A Letter.

David:

You’ve been dead for 14 years.

I get anxious as we approach the 16th anniversary of your death, when we get to the point where you’ve been dead longer than you were ever alive.

I got mad this year. I was pissed.

I turned 30, and you, with a birthday just one day before mine, didn’t. And so rage. Because 30 fucking sucks. And you should have been here to suffer it with me, all of it, the heartache, living and breathing and all of it.

You should have fucking been here.

It’s dumb. You took your life at 16, and 14 years later, I’m still carrying it, still carrying the weight of what you did, still bearing the knowledge that they all blamed me, that I was the last person you saw, that I didn’t share enough of your last cigarette with you, that I didn’t demand a ride that last day, that last day of your life.

I want to yell at you. I want to fold up on the floor and cry in the bathtub and regret it all, but your death has colored my life, has made me the bitch that I am, has taught me about survival.

You were amazing. That laugh. That leather jacket. Learning to do headstands. All of it. You were amazing, my almost-birthday-twin.

You’re further away then you’ve ever been. These 14 years, you’ve had my back. You’ve been the thing that kept me from harm and I know, right now, I’m losing my grip on all the things, on logical thought and clear decision making and whatever else, and that’s not your fault, but mine, because I am digging my own grave. You wanted so much to protect me from harm, and you have. You’ve been there, for all of it, in your own way.

I love you.

But I still wish you were here. Every single day, especially in March and always on April 6th.

– t.

(I always wonder, who would I be without you?)

7 thoughts on “A Letter.

  1. (((hugs*8 seconds)))

    There are times that there aren’t words to suffice, when “I’m sorry” rings hollow and cheap on the lips; but at these times it’s the most important to reach out. So, even though it’s oft repeated, know that I’m sorry for this pain that you’ve had to carry.

  2. Ash

    I wonder, every year, just how many lives you have changed, and saved, because you share your experience. I know for fact that you have changed several lives. This is David’s legacy, his gift to the world, and he is only able to give it because of you. He’s not further away, T, he’s right there, as he’s always been, ever since.
    None of it was your fault. I was there, too. And the aftermath was so awful, so insanely fucked up, that I’m still furious, at the “pastor” at the so-called church who took advantage of a room full of hurting and confused kids, at parents who didn’t give a damn and weren’t there with their children, at the whispers that followed you down the hallways, at so very much…
    But nothing that happened was your fault, and I don’t think the outcome would have been any different in any scenario you can what-if in your head. Maybe if you’d said you did want a ride the next day it wouldn’t have happened that day, but it would have the next. He had made up his mind. And I am so very grateful that he chose to leave you behind, even though it was hell for you, and the agony still there. You have important things to do with your life, you’ve already touched so very many lives, and I know you will find the strength to keep on doing so. Holding you with Love in my Heart.

  3. You have this incredible way of writing that allows your reader to feel what you’re feeling. That’s a rare gift. Try not to blame yourself, and keep being the strongest woman I know. The world needs you.

    You are an incredible human and I’m so thankful to have gotten to know you through these little blogs of ours. Sending much love your way <3

  4. My late momma used to say that I did my best writing when I was sad, angry and broken. I’m pretty sure she would say the same about you; I hate what you’re going through but it’s bringing some damn good writing to the table, friend. xo

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