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I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.
The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.
The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbor’s yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two-year-old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.
The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.
The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.
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I will never forget the evening in our clubhouse. We were not the typical tennis club, we were too small, we didn’t have any money, and the club’s piggy bank was empty. Our tennis club had only three courts. We had built the clubhouse ourselves and had put a fence up around the area that had been given to us and when we finally were able to play tennis, we were almost unstoppable. We were a fun group of men and women, we all lived nearby. The oldest in his 70s, the youngest couldn’t hold a tennis rack yet.
Pauley, a young man who we all loved, spent New Year’s Day with us in the clubhouse. We had managed to get an oven and we were eager to set it up. We celebrated until late at night, laughed a lot, and listened to new and old bragging stories. We went home in the morning hours and I am sure we woke up some of our neighbors with our cheerful laughter.
Two days later we got the news that Pauley was dead. He had driven to the ocean and had parked his car at the beach. He died from carbon monoxide poisoning, self-inflicted with a re-directed gardenhose that led the fumes from the exhaust to the driver’s window.
Not a year goes by when I think of him. Of course, we speculated and tried to make sense of it all. In the end, we had to accept the fact that you never know what is going on inside somebody, even when you are close.
The morning after Pauley killed himself, he could have enjoyed a warm cup of cocoa in our clubhouse.
Powerful read. A dear friend of mine committed suicide five years ago and I think about her and miss her all the time.
I am so sorry for your loss. It’s hard to lose a friend.
That must be how it is! Once made the decision can’t be unmade. So unbelievably sad.
This was a powerful read. Thank you so much for sharing. It reminds me of how precious and beautiful life is and how it is a privilege to be here.
It is indeed a privilege, we just forget it sometimes.
This is such a tragic story! I have contemplated suicide many times and took a few attempts, but am so far grateful that I’m still here. I agree it’s sometimes impossible to know what goes on in another person’s mind.
It feels wrong to click “like” now. I am sorry you felt that way and I am glad you didn’t succeed. I hope you got the help you needed, may it be in form of therapy or group sessions, or perhaps just a a friend who is listening. I hope you feel better now.
So powerful and moving.
Thank you, Jaya
So often, within a couple of days of joyful behavior, the person kills himself. The joyful behavior is the result of a decision made, a peace with what is to come. They feel prepared, the goodbyes said, the precious items given away, the feeling that they are leaving the world better because they’re not in it. They may not be the sobbing, hopeless person at the end of their rope as they’re pictured in TV and movies. They’ve passed that stage. If you know someone has been depressed who then becomes “better–like their old selves” they may have made their decision. They’re not all right.
I have seen and witnessed great joy, and I have seen and witnessed great pain and severe poverty in my life.
A lot of people are not alright and perhaps never will be. We can only help some but not all. Thank you for reading.
This is very moving… is Meggie another blogger? You do never know… as I learned when a friend took pills before lying down on my couch. I will never forget when I found her note.
Depression is a silent killer.
. . .just saying. . .that is a lot to think about.
May we rejoice every day that we wake up and make the best of every day for ourselves, and others.
I am trying, that’s all I can do. I hope the universe will never challenge me in this.
So poignant. I seem to over the years have known and known quite a few suicides, a person at work, hearing about old friends from my youth, a cousin on each side of the family. Then for several years following my sister and other family members on the other side of the world as they tried to help our niece. We had a lovely time when she came over for a holiday with relatives Christmas 2023 and she seemed much more positive than I had expected. But in February 2024 she hung herself. The turn out at the scattering of her ashes proved how many people loved her, she had a life worth living…
Pauley is the one I remember the most, but there have been others. I have worked in countries that consider suicide an honor death. It’s the god(s) we happen to believe in, who dictate how we feel about it. It’s our culture.
Years ago, in a movie “Soylent Green” one of the characters decided that he had enough of living and he goes to a place where he is allowed to leave this earth to his terms. Watching a film with beautiful nature scenes and (if I remember correctly) nice music, he takes medication and lays down.
I have mixed feelings about it. I often think we prolong death and not live. Too many are being kept alive in hospitals. The organization “Dignitas” (Switzerland) allows people to die with dignity if they have a fatal disease. I didn’t know what to make of it either until I watched a documentary called “How to die in Oregon.” Then I understood.
Who decides if a life is worth living? As usual, I am full of questions but have no solution.
Pauley dies over 40 years ago. I remember it every year.
Very poignant. You just never know what is going on in other people’s mind.
We really don’t and it’s scary.
Yes very powerful. As you write, we never know what drives another to such a final act. Very sad
It’s so sad when they are so young. As we all know, most of our problems solve themselves over time, or we get used to them.
Wow. Very powerful
Thank you. I thought so too. I stumbled over the poem and it took my breath away.