The answer is yes. There is a God. And he loves you. And he's there with you. Always.
Sunday November 22, 2009
(via allineeded)
i will be okay.
Sunday November 22, 2009
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Sunday November 22, 2009
dear b,
WHY? oh my god, why? despite my anger and frustation last year, and despite what I have written to you in the past, I know (that I know that I know that I know) that suicide is not a selfish act. I know, personally! I would have “succeeded” if I wasn’t “caught”. I understand.
I met your mother today and I’m still processing that. Instead of burying you in a lonely solitary plot in Orange Park, she buried you in a plot that was probably going to be saved for another family member. Instead she had to bury her own son, one of two identical twins. Your own twin brother could not even speak at your funeral because he had to check himself into the hospital.
I have written you almost 15,000 words to you in the 13 months since you’ve been gone. And I hardly even knew you.
I don’t even care that your death has helped me understand the damage that I almost did to my own loved ones. I mean, I do care. It’s just, I would have rather figured it out and understood by some other way. I wish it wasn’t you. I wish it wasn’t anyone at all. I get angry when I hear of ANY suicide.
Jamie Tworkowski of TWLOHA wrote a blog about National Survivors of Suicide Day yesterday.
“i wish i could bring him back, this man she loved, this friend to so many… But the weight of suicide is it’s permanence. Each of us, we are thousands of moments and choices and days. Zeke walked away from all of it that night in January.”
You walked away from it all on a Monday morning in late October.
I could continue to write to you for the rest of my life but the devastating thing is that nothing we say or do can bring you back.
My therapist told me that you were my teacher- that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. And when you took the gun to your head, and I found out days later, it changed my life. I wouldn’t realise that till a month later.
I was heading down a dark road of partying and experimenting with drugs, and surrounding myself with people I should not have been around. It all came to an end because of you.
I have never been able to say thank you, because it feels so wrong.
“Hey- thanks for taking your own life so mine could be spared.” You didn’t even know me.
I guess I’m just rambling and I guess on some days I’m still angry. I guess as weird as it still is to feel anger, it has an appropriate place somewhere in all of this.
I guess even though it was amazing to not only see someone else at your grave today, and meeting your mother, no parent should ever have to bury their own child.
I would still give anything to have you back, even if it meant my story being different in some aspect. Even if it meant that we would continue to NOT know one another. Even if we were still strangers- all of your family and loved ones would still have you.
I’m sorry, B. I wish you could somehow read all of my words, and see every time someone comes to maintain your grave and visit you.
Yours in life and death,
Colleen
I’ll come back
when you call me
no need to say goodbye
when you call me
no need to say goodbye
— The Call, Regina Spektor (via kari-shma)
Sunday November 22, 2009
Sunday November 22, 2009
“She pointed with her finger to the plots on your left and right and quickly went through who was buried where. I felt joy. A few of my questions were being answered, without even speaking a word. It is almost as if she knew that was something I was having a hard time with: thinking that you were buried all alone and by yourself.
You are buried in between your great-grandparents. And your great Aunt is buried in front of you, or behind you however you look at it, and a short distance away lay some of your other family members.
Your mother explained that she did not want you buried in Orange Park because it was sort of in the middle of nowhere.
It’s strange. You’re not here any longer, to feel anything. So the loneliness I have felt for you being there- whether you are immediately surrounded by strangers, friends, or family members should make no difference. There is comfort in knowing you are surrounded by family members, even if you never knew them in life. But the loneliness I feel for you…I guess it will always haunt me, knowing that you were lost to suicide. I can imagine to some degree, the loneliness, the desperate feelings of those final moments. That is something that time cannot erase from my heart or mind.
She then echoed my exact sentiments I had. She said that she thought that you were buried in a beautiful spot. I told her I thought the same exact thing when I came to visit you last month on your anniversary. I looked up and pointed at the large oak tree above you and I told your mother that this was one of the most beautiful cemeteries in all of Jacksonville.
