// Prologue //
The clock says 12:03 PM, but it’s five minutes fast, so I suppose the real time is 12:08. I can’t help but find my mind occupied by the little things that don’t matter right as I am about to proceed. It’s not like the time is important to what happens next. It could be a minute earlier or a minute after. The time of day held no significance, no deeper meaning, nothing that would speak at all to what was about to happen. The only reason I am choosing now is because I seem to be having the feeling again, and I don’t feel like fighting it off anymore. I’ve been holding back for too long now. It’s a feeling I strongly dislike, but also a feeling that seems to define me these last few years. The only word I can classify it as is a craving. A pull. Something draws me to it. A sense of hollowness.
I find myself asking “Why now? What’s different this time around? What’s your motivation?”
I won’t lie, I don’t have any decent answers. I only choose this time because it is convenient. I have a space to myself which has never been the case when I felt this way in the past. This way I don’t have to force anybody to be audience to watch or to stop this.
There is nothing different. No poetic reasoning, nothing that pushed me to an edge, and nothing to blame.
I don’t have any motivation. That’s why I am here. That’s why I have accepted this fate.
I would say it feels sad, but honestly I am not sure I even feel that at this point. The only thing I think and feel is exhaustion and emptiness. The kind of exhaustion that is a permanent state that sleep can’t fix. Those feelings take over everything I do. Every action I take. Every word I speak. Just all of it, and with no hope of turning that around, I feel the need to finish this.
As I begin the delicate procedure, I can see that although the feeling of hollowness persists on nearly every level, that isn’t true on the physical one. It still felt oddly reassuring to know that I am not just a shell, even if only for a moment as it was all coming to a close. The lack of illumination in the room seems to be giving the newly painted floors a deep maroon hue. What a mess this is going to make; or perhaps it will be seen as art. I call it terminal beauty. Maybe lethal beauty sounds better. Who knows, and honestly who cares. It’s almost comical what runs through my head in these moments. Although, after some more thought it may be more depressing what isn’t going through my head.
Seems more appropriate to ask questions like, “shouldn’t I have left a note explaining things? One final letter, one final ballad to explain what led me to this frigid tiled bathroom floor. Shouldn’t I have said one final goodbye to those who have taken the time to walk down hell with me?”
It’s not like I would know what to say. I wouldn’t get two words down before someone came and knocked on the door. What does that say about me? I guess it shows I never learned to let anyone in. How sad. I can’t help but weakly chuckle at that feeling a little bit. After all this time, I decide now to be the best time to feel sadness for what is about to happen. If I had felt this under different circumstances maybe it could have turned out different, but I have made my decision now. I’m not going to turn my back now. I’ve turned my back so many times in life, so I won’t do that in death. As my body drains and my knees become weak time seems to slow down. As much as I try to prevent it, my body becomes heavier and I begin to slouch, now sitting against the stained bathtub.
My mother always told me not to slouch or I would pay later in life. Sorry Mom, guess I couldn’t deliver on that one this time. Not like that later is going to happen anyways. I probably should be apologizing for that. Another snicker slips out of my lips feeling cold and empty.
“It really is weird what flies through your mind in these last few moments.”
My weak laugh turns to heavy breathing as the thought of my mother sticks to my mind and how she will feel. This feeling is too late, I had almost made it and now the pain really hits. A blistering pain stronger than anything the razer can shoot through my body.
I whisper to myself with my last few breaths, “Damn, just a little longer and I would have made it.”
The sound of the sink I used to cover up any sound I might make now sounds like white noise as I begin to fade. With blurry vision I take one last glance at the clock. It now reads 12:05 which really means 12:10. I found it odd how my mind seemed to drift in my final thoughts. Barely able to hold my eyes open a small light peaks through from under the closed bathroom door. My mother is home. I dread the look on her face and my laugh turns into an internal cry I can’t let out.
With my eyelids growing heavier, I no longer am able to see, and with the little hearing I have left I can barely hear over the white noise the sound of someone banging frantically on the door.
All I could think as I finally left this world was, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t even manage a tear for you.”
