I’m angry. With you, with myself, with God.
Most of us who knew you, have lost a piece of ourselves. Those pieces were buried with you. We have questions. Why did you do this? Were we not enough to keep you here? Was our love not enough for you? How long did you think about doing this? How many times did you hold the gun to your head? Did you try to tell me and I missed it? What are we supposed to do now that you are gone and we have a crater in our hearts that feels like we won’t ever heal?
Your mother wonders what she did wrong. She cries when she sees something beautiful, because she can’t share it with you and she knows you won’t ever experience these things again. She hashes and re-hashes conversations and moments when she might have seen what was going on. She must have missed something. She is your mother. If anyone could have known how close to the edge you were it should have been her.
Your father has similar thoughts…was I not supportive enough? When did I ruin you? When I missed your games or when I traveled for business? Was I too far away for too long? How did this happen?
Your sister wonders how to tell her children about you. How will she hold it together long enough to tell that sweet face that they will never know you. How will she comfort them when they understand that they missed out on your love, your hugs, your laugh, your life? You won’t see them graduate or get married or have babies of their own. Deep down your sister is angry with you because she feels you didn’t find her daughter important enough to stick around for when she needs you. And she will need you.
I need you.
Your brother is angry with you because he feels you didn’t try. Because you gave up. But mostly he is mad at himself because he didn’t tell you he loved you enough. Because he didn’t do enough to keep this from happening. He thinks of you the most when he looks at his own children and in a blink of an eye he is back in his own childhood. It’s a reminder of how life used to be when you were around. And instead of experiencing the joy he should be feeling at watching his children, he feels pain. Loss. It takes away from moments that he should be present with his kids because he’d do anything to share one more moment with you. To tell you everything he should have said. You’ve taken more than his brother. You’ve taken pieces of us all.
As someone who has personally lost someone to suicide. I plead with you: Tell someone what you are feeling.. We love you. Don’t do this.
Candace Lopez is a mother to her daughter Everly. She lives in Arizona with her husband.
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