Angelversary #2

Dear Brian,

It's been two years since you committed suicide.  I struggle with your choice, with whatever it was that decided your fate.  But the worst is the not knowing what I could have done, what I should have done, what I didn't see, what I didn't know.  

On today, the worst anniversary ever, I bounce back and forth between the horror of finding you and the joy of remembering you.  Your sense of humor, the little things you used to do, the way you put up with the crazy ideas I had off and on over the years.  I love to dig up old photos of you and remember the things we used to do, the places we've been.  Your tolerance for the weird things I envisioned in my head that you helped me to accomplish.  Like painting stripes on the concrete block fence in the back yard.  Or driving 3 hours to have a moonlight summer hike.  Or going off on a "treasure hunt" called Letter Boxing.  

And in spite of all the odd things, you were also always there when something needed to be done.  To finish the unfinished garage, to painting a room, to installing a new disposal or new faucets.  Digging up plants.  Planting new plants.  Installing a brick planter, or hauling all of the rock from the front yard to the back yard, one wheelbarrow at a time.   Or, going on an icy Sunday drive through Dayton after a crazy snowstorm, just so we can get photos.  lol   

I miss you.  Every single day.  There's nothing else left when you lose a child.  That's the hardest thing a parent does - mourn the loss of a child.  It's been a hard road.  I don't discuss this with very many people, and that's my decision.  It's not easy being a survivor of the loss of someone by suicide.  It's the unanswered questions, the lack of answers for people who are well meaning but tend to ask anyway.  

I know your last note to me wished me to be happy.  It's been difficult, but every day I try my best.

I love you.

Mom

PS:   It's Pizza and Pepsi for dinner!!  xoxoxo