Your Impact
A note from the author: This is a work of fiction about suicide. If this is triggering to you, please do not read any further. I would like to reiterate that this is a work of fiction and that this did not happen to me. If this happens to resemble anything that's happened to anyone reading this, it is completely coincidental. And if it did, I am so sorry for your loss.
A conversation. That's how all of this started. We hardly even knew each other and one day, you just decided to send me a message. We had been friends on Facebook for a while, but that's just because we had met once at some friend's birthday party or something like that. I don't remember exactly. Either way, we started talking and one day, we both knew it would be forever.
Or at least that's what I thought.
It had been a year since we decided that we might as well start dating. We were both in college when we met, and we were at different colleges. Because of this, the first part of our relationship was mostly over Skype with occasional visits to both colleges. During the winter and summer breaks, we spent almost every day together and when we left for the next semester, we were both extremely nervous. I didn't know how we would handle it, living far enough apart that we couldn't sleep together every night. When we did figure out how to deal with it, we ended up taking turns visiting each other when we had the time to. Even if it was only one night and then having to leave early in the morning, it was better than nothing.
Everything seemed to be going so well, until that one night. I didn't even know there was anything wrong, although I feel like I should've caught on to something. But that night, you made up your mind. Out of the blue, you decided to end your life. I don't know what was going through your head or what happened that made you think that this was the right choice. You probably thought that dying would end all of the pain, would solve all of your problems.
Well, it might've done that, but did you think about how it would affect everyone else?
I keep going back through our messages, re-reading all the good ones. But I focus mostly on the ones from that night. Was there something I could've done? Where were all the signs? How did I not notice that you weren't okay?
Here's the impact your death had on everyone around me.
I'm crying myself to sleep every night. I'm failing my classes because I simply don't go to them anymore. I have no motivation to do anything and so I lost my job and most of my friends. The ones who I still have, worry about me constantly. They feel bad, but they have no idea what it means to lose someone that close to you to something like this. It feels like it's my fault. Like I should've been able to do something to stop you from killing yourself.
The phone call that I got telling me that you were gone? As soon as the words entered my ears, I stopped breathing. I was in shock for a few seconds, and then I cried. I cried to some stranger on the other end of the phone call until I could thank them for telling me and hang up. And then I cried some more. My parents heard me crying and came to comfort me. They didn't even know what was wrong for half an hour until I stopped crying for long enough to tell them what happened.
They loved you too, you know? You were as much a part of my family as I am. My brothers miss you too. They ask me where you went. It's hard to explain to a seven and a nine year old what death is. It's hard to tell them that you're never coming back. It's especially hard because I don't even believe it myself. It feels like any day now, you're going to drive up to my house and surprise me, but I know that it won't happen.
The calling hours were heartbreaking. So many people came to say goodbye and pay their respects. Your friends from high school, even those you may not have considered your friends. Your old teachers, your family. My parents and brothers came, and cried. Your mom and sister were there, and so was your dad and your step mom. Everyone who felt some kind of connection to you showed up. And I was there, hugging everyone and sobbing my eyes out. Even after everyone left, after the preacher said nice words, even after your mom broke down while talking about you, I stayed. I knelt beside you and kissed your cheek and your hands, hoping that you would wake up. Somewhere inside, I knew that you wouldn't, but I hoped anyways.
It's been 2 weeks. My parents have been begging me to go to classes, but I really just don’t want to go. They suggested that I go to therapy and even made an appointment for me. I left the house that day, telling them I was going to the appointment, but instead, I called the office saying that I couldn't make it. I drove around for a while and ended up at your house. I knocked on the door and your mom let me in. She looked like she had been crying. I gave her a huge hug and asked if I could go up to your room. She nodded and said, "Of course you can."
So I went upstairs. I opened your door, half expecting you to be sitting on your bed watching something on your computer, or reading a book. But there was no one there. It was weird to be in your room when I knew you wouldn't sleep there ever again. It looked like nothing had changed, like you were still living there. I laid down on your bed and breathed in your scent, tears rolling down my face. I couldn't make myself get out of your bed, until I saw your little sister standing in the doorway of your room. I could hear her crying and motioned to have her come over and lay with me.
We laid in your bed for an hour, just crying. She told me that your door had only been opened once since that night and that one time was to get nice clothing for you for the funeral. No one had dared open the door for fear of the stream of tears and lack of breath that came with the creaking of the hinges.
Both your college and your high school had a suicide awareness assembly of sorts in your honor. They asked your mom and I to speak. We both agreed, even though we knew that we would end up sobbing by the end of our portion. We agreed because we don't want anyone else going through what we did.
And now I'm sitting here, writing all of this out and crying. They're not the type of tears that bring you to your knees because it's hard to breathe. It's more like the tears that just roll down your face. The ones that happen before the actual breakdown. I'm writing it all, knowing that you'll never read it. You'll never know how many people cared about you, you'll never know how much it hurts. You’re gone, and I've come to terms with that. But that doesn't mean that I won't miss you every day. That doesn't mean that I won't think about you every single day until the day that I die.
You were the one I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. You were the one I was supposed to marry, have children with, make mistakes with, grow old with. I don't know if I'll ever find someone like that again, and even if I do, you will always be the one who I was supposed to be with. Even if I love and marry and have kids with someone else, that doesn't mean that I didn't love you. It doesn't meant that I don't still love you. I just have to move on and continue with my life.
Don't think that I'm mad at you, because I'm not. Okay, I might be a little mad, but mostly I'm just heartbroken. I'll still cry every year on your birthday. I'll cry every year on the anniversary of your death, every Christmas, every year on our anniversary. But hopefully, I'll move on. "Gone, but never forgotten" is so cliché, but it's true. I love you. Rest in Peace, sweet love.