Saying Goodbye

I wasn't with him on the day he died.

I was caught up in my own life, my own struggles, trying to overcome several setbacks that were wreaking havoc with my peace of mind. Oddly enough it came as no real surprise to find out he had finally given up the day after my birthday...the first birthday we had spent apart in 8 years.

When I first heard the news for a short time I actually envied him. Envied the end to his pain, his struggle, his indecision, his unhappiness. Then the aftermath of his decision came crashing down upon me, around me. For most people the moment of truth when they contemplate suicide comes down to whether they have the courage to go through with it or not. For me though, whenever I've been brought down to this level, the question has always been whether I had the courage *not* to do it. And seeing the devastation his death had brought so many, I knew I couldn't let that courage fail me now.

For what seems like most of my life he was the big brother I never had. My protector. My champion. My staunchest supporter. He mopped my tears, shared my victories, encouraged my dreams and helped shape me into the person I am today. To this day I can't imagine what he say in the brash, obnoxious youth who was trying so hard to be something she wasn't. As always though, he could look beneath the surface and assess with uncanny accuracy the person within. And whatever it was he saw in me prompted him to take me under his wing and provide me with the first feeling of safety I'd ever known with a man. I never once suspected his feelings for me were anything other than brotherly. And I could never, ever, have predicted what would ensue when I couldn't give him the kind of love he needed from me.

There was an inevitable separation following that painful conversation. His doctors assured me that time and distance were paramount to helping him overcome his dependencies, his depression. And damn me all to hell and back...I listened to them. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but I walked away from him when he needed me the most. And there are no words, no cliches, no platitudes that can lessen the guilt I will always carry with me. I'm not arrogant enough to believe myself worthy of living or dying over. Nor do I think I have the power to save a life. But I have to acknowledge the role I played. I can't let myself forget that against my better judgement I accepted their word as law and left him there to drown. And all the while he was fighting for a reason to live, I was off building a life without him.

Because I did what I always do, what I'm famous for; I picked up the pieces and moved on. I can't explain this part of myself, not without sounding inhuman. But I've never been one to struggle against the things I know I can't change, or dwell on bad experiences. The kinder people I've known describe me as stoic. Others have referred to me as an unfeeling bitch. But neither description fits, not really. I guess I just learned at an early age that life goes on, regardless of whether you want it to or not. Regardless of whether you make the most of it or not. It's not that I didn't feel the loss of him in my life all those months, because I wept bitterly through the long hours of the night when I was alone with just my thoughts. But I knew I couldn't be in his life without hurting him further, and I knew life would not be put on hold because of my pain, or his.

So I accepted the pain and went on to make new friends, to have new experiences and new relationships. I taught myself to stop waiting for him to show up on my doorstep unannounced as he so often did. I fought the urge to pick up the phone and share my latest stupid schemes to take over the world. I kept watching those same tv shows until I could enjoy them without his sarcastic commentary running throughout them. At the time I thought I was being strong for him. Now I wonder if I somehow sold him out.

All the books I've read on grief tell me to expect to go through a stage of anger. That it's healthy. That it's normal. But I don't feel any anger over what he did - I can't. How could I allow myself that luxury with this mountain of regret looming over me? What if I had done more, said more, given more, *been* more? I'm haunted by thought of what I could have done differently.

You just don't realize how final death is until you've dealt with it. Our first separation was nothing in comparison. He may not have been part of my life but in that little corner of my heart that's his, I knew that if I ever needed him he would be there. That if the pain ever got unbearable I could always turn to him. But that safety net is gone. And with it so is one of the greatest people I've ever known.

Never again will he tease me about his eyes being prettier than mine. Or try to disprove those stupid commercials by throwing pizza pops at me to demonstrate they don't explode like that. He's the only guy I ever met who knew that to properly freeze someone's bra you have to soak it in water first and stretch it across the freezer. There are so many wonderful, ridiculous parts of him that no one will ever know.

It's funny but in some ways a part of me died with him. I will never again be to anyone quite what I was to him. There's no one else who knows exactly what I looked like when I cried over my first lost love. There's no one else who remembers me drunk with a lamp shade on my head, or who was there to listen when I was awkwardly finding my place in the world. All of the things I entrusted him with are gone with him, and there's no way to get them back, or give them to anyone else in quite them same manner. No matter what we do in this life, it's strange to confront the reality that all we are is memories. And those memories will cease to exist with the people who hold them dear.

So here I sit with nothing but those precious memories of him in this empty room. I'll never get the chance to tell him how sorry I am. Or to somehow make it up to him. All I can do is say goodbye. And fight to remember all that was good about him, all that he gave to me. And hope that maybe, somehow, that will be enough...