In Since You’ve Been Gone – Reality of Suicide on Family and Friends, this post may contain triggers. Please stop reading if you or someone you love struggles with mental illness, depression, suicidal thoughts, or anything in that realm. Immediately, pick up the phone and call. You are treasured and loved beyond measure. Seek help!
Since You’ve Been Gone – Reality of Suicide on Family and Friends
It has been a year since you left. Your family and friends have gone through the ever-winding road of grief and loss. Your mom and daughter have moved. The new place is great! Very open and fresh. They did a great job decorating it.
Your girl starts high school in the fall. I keep thinking back to when we met because your girl should only be 4 yrs old. She is a spitfire, but you already knew that! Then high school she starts high school. Impossible.
You became a grandma to a honey of a girl. Your son and his family have moved out. They are both working and being great parents, learning all the things. You would be proud.
Your brother is getting healthy and regaining control over his life. Donna is beginning to find peace during the storm. She still struggles, but we lean a lot on each other when “having our moment.”
Nothing will ever be the same without you, but the world still turns.
She Looks Like You
I held that baby, and oh my goodness. You would be foolish over her! It would almost be embarrassing. Donna keeps that in check, for the most part. Then, she called, and I heard that baby-making noise, and it happened again. Donna is acting stupid over this baby. Then that baby smiles.
She has your dimples, and if I squint real hard, I could see red hair. Also, she has your eyes. It is almost hard to keep my composure when I gaze into them. I’ll see you in your granddaughter. I feel you in her. It makes me yearn for you to step out of heaven so you can touch her.
I Can’t Get You Out of My Head.
There are so many things I wish I could evacuate out of my mind; how you looked at me, how we talked as I painted your fingernails, your favorite color. The smell of your freshly washed hair thrown up in a messy bun. The way you would whine so much as I french braided your hair. You didn’t whine that day.
I Miss You
Ten years is a long time for a friendship to ebb and flow. We ebbed, and we flowed a lot. Honestly, we were both used to that and embraced it. We grew together. We raised our kids together. We ate, laughed, and cried together, and then we didn’t.
I catch myself channeling your courage. You were tiny, but you were mighty. I always wanted that energy. When we were together, I felt invisible. If someone came to bother me, you’d be all over them like a spider monkey. It was quite the vision.
My Favorite Memory
When asked what my favorite memory of you and I was the other day was, I responded with “bats and boxed hair dye.” That memory will be embedded in my brain until I take my last breath. Who knew bats liked your bleach blonde hair and that you could scream, swat, and jump simultaneously. I was no help because I was doubled over laughing. In the meantime, Big Daddy was in the house fuming because you had dyed my hair burgundy.
Those First Few Moments
Getting that phone call.
Hearing her tell me.
Listening to her moan.
Flying over there.
Seeing where it all happened.
Walking into your empty house.
Hugging your mom.
Comforting your son.
Flying to the funeral home.
Questioning their practices and ethics.
Doing what I needed to do.
Seeing your eyes.
Questioning the whole thing.
What if’s began swirling in my head.
I didn’t allow myself to mourn for almost a full year.
Now, I can’t stop mourning.
It’s a bitch.