When everything changed.
Six years ago today...
It was a few days after I'd arrived at my parent's home from college. I carried with me a purple sticky note with Scott's phone number. I missed him, needed to talk to him, sensed that he needed to talk to me. But I had responsibilities- family and picking up my job at the wretched grocery store around the corner. I sold cigarettes and beer, was yelled at by customers and ignored by my managers, my breaks were skipped and I worked late.
Things were tense at home, to say the least. I found myself teary in the bathroom, a razorblade digging into my skin, searching for rest and quiet. Blood flowed, and with it a measure of calm as I cleaned it away and rejoined my hectic family. I tumbled into bed that night exhausted, certain that I was alone and failing at everything. Scott showed up in my dreams that night, and we talked. I don't remember much about that dream...just that we talked, I laughed, I cried, I tried to hold onto him and he faded away, and I woke, calmed, cheered, and with my pillow wet with tears.
Just a few days later I would learn that he had taken his own life that night. I cried until I found myself in that bathroom again, my head aching and at the verge of throwing up. That was only the beginning of feeling a loss that will follow me my whole life. How much difference would that phone call have made - to me, to him? I always understand how this could happen, I will never understand why. Through it all, I carry that dream,keeping it held close with the hope that it was more than a dream. That hope is what makes the rest bearable.
It was a few days after I'd arrived at my parent's home from college. I carried with me a purple sticky note with Scott's phone number. I missed him, needed to talk to him, sensed that he needed to talk to me. But I had responsibilities- family and picking up my job at the wretched grocery store around the corner. I sold cigarettes and beer, was yelled at by customers and ignored by my managers, my breaks were skipped and I worked late.
Things were tense at home, to say the least. I found myself teary in the bathroom, a razorblade digging into my skin, searching for rest and quiet. Blood flowed, and with it a measure of calm as I cleaned it away and rejoined my hectic family. I tumbled into bed that night exhausted, certain that I was alone and failing at everything. Scott showed up in my dreams that night, and we talked. I don't remember much about that dream...just that we talked, I laughed, I cried, I tried to hold onto him and he faded away, and I woke, calmed, cheered, and with my pillow wet with tears.
Just a few days later I would learn that he had taken his own life that night. I cried until I found myself in that bathroom again, my head aching and at the verge of throwing up. That was only the beginning of feeling a loss that will follow me my whole life. How much difference would that phone call have made - to me, to him? I always understand how this could happen, I will never understand why. Through it all, I carry that dream,keeping it held close with the hope that it was more than a dream. That hope is what makes the rest bearable.
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