// Daniel //
Waking up Tuesday morning I felt groggier than usual. While I will admit I am not a morning person, my body felt unusually slow. I felt achy. Nonetheless, I still was expected to get up and go to school. Looking at my old digital alarm clock, I could see that I was already behind on my morning routine. Despite that fact, I didn’t seem to care. Usually I get up in a panic when noticing something like that, but today was different. Searching around my own thoughts I chalked it up to senioritis before finally slumping out of my covers. They were disheveled after a long night having trouble falling to sleep.
After just taking a moment to let my mind drift while looking at where I was previously laying, I snapped to and began dragging my feet over to my bedroom door. Walking into the bathroom I noticed the house was unusually quiet. I turned on the faucet and began my morning rituals. A cold shower, a tooth brushing, and a set of semi-clean clothes later I was pretty much ready for the day.
Walking into the kitchen, I could hear both my parents talking in the other room. I could hear a sense of worry in their voices. Slowly creeping through the kitchen I decided to skip breakfast and head to school. I didn’t want my parents to find out I was about to be late again, even though they are usually the ones to wake me when I am running late. Carefully sliding my feet across the floor I went to grab the car key I had left on the counter last night by my parents instructions. Picking up the keys made more noise than I was hoping for. With that I heard my parents get up and call my name questionably as they walked over into the kitchen.
“Daniel, is that you,” my mother asked softly.
It was at this point I just thought, “Fuck it,” and grabbed the keys and my bag not worrying about the noise and bolted for the door.
Before I could even turn the door knob more than half way my father called out, “Woah, slow down there kiddo,” as he walked into the room.
My mother followed behind him and asked in a concerned voice, “Daniel, can we talk for a second?”
Silently groaning I responded, “Mom I really need to get going. I am going to be late.”
Giving me a serious look back she exclaimed, “This is important. We should talk.”
I took a good look at the both of them and saw that they really were serious. Although I could not help but think about how my mother usually reacts when I am late from school, and how my teachers wouldn’t want me to miss anything this close to the end of my high school years. School is important too after all.
With a small sigh I let that thought take over and blurted out, “Sorry, I really should just get to school. I don’t want to miss anything. We can talk about this tonight. Sound good? Great.”
With that I grabbed my things and continued to pass through the door. My parents were calling for me stop and sit down, but with my hurried pace I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Perhaps part of me didn’t want to. Either way, I made my way to school slower than I usually would when it was this late. Probably just didn’t care for my classes much seeing as I would be graduating this year. Also I heard there was an assembly scheduled for first period anyways so I felt like I didn’t have to worry about being late. In fact I decided to skip the assembly all together and instead stop and get myself some coffee.
With my detour I arrived at school in time for second period. Class was pretty dead silent, which was fine with me because I felt unusually low on energy even with the caffeine boost. I took my seat and slumped down onto my desk, putting my head between my crossed arms. While my face was aimed towards the front of the classroom, I wasn’t really paying attention. The day drudged on, and the tone of the school was one of melancholy. I don’t know if it was that feeling being contagious or just my lack of drive, but it seemed any time one of my teachers asked me to engage, I excused myself to the bathroom.
At last the day came and went and I couldn’t be more pleased with that fact. Heading over to some of my classmates who looked just as down as the majority of the student body, I picked up conversation with an elated look on my face in hopes to not have the focus be so negative.
“Man, it sure is overcast in here today,” I said with an upbeat sounding voice, “You guys wanna come over to my place and play some video games. My parents wouldn’t mind and it would probably delay them sitting down and talking to me about me being late or whatever they wanted to discuss with me this morning.”
They looked at me with a face of confusion. Some of them even seemed a little taken aback by my offer.
My friend Tom broke the unbearable silence and said with a very somber voice, “Umm…you were late this morning weren’t you? Missed the assembly then. Well I don’t think today is a good day for that. Also, I think you should just head home and sit down with your parents.”
After hearing that I was a bit disappointed. Tom was usually always one to come over after school, even if we had homework or something else going on.
I simply nodded my head and gave him an, “Okay,” before he nodded back and turned and walked the other way towards the schools exit.
