Came home with a heavy heart today.
I left for work in the morning feeling extremely excited but when I arrived, one of the volunteers was sobbing in a way that would tear you up. She lost someone - family, almost - to suicide.
When I had a minute with her, I spoke to her. I spoke from what I went through when Ethel committed suicide, and when Gerald passed away from a car accident. I told her what she should expect to feel, what she can do to slowly walk out of this grief, and most importantly, that it will get better. I also listened, fighting back my own tears while she relived her last moments with him, her misplaced guilt, and the endless "what ifs".
It ached. I never expected it but I ached from the sheer need to help, and the inability to rid her of all that despair and remorse. I know I have tried my best and I know she will need plenty of time to get over such a sudden loss, but I cannot help feeling frustrated for not being able to do more.
Suicide is so selfish, I cannot stress this enough. It's something I have considered more than once in my life, and now I feel ashamed for it. The deceased have it easy; when they die, they die. In an instant, they are free from their problems and any emotions, but what about the people they leave behind? Do they realize how unbearable it is to have to pick up the pieces? People who commit suicide rob the living of a chance at closure, at peace, and at happiness. Instead, they instill excruciating pain that runs deep in the chest; somewhere you can't reach or heal. I hope none of you are silly enough to do something like this.
Today, I grew up a little.
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