Justin

Justin,

How many years has it been since I last heard your voice? Since I last heard you laugh or even remark on the clothing someone was wearing? It was like going down the rabbit hole in Alice in wonderland. Dark, different…and painfully alone. You where my confidant. You where the friend every person wants. Yet, there where those that mocked you, hounded you…called you ‘too gay’. We’d laugh about it, but you never let it show how much it really hurt. Then you did what you did. You took the easy way out of this life…of the harsh world that everyone has to face. A small part of me can understand why you did it and most of me cannot forgive you. I miss you too much to want to forgive you. Justin, that day I heard my world just fell apart in seconds.

I cannot count the hours that I cried…I cried for the loss of a teen age boy that was always the life of a room. I cried for a young man who had so much before him and he tossed it to the wind as if it was nothing. I cry for the anger so many of us felt. I cried for me, you, and your mother. The hell your mother went through when she found you. God! How could you be so selfish? How could you have been so narrow minded? It is as if you are no better than those petty idiots who called you names and goaded you to no end. The cruelty that came from your actions is the worst I’ll ever feel.

You where the first real friend I had in a new school…a new place. My confidant, my safe place. Oh sure, you where often seen as ‘just another one of the girls’, but to me you had been so much more. Wise for your age. Wise for the life you’ve lived. Your mother accepted you for you and you knew it. She didn’t care, all she cared about was her son being happy. You threw that up in her face. You threw it up in mine with that damned bottle of pills. What where you thinking while you where popping them? What was going through your head at the time? Questions I’ve always had and have never been able to ask you.

Because you’re no longer here.

Gone without a second thought. If you did, we’ll never know. My heart breaks just writing this. It is a form of closure if you think about it. Although, is it really possible to lay the dead to full rest? Or will the living forever be doomed to mourn their losses till the end of time? So many ways we struggled to get on with our days after you killed yourself. Damn you for not being as strong as you let on. Damn you for not leaning on me when you knew I was there for you. And damn you for being so selfish.

And damn me for loving you so much I hurt to the point I still cry over you…now. Nearly ten years of pain have gone by. What are we to do? Should we be sorry we couldn’t see what was bothering you so much? You never let on, you never let us in.

The perfect little actor.

Actor, singer…performer. Yes, you where a performer. How you’d sing during lunch as we sat under the one tree in the lunch area. That was our area and everyone knew it. The songs you’d sing would have burned the ears of people should they have heard them. You and I would just fall apart in hysterical laughter once you where done. Little ditties that come from the top of your head. Remember English? Our Town? I can’t watch that without thinking about you. I can’t speak any of the lines I remember without nearly choking on tears. Too many memories are stirred up for me when it comes to that play. I could say that you’ve ruined it for me, in ways you have and in ways I smile a secret little smile and think of the good times.

I miss you Cha Chi.

Through tears and shadows
Through laughter and light
You are there in my heart.

Always,
‘Clancy’

Ryan

Ryan,

It was the summer of 1997, the summer before Freshman year. You’d just gotten your license…first person of our whole class. You went from dork to hot shit within one day. People always wanted rides from you and you gave them. Even if they had always been mean to you before. You wanted to be like them…cool. Days wore on and it was just old, them using you. And one by one they got their own license and you went back to where you had been. One of the nerds once more. We welcomed you back as if you had never left. We didn’t care you had a car. Oh sure it was cool, but that wasn’t what make you cool to us.

I remember you talking about gun with one of the other guys. I just blew it off, after all the two of you always talked guns. I wish I had known something more. Wish I had been able to tell you where different that day, but I was young…stupid.

That evening you left town to go home. The winding road out of town was the scene of the wreak. At first the police thought you had been careless.

Then they found the gun.

Gun. It surprised the hell out of them, that is for sure. When they found your body in the ravine there was a bullet hole under your chin. You shot yourself while driving. The car wreaked and you’d been thrown from the car. What drove you to the edge? There was never a note letting the world know you’d been there. We took care of that for you…your name was spray painted on the barriers at that spot for years. A silent reminder of what happened in that peaceful little town. Yet, you where one of many that killed themselves from that town. Small town with no where to go. No where for minds that needed to grow and expand…minds that needed more than the simple life to thrive…it was a dead end for a lot of us there.

