So I really should be doing those things. But I’m not.
Yesterday a friend of my husband’s friend committed suicide very publicly. For some reason it’s really gotten to me. I just can’t imagine never feeling the sun’s warmth on my face again. Or never again hearing the waves crash on the beach. Or never feeling little arms hug my neck. The darkness and despair that must plague one before they take such action must be beyond description. I couldn’t sleep last night. I just kept playing it through my head over and over again, trying to imagine what must have gone through his mind as he went to work that morning. Did he plan to do it that day? Did he lock his apartment knowing he’d never go back? Did he park illegally, knowing he’d never have to pay the ticket? Did he arrange for someone to feed his fish? What will his mom say when they tell her? Will she ever recover?
Sorry this is such a downer. It’s just bothering me. I didn’t even know the guy. I don’t know the guy who knew him very well. My husband’s not very upset. For some reason, I can’t get it out of my head. It just swirls there, rolling over and over, forcing me to look at it from every angle.