This day was gorgeous and exhilarating. The smell of fall was in the air; the bird’s singings were crisp and clear as if they too were proclaiming their enjoyment of mild weather after the brutal heat of summer.

Yet, in the midst of this beautiful day with its entire splendor, it was a day my own world stood still. My entire world suddenly stopped. The beauty of that day thrust me into a world of darkness, anguish and a deep sadness that would linger for years.

With each passing day my anger grew more intense. I was alone, trapped within my soul. There was no one I could turn to. Those around me spoke in hushed tones; others avoided me completely. Even within our tight Family we were unable to speak his name. A man who was once invincible turned invisible. Six minutes. Six-minutes of a horrific inferno that consumed my daddy’s body and ended a relationship of love. My dreams became a nightmare of despair. How could this be?

“Maybe she is the reason!” – blaming myself – became a constant worry of self-condemnation, wondering of what others were thinking, saying.

I took all of these feelings of fact and fiction, thoroughly confused by all my fears. A fire still smolders within me. Frightening questions remain. These daily probing questions: would, could they ever be answered? Silently and persistently I cry out every morning, “Why did you, Daddy, do this to me? How could you have done this awful thing to me? You left me alone. I love you. I hate that you left me!”

I scream into the darkness. Is anyone there? Does anyone know how I feel? Silence. There is no answer.

On September 29, 1981, at the age of 56, losing his job without our knowledge, my dad in complete hopelessness, drove my little brothers golf cart – filled with high octane fuel. He stops behind our house on the edge of the dirt road.

Meticulously, he saturates with fuel an old Army blanket. In an instant the ignited fuel becomes an all consuming fire: He throws himself into this inferno, burning flesh and bone. He dies a horrible death.

I wonder, moments before his final act of desperation and loneliness, did he hear the bird’s singing? Did he notice even the smallest part of the splendor of beauty surrounding him? Again and again the agony of my soul screams out, O God, help me. Please help me.

In my own consuming hopelessness, fueled with anger, and frustration, I tried to comprehend my dad’s action, knowing I would never receive a simple answer to my incessant questions. So, I decided to increase both their intensity and frequency. Pleading with God, “How could you have allowed this? Why didn’t you keep this from happening? If you are ruler of the world, why didn’t you stop my dad from killing himself? It’s not fair. It’s not right. Why, God? Why?

Five years. Each and every morning I would ask the same questions. Five long years. Silence.

For unknown, unresolved reasons, weary and worn out by my own questionings, I woke up one summer morning: But this time, no questions, just a remaining silence. I had to travel to Columbia for business. In this time being alone within the confines of the car, I began talking with God but with a completely different response, “God, I will not ask ‘Why’ anymore but could you please tell me ‘What? What I can do to make a difference?’”

The very moment I began asking, “What” to Him, yielding to Him, a still quiet voice whispered to my heart, “Anna, why not start a suicide awareness program.”

At the time, I would not have been able to explain to you what all this meant but instantly my dark, sad, burdened spirit changed. I discovered in the brokenness of the Alabaster box a sweet fragrance is released: The soothing, peaceful scent of His sacred presence.

Three years later Love for Life, Inc. was formed. On September 14, 1989, Governor Carroll Campbell arrived at North Augusta High School to implement the program. Later Terryl Bechtol, a humorist was hired to go to all schools in Aiken County.

At that time I was feeling bold enough to confront my fears of resuming that silly game my dad and I shared with chocolate covered cherries. The Christmas season of 1989 was approaching.

The game went like this; as soon as grocery stores had stocked their shelves with chocolate covered cherries, Mother would purchase a box marking the beginning of a new Christmas season in the Wease household, and the beginning of “our game.” Between the two of us, whoever ate the last chocolate in the box was declared, “The winner!” That’s it. I told you it was our silly little game— understood only between the two of us.

We didn’t eat the chocolates all at once; it would take a month or two but the memories and fun lingered through the following year. We had twenty-four years of memories playing the game. Then, suddenly Daddy was gone. It was after Daddy’s death in September 1981, as Christmas approached, I made Mother promise she would NEVER purchase the chocolates again. Keeping to her promise, she never did.

Although Mother did not purchase chocolates, when I entered the grocery store during this Christmas, I would find myself standing before the chocolates asking my same redundant, persistent questions I had asked daily to my dad and to God, “How could you have done this to me? Why?”

