I am a member of an online sweepstaking community that is so much more. Someone posted about the loss of her son to suicide and it wells up emotions inside of me that are unpleasant and yet triumphant. In January of 2000 my on again off again boyfriend killed himself. He listened to “Last dance with Mary Jane” laid down on his bed and put a gun to his head. The moment it happened I was out dancing. I got so dizzy I almost fell down and did not know what was wrong. 2 days later his brother was pounding on my door screaming for me. I ran down the street praying that it was a joke. Ran up to his room - the neighbor tried to stop me “Is he dead? Just tell me is he fucking dead?” He didn’t know so I had to go in. The smell of rot clung to my face and I looked down at him. His face had bloated and distorted into a weird bloody triangle. There was blood in his golden curls and spattered on the wall. I had to touch him to look for a pulse and he was dead… Just dead. I stumbled down the stairs screaming about how I knew he shouldn’t have a gun. I fell out his front door and into the grass. I was rolling in an ant pile but everyone was afraid of my grief and left me to be bitten. His phone started ringing and I heard his voice. I wailed “Close the damn door he’s dead and talking to me!” The breeze blew the scent of his cologne to me and I started dry heaving. His brother had been living in the house for 2 days with a dead body and didn’t think to check. The smell was horrific and he didn’t think to check. The overwhelming guilt that belongs to the survivors is enough to crush a person forever. The anger, the what ifs, the missed signs… It took me so long to get past it. I dreamed that he came to me and asked me to come with him. I had to tell him I couldn’t because he had killed himself. He got a half smile on his face and said “I really did it?” I said yes and that meant we could no longer be together. He skipped away looking relaxed and the happiest I’d ever seen him. I guess one would have to hope that something good came out of something so damned awful. I think of David often and what might have become of his life had he never enocountered Steroids, Hydrocondone, GHB, or alcohol… what he could have been had he never been abused… he just couldn’t find his way in the darkness and did not know how to light a candle or ask for help.

During Xmas my daughter Mira fell in LOVE with her Aunt Kelly. She already felt Aunt Kelly was pretty darn cool with her lovely array of makeup and pretty earrings. This love was cemented when my little sister spent the time to paint Mira’s pretty little toes. At that moment I saw the hearts and coo coo birds start twirling around her head as she gazed at her auntie. For hours after this she followed my sister around begging for more makeup. Mira is a girly girl and when mommy says no lipstick she gets creative. The picture is Mira with magic marker lips - very accurate application with no mirror and not much prior experience!

I have been journaling on and off for years - never in one place though. I’m always surprised when I stumble across something I wrote in the back of a notebook or on an envelope. I think “I should save this” and in it goes to my find a home pile. That pile is a never ending black hole. It contains concert ticket stubs, old photos, half thoughts on napkins, phone # of people I don’t remember knowing, buttons, screws, old calendars and papers I should never lose. I’m hoping this will in some small way will allow the contents of that pile to dwindle and perhaps someone else will find this and think “THANK GOD I’M NOT ALONE!” perhaps one day my kids will read it and understand and maybe even forgive me for all the nuttiness I put them through.