I Lost Someone To Suicide
You get a call on your cell in the office at 4 PM and suddenly the world makes no sense. The graphs and words on your monitor lose their meaning and then their shape. It’s a quiet day, so thankfully no one sees you go back to the bathroom three times to start and stop sobbing. You leave right at 5 PM and await word about the funeral.
You remember the last time she visited and remember that she seemed moodier than usual. She’s always been witty but her quips were barbs this time, sharper and more bitter. She smiled less. She stared out into space a lot and seemed to barely notice you on the drive to the airport. Her sense of fun and affection for you showed less. At the check-in desk you hugged her hardand she squeezed you harder and held you longer after you let up. You should have known that was her cry for help. You should have said something besides safe travels.
You stand over her body at the wake. Her face is caked in makeup and her mouth is crooked in an odd way but she still looks like herself. Her hair is short and parted to one side which hadn’t been true last time. She’s wearing a long sleeve black gown you’ve never seen before. Against your better instincts you lift the sheet and peek under the lower lid of her casket. At least they let her go barefoot, her toes brushing the casket’s silk lining instead of crammed into shitty shoes. There’s nothing to say. You kiss her twice on the forehead and walk away.
You sob through the funeral mass and the eulogies by her parents and brother and through the music and don’t care that your mascara is running and that you’re making noise. You go to the podium and say something that means way less than the words you could have said to save her, whatever those were.
You throw dirt onto the casket and linger at the grave before walking away. Her family needs the time alone. You wipe tears from your eyes and close them, taking a deep breath. Her life is over. If you’re lucky, you’ll be old someday and she’ll always be young. There’s determination under-girding your grief. You have to find away to absorb her and keep her alive instead of turning her into a synecdoche for a better past.
You remember the last time she visited and remember that she seemed moodier than usual. She’s always been witty but her quips were barbs this time, sharper and more bitter. She smiled less. She stared out into space a lot and seemed to barely notice you on the drive to the airport. Her sense of fun and affection for you showed less. At the check-in desk you hugged her hardand she squeezed you harder and held you longer after you let up. You should have known that was her cry for help. You should have said something besides safe travels.
You stand over her body at the wake. Her face is caked in makeup and her mouth is crooked in an odd way but she still looks like herself. Her hair is short and parted to one side which hadn’t been true last time. She’s wearing a long sleeve black gown you’ve never seen before. Against your better instincts you lift the sheet and peek under the lower lid of her casket. At least they let her go barefoot, her toes brushing the casket’s silk lining instead of crammed into shitty shoes. There’s nothing to say. You kiss her twice on the forehead and walk away.
You sob through the funeral mass and the eulogies by her parents and brother and through the music and don’t care that your mascara is running and that you’re making noise. You go to the podium and say something that means way less than the words you could have said to save her, whatever those were.
You throw dirt onto the casket and linger at the grave before walking away. Her family needs the time alone. You wipe tears from your eyes and close them, taking a deep breath. Her life is over. If you’re lucky, you’ll be old someday and she’ll always be young. There’s determination under-girding your grief. You have to find away to absorb her and keep her alive instead of turning her into a synecdoche for a better past.
31-35, F