That dreaded silence remained. There would always be that overwhelming silence when I stood gazing at chocolates on the shelves, as if I was talking to my dad in earlier years and after his suicide all through these five years of angrily asking God, Why? But for some reason the chocolates mysteriously drew me to them as if these lifeless candies wanted to share something personally with me, but like a deaf mute, couldn’t get the words out.

Each Christmas I revisited the chocolates on a shelf and each Christmas I would promise myself it would be different next year. Nothing different happened. You would not find me near a grocery store. I argued within myself, asking again and again, “How stupid is it to talk with a box of chocolates?” It didn’t matter. I didn’t really care how it seemed.

I had harassed myself through eight Christmas seasons with this ridiculous in fighting with chocolates: They sat silently ignoring my pleas for an answer. But at this moment a new found courage – and that quiet, inner voice of Christmas 1989 seemed to tell me, “Your recovery will not move forward until you face ‘the game.’” I picked the box of chocolates from the shelf, bought it and walked from the store.

Several days after the emotional purchase – at home alone while staring at the box – I knew the box had to be opened. Secretly, I was hoping for a message to be found inside one of the chocolates, like the message-strip of a fortune cookie. But I had bigger, more immediate plans: I was going to eat every chocolate in the box. With each bite I would remember something sweet from each Christmas past. I was going to work my memory over-time, pulling me back to those precious sweet times, back to those many good times spent with my loving daddy when all seemed perfect in my world.

I opened the box. To my surprise my emotions burst forth from my heart. Tears rolled down my face. Those familiar sick feelings emerged in my stomach as my unrelenting, redundant questions came rushing to the forefront of my mind.

All my years of working on Love for Life, all my research on suicide seemed useless and empty. I felt defeated. I was right back at square one.

As I got up to discard the evidence of another failed attempt at one more process of healing, I stood over the trash. The same peaceful, quiet voice rose within me, “Write the candy company a thank you letter.”

Too emotional to argue, I obeyed but I really thought it a bizarre request.

After handwriting the note I hurriedly addressed and mailed the letter so as not to talk myself out of something unusual as this.

Caught up all in myself, I knew this letter to the candy company was somehow a therapeutic process for me and it was another step of the process of moving forward. I knew although addressed to the president of the candy company he would never receive my letter. It would be intercepted by his secretary, the gatekeeper, filed away in file thirteen, a letter from the nutcase.

On into the new year of 1990 I worked on keeping my mind on my accomplishments instead the failure of the chocolates knowing I had progressed. One day after work I arrived home, checking my mail, I glanced through and there in the stack was an envelope with the masthead of the candy company. I froze. In the split second of seeing the letter my mind raced to the thought, his secretary read my letter and felt so sorry for me she wrote me, as my trembling hands tore open the letter to read:

Dear Ms. Seigler.

Your gracious letter of December 18th was more poignant than you know. In 1979 I tried to take my own life . . . . I am glad that my children did not go through the pain and anguish that you suffered. It had never occurred to me that in taking my life I would permanently damage the emotional well being of my own children . . . .

Signed President

Candy Company

The mute chocolates were finally talking to me – all arranged by God. It was through the candy company that I shared the game with my dad, who answered the question, “How could you have done this to me? Why?” my answer came.

“It never occurred to me that in taking my life I would permanently damage the emotional well being of my own children.”

God our Father is not a religious tyrant, demanding and commanding. He calls us into friendship, fellowship and a relationship with Him. He has our best interest in His mind even something simple and strange sounding as writing a letter to a stranger.

He created each one of us to be born at a specific time for His purpose. Once He thought of us, and our time of creation was accomplished we never die. Death is never final to us. It is by way of this earthly death where we change locations.

That fire built by my sweet daddy to consume his life is a different fire that consumes my own. The fire within me is a purifying fire – one ignited by the Lord in my heart to open it to desire Him. As the purification process continues He is showing me to fully trust Him - not another, to reach for lasting, eternal things not material, to speak blessings not curses, to run to the throne when in trouble not the phone.

His fire He has placed within me confirms His love for me, His grace to understand and forgive my despicable anger and my words against Him. It is hard to comprehend the love He has given me, a love that forgives and bestows power to heal and to discover His purpose to help others. He promises to do the same for you whoever you are, wherever you are this very moment, and whatever is happening in your life. Greater than my promise to you is His promise to you, and through His promises there is ALWAYS HOPE!

To schedule speaking engagements with Anna Seigler please email her at annieseigler@aol.com