She mentioned it is especially beautiful at sunset- how the sun falls and shines on your grave.
At that moment I thought of the first night I found your final resting place. It was sunset. And I was scared for you. I did not feel the beauty of that cemetery those first few visits. It has taken me a year to be able to see it.
I quickly left. I lied to her and said that I had been there for quite some time and so I would leave and allow her time with you. She told me that I did not have to rush off. I said that it was okay because I always come to visit you. Nevertheless, she leaned in for a second hug as she thanked me for coming to visit you. I shook her hand and asked her name one more time, so I would never forget. Deborah.
I walked away with a smile on my face. I drove off here to the Casbah, where I was headed anyways before I went to visit you.
In my car on my way here, I started to wish that I had stayed just a bit longer to chat, except I am not well rehearsed in the art of small talk. I felt bad that she hugged me and thanked me for visiting you- and I had nothing else to offer.
I still had questions that I want answers to- like if you are getting your own head stone, and when- but I felt that it was inappropriate. I could have taken advantage of having your own mother there and learning more about you from her. I did not want to stay and intrude on her time with you, and I had little to say because I knew you so little. I know she has no idea how our stories and lives are intertwined. She has no idea all of the many words I have written to you, or that I am the one who places the sunflowers on your grave every once in a while.
Speaking of sunflowers- I was reading a blog on TWLOHA’s website yesterday written by a woman who lost her boyfriend to suicide in January of 2006. She was writing about how she will spend his upcoming anniversary and she mentioned bringing him his annual sunflower. That also made me perk up. Someone else brings sunflowers to one who was lost to suicide! Then it made me wonder why she also chose sunflowers. I also decided (not that I really needed anything to make me change my mind) that I would continue to bring you those bright and cheery flowers.
All of these moments this weekend has made me think of what a small world it is. I was going to say “coincidences” but I do no believe in those. I still believe there is a reason for everything that happens. I think meeting your mom today was another sign of that. This year I have had so many questions unanswered. And I know, and I have written, that we all have to be okay with the not-knowing. But also, if you allow time to do what it is supposed to do, sometimes many of those questions will be answered at least to some degree.
Today was a great day. Last time I went to see you I felt sad not only because it was your anniversary but because it appeared that no one had been to visit you in quite some time. Today I actually met someone who still loves you and the fear I had that no one cares enough to fix up your flowers and such- it left me.
I know nothing about your death, your suicide, is about us, but I know we have to take care of each other, the survivors. We have to look out for those who are lost in your absence.
I guess that makes me wish I had said something more to your mother. It has been a little over a year now since you left us. So what would have been appropriate to say?
“I am sorry for your loss.” “How are you doing?” After so much time has passed, is that still the right thing to say to a mother who lost her son too soon?
Perhaps I will have another opportunity to offer her my condolences in the future. After today I get the feeling I will see her again.
Yours always,
Colleen
Sunday November 22, 2009
dear b,
i don’t know why, exactly, but i went to visit you today. i thought it was just a random day and i guess it still was and is, but today I had the chance to unexpectedly meet your mother. i guess she came to check on your new wreath. she told me that she was surprised that the storm had not blown your new wreath and flowers away. now that i have left, i wish i had stayed much longer and taken the opportunity to talk with her- to learn about you. but i felt weird because i didn’t have much to share with her about you. she might have laughed at how in 9th grade i broke up with my boyfriend because i thought you were going to ask me out (which you didn’t).
Anyhow, meeting her was incredible, even for the two minutes we stood there. She had no way of knowing it, but she answered some questions of mine that I have been asking for the past year. Now I know that you are not alone in that cemetery. You are next to your great grandparents and your great aunt. That consoled me, that you are not next to complete strangers.
She hugged me, and although she was a stranger, I felt close to her. Thank you for sharing her with me, even if our meeting was because of your deeply felt absence.
Yours in life and death,
Colleen