Driving home I decided to make some pit stops before entering back into the house. I don’t know why, but I just felt like it would be a good idea despite doing almost nothing at every place I stopped. Before I knew it, the night sky had shown itself and the stars were visible. I looked at my phone to see that it was pretty late and decided that I did have to get home at some point.
Walking in the door I was immediately bombarded with questioning from my parents.
“Where have you been? Why didn’t you pick up your phone? What’s going on with you? We were worried sick about you Daniel.”
I told them that I had went out after school with some friends and pretended like I didn’t see the dozens of calls and voicemails that they made.
“Look, I’m sorry about worrying you so much, but I am here and safe now,” I said with a content smile on my face.
My mother’s face of worry didn’t fade with that comment. If anything it made her more worried for some reason and she asked, “Please Daniel, can we just sit down and talk for a bit.”
Without even processing her words I said in an unsteady voice, “I’m actually wiped from school. A lot of work today in class. I’m going to turn in early, so we can talk about this some…”
Before I could go any further she raised her voice and yelled, “No. You said the same thing last night, and I am not letting you go without talking with you first. I know you are lying to me because I messaged your friends and they told me you weren’t with them.”
My father cut in and spoke in a stern voice, “And while you may be tired, I know you didn’t have a lot of work today as we got an email from your school saying they would not be the usual course load due to what happened recently.”
My mother bouncing off this said in a much calmer voice, “Daniel, you don’t have to keep this up anymore. We know you know.”
Taken aback I questioned my mother, “What? What are you going on about? Know what? How could I know something we haven’t even talked about.”
Looking at each other my mother continued, “At first we weren’t sure you knew about it as we have never heard you mention this kid before, but looking at your actions both today and yesterday it seems quite obvious.”
“What are you talking about. It’s just like I said; I’m just tired.”
“At first we believed that, but like I said you’re actions lately tell a different story. You aren’t acting like yourself. Lying. Skipping class. Avoiding us. I mean for god sakes son you are wearing the same clothes as yesterday.”
“I didn’t skip. I just woke up late like you saw today. Mom didn’t come into my room for waking up late so it was inevitable that I showed up after the bell.”
My mother interjected, “You only left 15 minutes late. Did you really think we wouldn’t get notified of your absence from homeroom and the entire assembly regarding this topic you had today. I chose not to come into your room today just in case you were dealing with all this. I mean, a classmate of yours killed himself. That isn’t something we expect you to be able to easily get past.”
After a moment of silence my father spoke saying, “In short we think you might be going through denial, and we want to be here for you to let you know that it is okay if you are and it is okay to let yourself grieve. So, would you like to talk about this.”
Suddenly my head came filled with thoughts similar to the ones I had this morning. I really didn’t want to confront this right now. I began feeling really trapped and cornered. All I wanted to do was rush over to my room and lock the door.
Trying to brush it all off and act normal I faced my parents and simply told them, “I’m fine. I didn’t even know the kid all that well. He was simply in my class. Really it’s fine. I think I am just going to turn in for the night.”
Without even giving them a chance to respond I turned and ran off to my room. I heard my mother call out my name as if she didn’t want me to go, but my father seemed to stop her and told her to let me go. After locking my door, I felt out of breath and really drained. I didn’t know what was going on, or perhaps I didn’t want to know. A short time passed before my father’s voice came from the other side of the door braking the thought process I found myself trapped in.
“Hey son…you don’t have to say anything, but just listen. I am not going to pretend to know what you are thinking right now. The only thing I can really say is that all of those things telling you to run away, all the effort you are trying to put into acting normal like nothing happened, that is all normal. I’m sure it is taking a toll on you and that is okay. It’s okay to feel the way you feel, and it is okay to feel any kind of pain from this. Even though you may have not known him very well, it can still have inexplicable affects on you. I’m sorry this happened, and I’m sorry you feel this way. I just want you to know I love you and am here for you and I am going to be waiting right outside your door tonight if you need me for anything. Whether you come out or not, just know I am here.”
