I sworn off drinking, promising Eva that I wouldn’t touch another drop? How many times had I failed? “The sense of shame sank deeper into me as I lay there. I felt helpless. A father in his 30s who was worthless, a sot. What was the point in going on any longer? I thought of how Eva’s once lively brown eyes had dulled and worry lines etched her face. Though I never struck her, I’d come home belligerent and foulmouthed and she would cringe like a beaten kitten. One night Connie and Carol were awakened by my shouting and I almost stumbled over them at the top of the stairs where they lay huddled, crying. “A drumbeat of doom seemed to fill my days and nights. I cringed at knowing winks by other people, at seeing the flush in my face in the mirror, at the deepening fatigue that racked my body. Yet I was powerless to stop doing the one thing that caused it all. “Trying to escape the horrible self-loathing, I struggled up from the couch and wandered about the empty house. In our bedroom, I slumped onto the bed. I sat there, sunk in an awful despair. “What was the point of living? I’d failed everyone who had meant anything to me; I was a disgrace to my town. I was a hypocrite in everything I did. I couldn’t even tell the truth anymore. “I couldn’t do anything right. Why not just end it? The thought hung there, like the echo of a tolling bell. “A cold feeling of logic overcame me. Why not? I had thought about this before but had brushed it away. Yet the more I now considered the alternative, the more sense it made. Why go on doing the things I hated? The more I thought about the disorder in my life and the inability to control it, the more I wanted to end it. I was just an evil rotten drunk, a liar. And what should happen to evil men? They deserve to die. “I remembered enough Scripture to know that suicide was not God’s way. But as I weighed the balance, I felt it better to be eternally lost than to bring eternal hell to those I loved. “No, my mind was clear now. I hated what I did, but I still did it. When I promised loved ones I wouldn’t drink and even prayed to God that I wouldn’t drink, and did it again and again. I realized in my heart that there was no way on earth I could ever control it. “I got up from the bed and went to the closet where I kept my rifle and shotgun. I opened the door and considered both, then reached for the shotgun. It would be most certain. It was a single barrel Remington pump gun, 12-gauge. “As I lifted the gun into the room its walnut stock glowed in the bedroom light. The gun had belonged to Jesse, my brother, killed in an accident some years ago; he had been so proud of it. I thought about Jesse, and then considered what I was going to do to Mother, Dad, Eva and the children. Eva was still young and beautiful. She would easily find someone else and have a decent life. The thought hurt me. The girls would eventually forget me. As I was now, they could never forget, suffering only disgrace and sorrow. “I thought about insurance. I had let my G.I. insurance lapse, but I did have a benevolence society policy that would pay my burial expenses. “I slid three shells into the magazine and pumped one into the chamber. Tears streaming down my face, I lay down on the bed, rested the shotgun on my chest and put the muzzle into my mouth. The cold steel rasped my teeth and tasted of oil. Reaching down, I found I could push the trigger with my thumb. This way everything was certain; I did not want to botch it and spend the rest of my life as a vegetable. “Then I thought of the awful mess this would leave in the bedroom. I remembered the men I had seen shot overseas. I was leaving Eva and the girls with enough memories. Getting up, I walked through the hall and into the bathroom. It could be cleaned easier. Carefully holding the Remington, I climbed into the old-fashioned claw-footed tub, my shoe soles squeaking on the bottom. In it, I lay down, feeling strange to be there with my clothes on. With the shotgun resting on my stomach, I positioned it with the muzzle in my mouth toward my brain. Reaching down, my thumb found the trigger and I was about to push it. “A terrible sadness filled me. I knew what I was doing was wrong in God’s eyes. Yet, my whole life had been wrong. And God had always been very remote. In a few years my family would get over it, I reasoned. They would have an opportunity to rebuild their lives. But if I remained here, I would never change and only hurt them more. The thought came that I should explain all this to God before pushing the trigger. Then if He could not forgive this sin, at least He would know exactly why I was committing it. “Climbing out of the tub, I knelt on the tile floor and laid my head on my arms, resting on the cool tub rim. “Oh, God,” I groaned, ‘I’m a failure, a drunk, a liar, and a cheat. I’m lost and hopeless and want to die. Forgive me for doing this….’ I broke into sobs. ‘Oh, Father, please take care of Eva and the girls. Please help them forget me…’ I slid to the floor, convulsing in heavy sobbing. As I lay down on the tiles, crying and trying to talk to God, my throat swelled until I couldn’t utter a sound. Totally exhausted, I lay silent, drained and still. “I do not know how long I lay there. But in the quiet bathroom, a strange peace gently settled over me. Something that I had never experienced before was happening, something far beyond my senseless struggles. A warm peace seemed to settle deep within me, filling the terrible emptiness, driving out the self-hate and condemnation. My sins seemed to evaporate like moisture spots under a hot, bright sun. “God was reaching down and touching me. A God who cared. A God who loved me. A God who was concerned for me despite my sins. Like a stricken child lost in a storm, I had suddenly stumbled into the warm arms of my Father. Joy filled me; so intense it seemed to burst my breast. Slowly I rose to my knees and looked up to Him in awe and gratitude. Kneeling on that bathroom floor, I gave myself to him totally, ‘Whatever You ask me to do, Father,’ I cried through hot tears, ‘I will do it. “For a long time I knelt there. Then I stood up, breathing heavily as if I had just climbed a long hill. Reaching into the tub, I picked up the shotgun; I shuddered as I thought how close I had come to using it. Taking it to our bedroom, I unloaded the shells and placed the gun back in the closet. As I closed the closet door, a faint accusatory echo sounded: ‘Coward…afraid to pull the trigger.’