I had always thought you’d be one of them to get out of there, like me. I’d always known one way or another I’d get out. Look at me now Ryan. I’m out…I’m living life and I’ve seen so many things. I’ve done so much in life that I could settle down and be content, because I didn’t roll over and take it without a fight. Teachers always talked after you died…’He was one of the better ones’.

Better ones.

What makes someone better than another? Just because they focus in school? Just because they don’t fight? It doesn’t make anyone better. It sure as hell doesn’t make you better Ryan. It makes them better, they could face the doldrums of that town better than you could. I could face it better. It still doesn’t make me better. Not in the least.

Oh I missed you, make no mistake of that…I just am not sure if I hated you more. People leaving…moving…and you went off to kill yourself. Impulse or not it was the worst thing anyone could have done. One last hurrah? You just had to do it on the road…make us all think at first a wreak. We could have handled a wreak a hell of a lot easier than the shit you pulled.

I miss you and I hate you so much Ryan.

I wish you could come home.

B.

Karen

Dear Karen,

I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend. I’m sorry I was so wrapped up in my own life that I didn’t see the pain you were really in.  I knew life was bad for you, I knew your boyfriend was beating you, I knew you missed your children, and I knew your health was less than well.  But I didn’t know you were treading that line, that edge between life and death. I’m sorry I didn’t see it. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to talk to you, and be the friend that you so desperately needed.

Yes, we were close, but not as close as we could have been. I shut my heart down to so many people, but if I’d known you needed in so badly, I’d have opened it up to your grief, wrapped you in loving arms and held you until I was sure you’d stand on your own feet again.

I came to work after a long weekend, and was pulled aside before I had a chance to log in.  My boss asked me if I’d heard, and moments later I was given the news.  I was in shock at first, and then when the shock wore down I was a puddle of tears and sobbing mess of emotions.  My heart and head was swimming in grief and fear.  You didn’t say goodbye to your son or your daughter, you didn’t call and reach out for help. You swallowed those pills, chased them with whiskey, and went to sleep. Went to sleep and never woke back up and my heart wept for you, for your children, for your family.

Your death was the beginning of my downward spiral last year.  It was the ignitor to my depression, something I’d never experienced before, feelings I’d never had in my entire life.  I was frightened of everything. I was scared to get in my car, I was scared to drive, I was scared to walk up the stairs or to get in the elevator, I was scared to breath or to let my children out of my sight…I even…made a will.

I am ashamed to say, that your death had a much more profound affect on me than your life.  I am ashamed to say, that I mourned part of myself when you died, and that most of my tears were out of fear, and not so much out of pity.  I’ve kept your picture on my desk since your memorial. I miss your smile.

Dear Daddy

Dear Daddy,

I’ve been writing this letter in my head for 14 years now.  27 years ago in Providence Hospital, Anchorage, AK I was born to a un-wed, 17year old mother.  I spent the next 13 years watching her get beaten by men, being the victim of her drug abuse.  I spent the next 13 years wondering why you got in that car accident and why God would take away the one man that may have given me my salvation from the beatings, and the verbal abuse inflicted upon a little girl without a Daddy. When I was 13, the truth came out about your death.  No car accident…Suicide.  Single gunshot wound to the head, July of 1985 in a Phoenix, AZ hotel room.

You took away my chances at a different life. You stripped me of an escape from my pain, only to plunge me into a whole new world of deceit and trechery.  Why Daddy? Did you ever think about me? Did you love me? Did you ever want to wrap me in your arms and holds me close to your chest? Did you ever want to brush your lips against my hair and memorize my scent? Did you ever love me at all?

I have a thousand questions for you that will never be answered.  I have one picture, I waited 22 years to get from your brother, and I can’t even see your eyes.  I want to see your eyes, Daddy, I want to see the pain that had to be there in order for you to put that gun against your head and finally pull that trigger.  I want to know, that my pain isn’t pure vanity, I want to know that I have your eye lashes, and the mischevious look I get comes from you. Everyone’s always telling me that I have stunning eyes, are they yours?