Immediately after he stopped talking I heard him shuffle around. His shadow under the door told me that he really did intend on sitting there with me the whole night. It put me at ease. Unable to come out from the other side of the door, I sat adjacent to his shadow. It helped me calm down knowing he was there and so I remained on the floor for the rest of the night crying silently with my head between my legs, knowing full well that he probably could hear me.
// Abigail //
We had known each other since kindergarten. When my mother was still alive she used to be good friends with his mother and we got to play together quite a bit. It was fun. It was innocent. Then we grew up and life became messy. It never remained like the simplistic relationships you held as a kid. Despite all that though, I was the kind of person that really tried for the people I cared about. After losing someone like your Mom you can’t help but hang onto everyone who takes the time to be part of your life. Luckily with him it wasn’t too difficult. Maybe it was because he felt bad after that, maybe because he wanted to look out for me, or maybe he genuinely did want to be a good friend and not drop off the face of the Earth like so many tend to do these days. I find myself questioning all of this though right now.
I’m sitting completely still in bed, unable to move, completely distracted and lost in thought.I can’t help but question every second, every moment, every memory whether good or bad to see if there is something there I could of seen through. As much as I look for a hole into his soul to try to find his inner torment, I can’t help but drift focus onto the idea of what could have caused him to fall down this path. As someone who has made it through a similar struggle, I know what it takes to get you to that position.
I’ve attempted suicide twice now, and failed both times. You think I would be able to better understand the feelings of others who are going through something similar, but no matter what when I think about how he ended everything I feel…angry. Part of me thinks I shouldn’t be allowed to feel this way. Something horrible happened to one of my greatest friends, and all I can do is be mad at him. What’s with that? I don’t totally understand this emotion I have towards it, but I can’t hide from the fact that this is what I am feeling right now.
Tossing and turning in bed I find myself feeling slightly ashamed of the questions I keep asking regarding his suicide.
“What drove him to this? Was his life really that troubled? Was he really suffering that much?”
I kept telling myself that, “there had to be something, he must have been really struggling.”
Part of me couldn’t believe that though. I thought all these things and was just mad. I was mad at myself for asking these questions, and for thinking that there wasn’t some reason for his action. Despite that shame I couldn’t help but compare my situation to his. Except I couldn’t think of anything that would bring him down such a dark path. He didn’t have the same difficult childhood that I had, so why did he do this? It was unfathomable to me. It didn’t make sense and I wanted nothing but for all the dots to connect and the answer to be clear. I wanted to scream.
But that’s when I began to think, “What if I didn’t know everything?”
Trying to cast off these thoughts I looked at the time. It was past the first bell at school. Even before my aunt came in telling me I didn’t have to go, I knew I wouldn’t be attending. There was supposed to be an assembly explaining what happened and that there was resources there for anyone who needed help to grieve or talk about anything they are feeling.
I once again found myself angrily asking questions such as, “Why does it take the loss of someone we care about for everyone to wake up and talk to each other about it?!”
The frustration I was feeling was relentless. It kept brimming up from inside, almost to the point of bursting out, only for me to try to keep it under control just for the process to start anew again. I kept trying to avoid the questions as they kept bringing me back to the same sense of furiousness. Anger led to shame for the way I was thinking, and that shame led back to anger towards myself.
“I’m not aloud to be angry at him. I don’t get to ask these questions. He did something horrible and that’s the end of it. I just have to mourn and come to terms with his decision.”
But as soon as I thought that, the rage came back more intense than before. It was a pure sense of anger I had never felt before, not even when I almost took my own life.
“No! This feeling is deserved. I can’t just sit here and idly stand by acting as if this is all okay. I am angry at myself. Not for thinking the way I am, but for sitting here acting like I was his closest friend and never once seeing this. Never once noticing something was wrong, but most of all I am angry at him. Angry at him for doing something so horrible and leaving us behind to feel this pain, for not coming to someone he called his best friend to help him in his time of need, for making me sit here and think of all the things I could have done differently to save him, but not being given the chance to act on them. I am angry at him for all of it, and he can’t even give me the opportunity to scream in his face about how stupid he was, and how much he hurt everyone, and how we are just expected to move on without him…because he’s made the choice to not be here anymore.”
