I’ve read his suicide note twice. The first time was four years ago, a couple days after he died. Through the tears, I only felt anger. He had left me out. Mentions of other members of our family and friends found their way onto the keyboard. But no mention of me. The second time I read the note was this afternoon. Four years ago, I wondered if he left me out because he was so mad at me. I wondered if I even had the right to grieve given he didn’t mention my name. I wondered if he loved me so much that he couldn’t fathom the thought of ...
What he didn’t say
What’s Next
I’ve been staring at this screen for months…waiting for what I’m supposed to say next and wondering what I can say that will “make it all better”. Or what will make the reader on the other side of this page feel better. And now it’s Christmas. I don’t have anything. I don’t have an eloquent poem about a Christmas in heaven, nor do I have a “Dear John, Merry Christmas” letter to share. I just miss him. I miss hearing him say, “Love you”. I miss the way he hugged me. I miss the way he punched me in the arm as he walked by me. I miss his ...
Am I allowed to be sad?
I hadn’t talked to him that day, that week, or even that month. In fact, I hadn’t seen him in three months when he died. The distance he placed between us and between himself and the rest of our family, I believe, was directly related to his sickness. Although, I didn’t know that at the time. I didn’t know how sick he truly was. About a month and half before he took his life was the last time I heard his voice. I remember trying not to cry too much as I told him “I just want my brother back”. I remember trying to listen more than I spoke, and choosing ...
Our Book
September 12, 2016: I parked the car and stepped out with the book and the flowers in hand. It’s a hot day so the green carnations I’ve bought are starting to wilt. Nevertheless, I start out on to the grass steering clear of the other stones as I make my way to his. I have to catch my breath, like I do every time I come here, as I approach the granite stone etched with his name and a picture of him smiling on my wedding day. The tears start to fall as I wipe the dirt stained water spots off of his picture and my hand comes to rest on his face. More tears ...