I always wanted a Father, someone I thought would love me unconditionally and rescue me from my mother’s drunken tyrades of raging violence. A father to rescue me from the world, someone I could curl up with or play ball with. Someone who I could compare every man in my life to, someone to help me set a standard.  But, you fell short.  You took yourself away from me, from the world.  I’d like to say that I care about your brother, or your grandparents. I’d like to say that I care about your other daughter, Jennifer.  But she doesn’t know me, and she refuses to get to know me.  I’m not sure if I blame her or your brother, to be honest with you.  Who’d want to love someone after 27 years of never knowing them.

But if they could have rescued me from my pain…if they could have taken me away from all of it, given me a chance to really live…but you took that away from me as well.  I’m not sure who I blame more for the shit that happened in my life, my mother…or you.  Would you have stopped her from giving me away?  Would you have stopped her Daddy? Would you have even known how to make the pain go away?  Did you know I used to dream about you, make up stories about your family, how my life would be with you, your little princess? Do you see me now? Do you watch me? Or….are you rotting away in your own personal hell?

Do you know how much that frightens me? To know that even in my next life, or in the beyond, in the fields of Elysium or the Halls of Valhalla…that I’ll never get to touch your face, and see your eyes?  I don’t even know how to love you…

Forever Your little Girl

Roy

Dear Roy,

What have you done? What have you done to yourself, to your mother? Oh god, oh god why didn’t I see this? Why did I turn my face from it instead of trying to help more? Oh god, how could I have been so selfish as to ignore this? Why? No, don’t tell me, I don’t think that I can handle why.

You had so much heart; you were full of so much love and so lonely all at the same time. But I was scared of you; I was scared of your desperation. I just had my son, I had just escaped an abusive relationship and there you were, sweet and understanding. I didn’t know you’d take my advances so seriously, but you did and it was awkward. A great start, to a great friendship, and then you changed. You became someone I didn’t know very well, someone who reminded me of how lonely I really was. I stopped taking your calls for months; I stopped responding to your emails. And one day you just fell into my lap by sheer accident. I confronted you about my feelings and you apologized, but in the end I knew I was being selfish. You’d told me about your dad, and his gun, when he killed himself while you were home with your Mom, in the adjacent room to your own. I told you about my father, what he’d done in that hotel room in Phoenix. Our feelings brought us closer, and bridged that gap. We became friends, and it was wonderful. But your tone was so different, and when we spoke over the phone, I could hear the change in your voice.

On May 26th, 2004 I came home from work, after not hearing from you for a few days, to find my answering machine blinking with three new messages. It wasn’t unusual, I had a lot of friends who called and left obscene messages as much as possible. So, imagine my surprise when a friend directed me to your obituary online. I refused to go to my computer for a while, refused to acknowledge that it might be true. The whole time I was fighting the angst that was building a knot in my stomach, a sickening twist of feelings like stone in my gut. I fed the kids, and put on a movie for them, did the dishes and a load of laundry. And when it was time for them to sleep, I logged onto my computer. The link was left in my messenger.

.

I remember the sting of the tears as I hesitated, but finally clicked the URL. It was your picture, your senior picture from high school. I ran from my computer and to the bathroom, and I vomited. I hit my knees in front of the toilet and I bit down the strangled cry that ached in my jaw and the back of my neck. It wasn’t possible. You couldn’t have seen and felt the devastation of your father’s death, you couldn’t have been a survivor of suicide, and do this. You couldn’t do this to your mother, oh god your poor mother. The pain I felt was mild, had to be mild compared to the heart shredding ache your mother was enduring.

Her husband first and ten years later, her only child had followed in his footsteps.

Death scares me so, and you never gave me a chance to say goodbye. You never gave me a chance to tell you how much I loved you. Oh god. Oh god what have you done? How could you? Why didn’t she get rid of that damn gun?! Why did she put temptation so close? Couldn’t she see? Was she that blind?

A thousand questions, and suddenly I was so lonely and scared for you. So many fears of the dark shared between you and I. So much of my soul bared and given over, and all of that was lost now. How could you make the decision to pull the trigger? How could you be such a coward and so brave, all at once? Oh god, oh god please don’t let this be happening; this can’t be real. One, two, three wake up. One, two, three wake up. Please, Roy, please let this be a bad dream, please let me wake up now. Please?

But I didn’t wake up when I opened my eyes, I only saw the picture of you on my monitor looking back at me with that coy half smile you always had in your photographs. I saw the words on the screen and didn’t understand any of them. I drown myself that night, in whiskey and tears. I drown myself that night, in my sorrow for you and a wonderful light that was extinguished far too early in life.