Thinking all this I had crumbled into a ball on my bed. All I could do was scream in agony, feeling the bed sheets below me become damp from the constant streams of tears that rolled down the sides of my cheeks. I didn’t want to suppress this feeling anymore because it made me realize that this is what it would have felt like to him and those around me if I had succeeded in my attempt of the very same act. In my realization I decided that I would never make that choice, because no matter how much I am hurting in that moment, it can’t hurt as bad as being the ones left behind.
// Benjamin //
As I sit here with the cops filing in and out of my house, all I see is the blood that coated the floors and all I hear is a ringing in my ear of my wife’s screams. With how much those thoughts are invading my mind it feels like it just happened minutes ago, and it might as well have. How do you even quantify time when you walk in on something that horrific. Perhaps it will always feel like it just happened with how these thoughts are etched into my brain. I can’t see a way of ever living life again without thoughts like these completely infesting my mind.
“What do I do now? How do you witness something like this and just move on? How am I expected to come to terms with this?”
We hear about horrible things happening in the world all the time. Whenever I watch the news and see a kid die way to young because he couldn’t find a way to keep living, I think about how hard that must be to go through. Never would I have thought that I would have to go through it myself. You think you know what it feels like until it actually happens and you realize just how much worse it is than you imagined. I had no idea what to do. I was stuck; wishing, pleading for this to all be some dream, or some elaborate joke, but I knew it wasn’t. The world stopped for me, everything was caving in and I had no idea what to do. It felt as though I had fallen down a dark abyss with no way to climb out. With this unshakeable feeling of dread, the only redeeming factor was a bittersweet one. I wasn’t down in that hole alone. My wife was feeling the same things I was, perhaps worse than I was. She was the one who first opened the door to the bathroom and saw the outcome of all this.
Looking over to her in the chair next to me, I saw a haunting image. She was not only a mirror image of my composure, but her face looked exactly the same from the moment she opened the door and saw our son laying there. Her eyes pierced open, unable to blink. Her hands and legs shaking vigorously without rest, and there was still blood on her hands from her futile attempt to stop what he did.
I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to comfort her, but knowing what she was feeling right now, I knew nothing would truly comfort her. I slowly reached out my hand and gently grasped hers. As I first made contact she reeled back in fear. I couldn’t blame her. The last person she touched was…well never mind. After giving her a moment to adjust I reached out for her hand again. Slowly slipping my fingers against her palm I wrapped my hand around hers. I felt the blood smear onto my skin from hers. I despised the feeling, but I fought it to keep holding on to Beth’s hand.
Minutes turned to hours and with time ticking forward more officers came over to give us reports, information, and condolences. I tried my best to respond to them despite feeling like I was about to collapse where I stood, but with my wife seemingly unable to respond I took the helm in an attempt to maintain conversation with the people who first responded to this tragedy.
Soon enough, all of it was over. Our house was empty again, just as it was before this all happened. It was quiet to the point of being unsettling. Glancing over at Beth I saw that she had not moved an inch. She was still completely still with a blanket over her. In her eyes you could see the torment of a mother who had lost everything. To tell you the truth, she had, and so did I. She had not said a word since her screaming turned to wailing turned to nothing. She was empty, almost like her soul had exited her body. She would not respond or react to anything. I worried she would never fully come out of this state. So worried, that I barely had time to react to today myself. I knew the worst was yet to come, but I didn’t know what to do about Beth. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I suppressed what I was currently feeling and went to help her. I grabbed a washcloth and went over to her. Kneeling down in front of her she still seemed like she was oblivious to my presence, lost in her own mind, unable to come back to reality. Sighing, I wiped the now dried blood of her hands and scrubbed the stains off her jeans.
“I’m going to help you up to bed, okay sweetheart?”
I don’t know why I asked in the first place. She didn’t respond to my question. She may have not even comprehended that I was talking to her. I guess part of me hoped she would say something, letting me know she was still here and I wasn’t alone right now. I began to guide her over to the stairs, and noticed I would have to do most of the walking for her.
I just decided to pick her up once we got to the stairs and I guided her to our bed where I laid her down, tucked her under the covers, kissed her on the forehead and whispered to her, “Try and get some rest. I’m here if you need me.”
