notes from the week of my friend’s death by suicide
Life is too short to be upset with someone and too short not to work it out if you are. Make the call. Book that ticket. There is no good time. Tell your loved ones you love them. If it’s possible to say it too much then say it in actions instead of words.
Death is a moment. Shock is a phase. Grief a period and mourning a marathon. People hear the news and are moved to action, their hearts and arms open. Grief sneaks up. I put down a coffee cup and suddenly my friend dies all over again.
Remember that for us closest to the death, grief goes on and on. Reach out in weeks, then months. Just asking how I am handling it is an embrace, a safe moment to touch that pain I’m too afraid to in my own private thoughts. Be afraid it will be awkward. Be afraid to say the wrong thing. Be afraid and do it anyway. Do it with courage and love.
Givers often don’t know how to receive. The friend always hosting, always checking in, always there with a smile, give to them. They won’t ask. They won’t want to trouble anyone. Don’t believe them if they say no. Go over anyway. Call or show up anyway so you don’t need to wonder what would have happened if you had. Give to the givers. They need care the most and often don’t know how to give to themselves.
Just like falling in love or breaking up, every song on the radio is about him, about me, my guilt, my broken heart. Please remember me. Is it too late to say sorry. This body is yours, this mess is mine. I stay high all the time to keep you off my mind.
In the car, in her room, we take turns making jokes, laughing, crying & holding each other. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom and cry. I clench my eyes behind sunglasses till the tears stop. This is only how it begins.
There is no tidy ending. Often I share my writing once I have found the golden nugget at the center and my words are the bow I put on it. He was proud of my vulnerability and here it is for him, messy, real, and public in a way I wish he had the self indulgence to be.