I blamed your mother first, for keeping the same gun your father used to kill himself with, in the house. Then I blamed myself for avoiding your advances, for keeping you at arm’s length. If I had just returned your last call, maybe I could have heard your voice, known something was wrong and talked you down from the edge of that cliff. I made a midnight call to my mother, and I don’t even remember what I told her, I barely remember her words between the gasps and the sobs.

I kept your ICQ on my computer, and every year since, when your birthday message pops up, I send you a message and wish you a happy birthday. I miss you.

Bret

Dear Bret,

I don’t want to do this anymore. There are some days when I’m tired of breathing, walking…waking up. There are some days when everything feels like it is miles away, and I’m walking barefoot on broken glass just to cross a room.

If I can feel all of this and continue to live everyday; if I can wade through these emotions, the ones that drag me beneath the surface and try desperately to drown me in angst and sorry and pain…always so much pain… I can’t even begin to wonder how lonely you really must have been.

I was your girl once, even if for just a brief flash of time, supplicant to your will, and exposed to your ignorance. But part of me loved you, which is why it all hurt so badly, why the end of us was even more terrible than I wanted it to be.

Can you read this? Are you staring over my shoulder right now?

It’s been raining for three days, and I haven’t seen the sun for a while, but a few minutes ago, there was a bright spot coming through my window at work, a stream of light. It disappeared like smoke, and I wanted it desperately to come back. It was as if I were clinging to hope and it just slipped through my fingers like fine grains of sand. Like life, just, slipping away. I felt that brief fear and panic as it turned dark again.

Is it dark where you are? I don’t want you to be in the dark. I don’t want your skin to be cold and your eyes hidden in shadows. Red for the warrior and Green for the Thassa. I remember, perfectly. I thought you had a passion for life, and I think somewhere in there, you did, but it obviously didn’t match the pain and the loneliness, because in the end you’re not here anymore. You’re not …anywhere.

Maybe it’s selfish of me to feel so sad. I know we didn’t have the chance to remain friends even after we split apart. But I never wished you harm, even through all the anger and tears, I never wanted this, I never dreamed you were capable of giving in.

And I’m angry, I’m angry and I’m hurt and I want you to be here so I can yell at you for being so selfish and not…reaching out. But you wouldn’t have, would you? You never would have really reached out and told anyone how lonely or hopeless you felt. Always so concerned about appearances, about being strong and being able to withstand anything.

You lied. You lied to me, you lied to the girls, you lied to your friends and the people that love you. You lied. And I could forgive a lie, I forgive it now, but I don’t want you to be gone. No one wants that, and now you can’t turn around, you can’t come back and you can’t change your mind.

I have so many questions…and I’m so sad for you, for your family, your friends, for your comrades.

Do you remember what the last thing I said to you was? I told you that you had a lot of audacity coming to me for help with anything, after the way that you treated me. And I was right, but we all know how audacious you are…you were. I hate referring to you in a past tense…

Didn’t I see you on Yahoo messenger last night? I was a click away, I could have said hi…after all, I hadn’t put you on ignore, I just pretended you didn’t exist. You were the reason I left JAG, I just couldn’t get away from the situation, no matter how hard I tried. So I left you there, I guess for nostalgia, to remind me….but I never messaged you, and all the messages you sent me, I ignored.

Maybe I shouldn’t have ignored your messages. I shouldn’t have ignored Roy’s either. It’s been 3 years and a few weeks since Roy pulled a trigger that ended his life, and now you’ve done the same thing. How do we recover from this? How do we not be scared to get close to someone? How do we wipe away the guilt, or the anger of the frustration? How do we get past the tears?

You’re gone now, and I’m sad, my heart weeps for you and the loss of a life that I didn’t realize I cared this much about. Maybe it’s the fear of death that really has a hold of me, but if I can fear death, and care that much more about life…

I will, because I am a survivor of your suicide, of Roy’s suicide and of Tommy’s suicide, and my Father’s suicide, and there are only so many tears I am capable of shedding before my well of compassion and sadness dries up and I become a quiet, empty husk of myself in order to sink inward to coax my heart back to the surface.

You didn’t take your life just from your self, you took your life away from everyone else.