The minute I walked behind the door I could feel these emotions start to hit me harder than they did before. Still trying to hold it back though, I walked downstairs and went to rinse off the washcloth covered in my son’s blood. I went into the bathroom where not long ago he laid. I noticed it was clean, more clean than it had been in a long time. It was almost as if nothing ever happened, but for Beth and I it would never be cleansed from our minds.
Standing there, my legs began to buckle under the intense weight of my body. I no longer had the willpower to keep composing myself. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I fell to my knees and my tears fell from my face to the floor. It was so quiet in our house now I could hear them splash against the bleached white tiles.
As a parent, I felt like I had to do something, but this was the one time I couldn’t figure out what, and that thought led me to one simple fact. There is nothing I could do. It is a parents job to support their children through the best and the worst, and I couldn’t do that now. It was too late. I failed.
Unsure what else I could do I got back to my knees put my hands together and thought, “Please, take me instead. My wife doesn’t deserve this. My son doesn’t deserve this. Please, let me take his place.”
I never believed in religion, or an afterlife, or anything in that realm to be honest, but right now I needed something like that. Whether it be spiritual or supernatural, I needed a miracle. I needed some way to get him back, no matter the cost. He still had so much to look forward to in his life and now those chances have faded away. I’m the one who has regrets, who has made mistakes, who has already witnessed most of life, so why him?
It was at this point I picked my head up and even though I knew nobody would respond and that nobody would listen, I screamed, “Please, just bring him back! Take me instead! Let it be my time not his! I’ll do anything!”
Breaking my solitude, I heard the door creak open further and saw my wife Beth standing there. Her expression had finally shifted. It had gone from one of shock to one of pure heartbreak. She stood there for a moment before diving into me with her head into my chest.
A second went by before she stood directly into my eyes and cried out, “Don’t you ever make a choice like that. I can’t lose you too. We don’t trade lives. You don’t get to make that choice. I won’t let you choose death too.”
Looking back at her I realized she heard me from upstairs. She broke into more mournful tears. I opened my mouth in an attempt to respond to her, but I found myself unable to. So I just sat there with her unsure at what to think. All we could do was grieve the loss of that what was most important to us. So, we sat there embracing each other, crying into one another.
// Daisy //
“I’m leaving now Mom,” I yelled toward the living room.
“Don’t be back too late, and if you are going to be text me.”
“Okay, see ya”
I closed the door and began walking towards my boyfriends house. It had been a while since we last saw each other and I had kept forgetting to return his notebook he let me borrow for one of our classes that I missed. I thought I would return it and maybe we could watch a movie at his place after. We hadn’t planned to do anything today seeing as it is a school night, but we live just a short walk from each other so I figured it would be okay to drop by unannounced.
Two minutes into my walk I had thought about the date and that we were just a few weeks off from being two years strong in our relationship. The thought of that made me excited as I was really happy with our relationship and am glad it has lasted this long. Not too much longer into my walk my happiness turned to worry.
I spotted the lights of police cars and heard the blaring of ambulances. As I made my way closer I realized they were all parked directly outside my boyfriends house. At this point I was in a panic. Running over to the front yard I was stopped by a police officer.
“Ma’am you can’t go in there,” he sternly commanded.
“You don’t understand, I know this family. My boyfriend lives…”
At this point my words trailed off as I saw the paramedics wheel out someone in a body bag. The officer following behind it walked outside and I could see him start talking to another officer. I couldn’t hear what they were saying perhaps due to the distance between us, or maybe my mind redacted what he said, but with the way my body reacted I already knew what he was saying. A boy had commited suicide, and they weren’t able to save him.
Suddenly I put my hands over my ears, digging my nails into the sides of my skull and opened my mouth to scream.
I found myself gasping for air in my bed when I came to. I was sweating profusely and my head was giving me all kinds of trouble. I had another night terror. I wiped my face and noticed tears. I was crying in my sleep. Only a few nights had gone by and I couldn’t fight away these nightmares. It was pure torture. Every time I go to sleep I witness it again, and every time I wake up I am am forced to think about it and the result from all that is just agony and despair. I suppose this is my punishment.
