Finding the Light

Before you really get to sipping and reading you should know that this writing may be triggering for you if you have lost someone recently, or to suicide or just feeling down in general. Only read it if you are in a safe space or with people who support you, only read it with “your people”. Also know, I cried through the entire writing session. That I wrote it in forty five minutes and that it was truly healing.

When I was little and my parents divorced, my Dad began dating a woman who had two kids. We quickly combined the 4 and the 2 to make a combination of six. In a lot of ways it was an easy addition, quick math so to speak. Jess and Mike, Mike and Jess, regardless of the order, we made short work of becoming best friends. I did notice quite quickly however, that Mike was weighted down by something heavy, even as a little guy. School seemed to come a little harder for him, when he was younger, friendships were not easy and he used to take long sullen walks up and down our driveway with whatever dog we had at the time. Despite the darkness, I could always feel warmth from him. Whether we were covered in strawberry juice from hours of picking, or our hands were turning blue from too much time spent ice skating down by the pond. If he felt lost, he continued to make his way back to me, back to his siblings, fluttering in and out with that uneven grin and that blonde hair.

As I got older, and we had our own friendships, he still continued to love me despite that weight, that anchor that always pulled on him. He would sit next to me at the kitchen table, not really doing homework, but instead cooking enough chicken wings for 30 kids, laughing at everyone else’s jokes, even though he had better ones. I never felt like I had to play pretend with him, because he already knew about life’s imperfections and accepted me exactly the way I was anyway.

One time, he had to be admitted to the hospital because he was having delusions and thoughts about people hurting him. I was in college and vapid and self centered. I blew into the hospital out of necessity and then quickly realized how serious the situation was with his guarded room and his Dad’s serious expression. When I walked in, he looked at me, just the way he used to when we were kids. Then he looked at my boyfriend and regarded me intensely. He warned me that my boyfriend intended to hurt me. I held his arm and asked my boyfriend to leave and Mike’s shoulders subsided. It was just he and I, like old times, opening presents under the Christmas tree when we were ten. I wanted to fix it for him then. I wanted a fix that he deserved, for him to stop going through the sludge all on his own, for his boots to be less heavy.

When he got married and had his own kids, we all exhaled, everyone of us. All of his family, all of his friends. This was his fix surely! He loved his girls so intensely, that I always thought surely he will stay with us now, he is always anchored to this earth, because he is tethered to these three bodies who he loves with such intensity. And he was a proud Dad, I would see him shopping for them at Christmas and he was animated in a way that I never noticed growing up. He would hold Blake and her body would fold into his and I would say to myself, there it is, the loneliness is gone, replaced by this little blonde, gurgling human. It was happiness to watch him, after I had worried for so long.

As time went on, he and his wife experienced a separation and I noticed the darkness close in on Mike, slowly but surely. I watched as he looked for the exit doors and the flotation devices. I selfishly never asked enough questions because I thought his girls were always enough light for him to see his way out. I still have his last text message on my phone. The day that he died, my stepsister called me to tell me he was gone, and sometimes I still hear her voice and the gutural cry that she let out knowing that her only brother had taken his life. When I went to his house, and saw the state of it, I was weighted by guilt for not doing something sooner, for not protecting him, for assuming that he could tough it out.

At his funeral I gave a long and heart felt speech. In the middle of it, I didn’t think I could keep going and all of a sudden I felt a breeze go past me and my whole body relaxed. I know he was there. I know he was calming me, more concerned with how I was doing than himself like always. I have felt it a few other times since, when I have been truly weighted down by something, or immobilized by fear. I have felt the same breeze, the same lightness.

Although it is normal to be angry at a loved one who has taken their own life, I have never once felt angry at Mike. I have felt failure, I have felt despair, I have certainly felt guilt, but not anger at him. I am grateful to know him and feel his warmth when he was just up against it, his whole life. I have channeled my guilt, into awareness for other people and the hurt they may be feeling. I never say into the air, oh they have it, they are good. Because you just don’t know. I check on people, I check on my people, I check on other people’s people.

This past year I have felt the most healing from the darkness. At first it was hard to look at his girls because all I could think about was how they didn’t have their Dad. Now when I look at them, I go in the corner of the room and I am in his body, I am wearing his Patriots hat, I am holding a can of beer and I am him, observing them, with pride the way he would, because he would be so. freakin. proud. His girls do sports, they goof, his youngest is a little fairy in the garden, sometimes in her own world, but always weaving in and out of it, hugging people and loving them unconditionally when they enter her unicorn land. Their Mom always receives me openly when I see her, always encourages the girls to go to Auntie. This must hurt her sometimes to do this, but I have always appreciated it to the tips of my toes. Our family is healing, we still have large moments of sadness, especially my step mom and I make sure every Mothers day to say a hug from me and a hug from Mike and I think his hug is for sure stronger than mine. This month my sister will be getting married and Mike’s girls will be in the wedding. I look forward to observing them from across the way, just like he would have. I can’t wait to watch their dresses sway in the breeze and to see those easy smiles. How lucky am I to have been loved by someone who experienced such darkness? To have been supported by someone, who always felt like he was tipping over. I miss him everyday, but I am grateful everyday and also know the position I have to hold a flashlight now for anyone who can’t find their way. After all, he was always handing me one growing up and then scurrying off to find the batteries.