Pouring Out a Measure of Love When It's Needed Most
It happened again. Someone I admire and respect completed a suicide, and my wounds are laid bare all afresh. Suicide survival is a club nobody asked to be in, and admission comes with a lifelong process of reliving the devastation on repeat. I know this because my first loss occurred in 2000, and each time I think of the circumstances and absence of that person in my life, it feels like an exposed bone, throbbing anew. I dream of him and still experience that sensation when I wake up that he is on this Earth today until reality smacks me hard again. The feelings have receded over the 18 years since, but they remain and creep up with any new experience. With this most recent loss, I find myself checking in on my brother's Facebook page, sorting through old photos. I stopped myself from watching his tribute video by a narrow margin and even thinking of it brings fresh tears. Though I am no longer in the acute grief stage, it sure feels like it when I cannot stop myself from going d...