I don’t even know why he did it. No note, no final text, there was just nothing. I can’t even think back to a single moment where there was a sign of this. We have been together for so long now, so why did I never notice anything. I thought I knew everything about him. Suddenly my thoughts and questioned stopped as I noticed my incorrect phrasing.
“Have been together is now were together.”
The second my brain forced this correction, I curled up and put my head between my legs and once again cried.
We trusted one another, so why did this happen. Why didn’t he come to me? Did I make him feel like he couldn’t? With every thought I questioned how much I really was there for him, and if he really thought I was someone he could go to. These what ifs and questions about what I did wrong kept screaming in my head. They hurt and I couldn’t control them. Before I knew it I was hyperventilating. I started noticing I was experiencing tunnel vision. My heart raced and my head was splitting with pain. I just wanted this to stop. I wanted this all to not be real. I wanted the last few days to all be a bad dream.
Eventually I opened my eyes again and noticed that what I assume was a panic attack died down. It did however leave me with one last sucker punch in my mind.
I kept thinking, “I wasn’t good enough.”
He was always the kind of guy that knew something was up. When I was having a bad day, he was there to console me. When I was struggling with anxiety, he was the one to calm me down. He was just…kind. Now, when the time came where he was the one needing saving, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even see it. I was blind to his pain and I can never forgive myself for that. It is at times like this that he would come and lift some of that weight off my shoulders and help me forgive myself, but this time is different. He isn’t around anymore to help me through this. I’m all alone. That thought made me cry just like I did the last time I woke up like this, and I couldn’t even cry into his arms like I wanted to.
// Acceptance //
It had been about a week since the worst day of my life and today wasn’t going to make it any better. Today was my son’s funeral. As a mother, you never want to have to live to see your only son have a tombstone with their name on it, but that time had come anyways. As the day came closer I found it increasingly more difficult to stay focused on anything. I kept drifting off in thought, sometimes about nothing at all. I would just fall into the void and remain there until someone brought me back. I have learned over the last few days the skill of putting on a public image. With the number of people who give condolences when something like this occurs, you have to learn to try to sit through that without crying. The gesture is nice, but it just reminds me of everything that happened and it takes me back to that day. So, even though I want life to just stop, it can’t. The world moves forward, and I have to keep up or be left behind. Due to this, I need to put on a mask. It may have cracks and marks all across it, but it is necessary to get through this right now. I can only imagine that my husband is doing something similar right now. All for the sake of today. The funeral of our son. Something that is supposed to help us feel closure, but in reality it won’t do that at all. How could we expect to have closure for something we fail to understand.
As the event continued on, people kept coming up to speak about my son and how they knew him or what he meant to them. It was difficult to stay focused even when they expressed how sorrowful for our loss. When they did I tried to look up and smile out of gratitude. Even something as simple as this proved to be a challenge to me.
“Thank you all for being here today, and thank you to those who spoke for those kind words.”
Suddenly I froze a minute struggling to continue to follow my notes. The long pause became very apparent before I decided to push the notes aside and speak again.
“I have been sitting here for the past few days struggling to keep up with how life continues to push forward. I thought, how could I keep moving, when something so terrible happened that is right here in the now? Seven days ago was the worst day of my life. I watched as my pride and joy slipped away from my world, from your world, from our world, and I am expected to keep…moving…forward. I’ll be honest, I don’t want to. I want to go back to the days before this all happened. If I could live those days over and over again I could probably be happy, but I am now starting to realize if I did that, would my son be happy? Because clearly he wasn’t happy for all of it,” I said with tears
I briefly paused wiping my face before continuing again, “I will never know why he did it, and I may just have to live with that. But I will live with that. I may be sad, or confused, or depressed, or angry, but I will keep going…and I hope you will too. Because I may feel all of those things for the rest of my life when I think about how it led here, but I will choose to look on happily about all he accomplished and everyone’s lives he touched. Whether you are a classmate, a best friend, a parent, a lover, I hope he touched all of your lives…and I hope you will live for him, just as I will.”