I Miss My Friend...
A confluence of different events and thoughts have conjured up a subject I don't often talk about, and while I thought I would keep this one between me and me, something is telling me to talk about it. Actually, someone is telling me to talk about it. Susan is.
Susan shows up every now and then to remind me that I'm not alone, that I deserve happiness, that I tend to make life more complicated than it needs to be. Susan reminds me to simplify, and to try to take care of myself as well as I take care of others. This wouldn't be that unusual, I suppose - if Susan were still alive. But four and a half years ago, give or take, Susan lost her battle with depression and took her own life.
There were so many ironies in that, but the biggest one was that Susan felt everyone would be better off without her. She felt like she couldn't quite find her place in life, and that led her to feel like she didn't quite have a place in life. The irony, at least for me, is that Susan was one of those people I wanted to be like when I grew up. Never mind that she was a few years younger than me. I was already a mother of two when we met, and I always sort of saw Susan as who and what I might have been if I hadn't chosen to be a mother at a relatively young age. She was so much fun, so energetic, so passionate, and so bright. I never would have guessed what she was going through. She never let me see. Little Bit was only six months old when Susan died, and they had just met for the first time the week before (she had moved a few hours away not long before the baby was born). I can still remember how happy and peaceful she looked, holding the baby. I had been unable to bring the big girls to that visit, and I will always regret that they didn't get to see their "Auntie Susan" one more time. But she's still around. No, not just the memory of her, not just the idle thought of "what would Susan think about that" or "what would her advice be." No, nothing that ordinary. Susan is actually physically here with me sometimes. (Or is that psychically?) Susan's spirit checks in with me every now and then, sometimes through dreams, once in a message sent to me through her father, but every now and then, even when I'm wide awake, I feel her. I know she's here, and I know she's looking out for me.
In life and in death, Susan worried a lot about me, especially about the choices I've made when it comes to relationships. More than once, she's expressed her vehement disapproval over people and situations - she's much less diplomatic since she died. But right now, she's happy. Happy about the choices and changes I'm making in my life, happy that I'm finally on track to the life she thinks I deserve, the happiness she thinks I deserve. I just wish with all my heart that she had realized that she deserved that kind of happiness too.
Susan shows up every now and then to remind me that I'm not alone, that I deserve happiness, that I tend to make life more complicated than it needs to be. Susan reminds me to simplify, and to try to take care of myself as well as I take care of others. This wouldn't be that unusual, I suppose - if Susan were still alive. But four and a half years ago, give or take, Susan lost her battle with depression and took her own life.
There were so many ironies in that, but the biggest one was that Susan felt everyone would be better off without her. She felt like she couldn't quite find her place in life, and that led her to feel like she didn't quite have a place in life. The irony, at least for me, is that Susan was one of those people I wanted to be like when I grew up. Never mind that she was a few years younger than me. I was already a mother of two when we met, and I always sort of saw Susan as who and what I might have been if I hadn't chosen to be a mother at a relatively young age. She was so much fun, so energetic, so passionate, and so bright. I never would have guessed what she was going through. She never let me see. Little Bit was only six months old when Susan died, and they had just met for the first time the week before (she had moved a few hours away not long before the baby was born). I can still remember how happy and peaceful she looked, holding the baby. I had been unable to bring the big girls to that visit, and I will always regret that they didn't get to see their "Auntie Susan" one more time. But she's still around. No, not just the memory of her, not just the idle thought of "what would Susan think about that" or "what would her advice be." No, nothing that ordinary. Susan is actually physically here with me sometimes. (Or is that psychically?) Susan's spirit checks in with me every now and then, sometimes through dreams, once in a message sent to me through her father, but every now and then, even when I'm wide awake, I feel her. I know she's here, and I know she's looking out for me.
In life and in death, Susan worried a lot about me, especially about the choices I've made when it comes to relationships. More than once, she's expressed her vehement disapproval over people and situations - she's much less diplomatic since she died. But right now, she's happy. Happy about the choices and changes I'm making in my life, happy that I'm finally on track to the life she thinks I deserve, the happiness she thinks I deserve. I just wish with all my heart that she had realized that she deserved that kind of happiness too.
posted by SaraSmile | 10:35 PM
1 Comments:
I've made the same mistakes Susan made, thought the same thoughts, felt the same feelings, travelled the same direction. She just sat down on the side of the road back there somewhere.
I think I'll just keep walking.
Thanks for that.
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