When I got sick I could not function and didn't care! As I look back it was a long time coming.

I was always this busy person. I took on all kinds of projects. Ray and the boys and the house needed caring for. My mother lived next door and depended on us. One by one, I added aunts and uncles to my list. Many of them had no children and I gave them attention and love. The yard and garden needed caring for in summer. Also I took care of bookwork for the business. There was furniture refinishing that I couldn't say no to, when people asked. There was always something. With cousins we formed a corporation and bought and sold property, have a house we rent weekly in summer and monthly in winter. I do the same with Aunt Eleanora's home. When things began to slow down or close in I would just add another job.

My children would refer to me as the Tasmanian Devil. They would suggest that I had taken too many thyroid pills. They saw and didn't get in the way of projects. They were not neglected, hell, they were one of the projects and they had damn well better turn out right. In spite of me, they did. They are all three loving and caring people and that's all we need with a lot of truth to get along in life.

Two years ago May, I added another project. I would run this country shop with handmade items. This weakened the camel's back as the saying goes. Then one by one my aunts and uncles got sick. A favorite uncle had already left us and I knew the rest were dying. This was something I couldn't fix.

By November, I would cry for no reason. Life sucked! I tried to pull it together. I bought a new car and barely remember doing so. The new car didn't help. Christmas came and I don't remember doing the shopping or cooking.

When one of my favorite nieces and namesake phoned to say they were coming to visit, I couldn't handle it and just said "No" to Ray.

My mind just quit! This person who had done everything was done. I could not do the simplest of tasks and could care less.

There was lots of help to arrive at my rescue. Ray was there as he's always been. The boys pitched in. My work load was taken over by others or they did their own work. Naida was always available and ready to do things. Relatives and friends phoned and I felt a genuine concern and understanding.

Having thoughts of suicide can really scare you. By the grace of God I had the courage to phone a doctor and get an appointment to find out what was wrong. I had no clue. I just knew something was wrong with me. A very short office call and Dr. Smith informed me I was suffering from depression. I finally had a name for it and it was treatable. I had earlier encounters with this monster and never had a label for it. It was a mental illness and I didn't want it or desire to deal with it unless I had to. Now I had to.

Simple as that the doctor had said, "You're depressed." I could cry over nothing. I woke at 4:00 a.m. and could not go back to sleep. I had no energy, lost interest in everything, could not concentrate or make decisions; weird thoughts would go through my mind. I would try to think of normal thoughts to get away from the bizarre ideas. It didn't work! I could picture in my mind an area I had seen in England and it was beautiful. A large field, green and lush, with scattered rocks and hundreds of sheep. The land rose up on all three sides to form a huge valley. There was a stone fence and unusual gate at the entrance which looked open. Upon closer examination it had a grate across with holes so we could walk on it, but if the sheep would try to cross they would fall as the holes were too large for their feet. The sheep could pass through another area and instinct seemed to warn them of the grate. I, at 4:00 a.m., would try to count those sheep to change my thought pattern, thinking I would fall asleep. By 6:30 a.m. when Ray's alarm went off, I gave up and got dressed.

Besides the medication Desyrel, which the doctor had prescribed, he suggested I should go to counseling. He gave me the name of a clinic, but I elected to find my own. I wasn't going where crazy people went. After contacting several psychologists in private practice I kept returning to one name. I don't know why, but SHE was the one, Barbara Quinn.

On January 13th, my calendar said "Quinn - 6:30 p.m." This woman, unknown to me, was my choice after several days of agony. I actually was going to a shrink! God!