Yesterday, I walked past the place where I dropped Matt of at work the day he killed himself.  It’s a spot you wouldn’t even notice unless you had cause.  I walked past, then stopped to look back and play the scene through in my head again.  He wouldn’t look me in the eye that morning.  What would I have done if I had noticed the gun in his bag?

I read something recently about how laughter is as natural a reaction to death as tears are, because death is so utterly absurd.  That a person can be there one minute, and be gone for good the next minute is laughably hard to wrap your head around.  Like, how is that even possible.  And yet, how is it so hard for us to embrace death when we are literally surrounded by smaller deaths and lives every day of ever week?  The leaves are drying up and falling outside right now, and there will never be a set of leaves exactly like these are again.  Is it silly to compare people to leaves?



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I'm a young, childless widow who is trying to figure out the best way to deal with the world in light of my late husband's suicide. It's harder than I ever imagined it would be, but somehow at the same time I am still alive and even happy sometimes.

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