Three months ago now, you made the drastic decision to take your own life, my old friend. It’s been three months since you cut ties with everything you’ve ever known, everything you’ve ever loved, and everything you’ve ever created. It’s been three months since you left it all behind without even looking back.
I didn’t think I’d be able to go through all the stages of grief with your story. I didn’t think I’d be able to forgive you for the irreparable, knowing all the details and everything you left behind that I couldn’t understand. I didn’t think I’d be able to let you go.
I’ll admit that I’m still a little angry with you. I sincerely believe that’s normal, given the circumstances. I’d be lying if I told you there’s no longer any rage deep in my heart when I see your mother post a photo of your son on social media. He looks so much like you. He’s inherited that hateful little face of yours…
I’ve visited your mother twice since you left. Together, we looked through the contents of an old box—you’d collected a ton of mementos and photos from our teenage years. Things I didn’t even know existed, or others I thought were lost. That box, my friend, soothed my heart. I looked your mother in the eyes, and it was at that very moment that I felt a little relief deep inside. You’d left a place for us right there, in that box. Despite the passing years, you’d never brought yourself to throw away our beautiful years.
I didn’t think I’d be able to let you go. Despite everything, I accept your departure, my dear friend. But selfishly, I’m keeping all our memories close to my heart.
Have a safe journey, my friend...