I don't want to be morbid and keep dwelling on it, but it's hard
when every time you walk by his cabin you can see him hanging there,
baseball cap still on. His spirit is still here, I keep thinking I'm
going to see him walking around, I almost called him on the radio today
to see where he was. I know that I need to go through this 'grieving
process.' It's hard to deal with the fluctuation of my feelings, when
one moment I will be perfectly fine, as if nothing's even happened, and
then suddenly I have what amounts to a physical need to cry again. His
death revealed him as what showed up within him in fleeting glimpses
during my relationship with him. He was a 30 year old little boy. He
was this lonely man with a little boy inside of him that couldn't speak
and couldn't get out. I could see that little boy within him, I could
hear the echoes in his laughter.
I never shut you out of my heart, brother. Know this, know this in
that place where you have gone to in your despair. I have always
Right now I am trying to forgive him for what he has done to
himself and everyone who cared for him. People trying to console me
tell me that he must have had on-going problems with depression and
there was nothing anyone could do. But I've been near to a place like
that before, I've seen the whispered edges of the kind of darkness and
despair that it would take to do something like this–and I know that
if he had just taken the vacation he was supposed to be taking, if he
had just waited it out, if instead of stepping off of the side of his
bed into a noose, he had just stepped outside and gone on that fucking
vacation–he would have been ok. He would have gotten through it. I
don't care how long he may have been dealing with his "manic
depression" or however it may be classified. He could have ridden it
out. He could have been ok. I don't want to hear anyone ever justify a
suicide. He did not need to leave us. He did not need to kill himself.
And I know this because I could see the little boy inside of him that
he kept shut so tight. That little boy just needed to be taken by the
hand and brought into the light. And my God I wish I could have found a
way to reach into that darkness in his heart and lead him out.
And I don't blame myself but no one can tell me to stop feeling
this regret. His final act of selfishness revealed to me my own
selfishness. I knew better than to blind myself to all but appearances.
But I allowed myself to harden my heart against him, and now, yes, I am
feeling probably exactly what the fucker would have wanted me to feel
in his self-pity and self-loathing as he knotted the rope and strung it
up and stepped up on the side of his bed. I feel bitter regret that I
was not a better friend. I feel bitter regret that I did not walk down
to the beach when he asked me to the last night I saw him. I feel
bitter regret that I did not come by his room more often to play
dominoes and drink whiskey with him the way he wanted me to. I am
fucking regretful of all of this, and I miss him, I miss him more than
he ever could have known.
I feel sometimes as I walk around here as if a bomb had exploded
and I am walking around in numb horror, wandering aimlessly like a
child abandoned in a crowd. Hopeless and stumbling about and there is
nowhere to go, and there is no one to comfort me. There are moments
when I feel as though I have no friends at all and there is no one who
can understand. These moments are the hardest. Thank God there are
people who are there in my life to take my hand and lead me into
understanding. And I am comforted by everyone around me who has been
reaching out to me and giving me a hug throughout the day, letting me
know that they are there. Sometimes it's like you are in the dark and
you can't see anyone until they stop you and take you in their arms.
Then you know they understand.