Tuesday, November 10, 2009

I don't want to write this

I don’t want to write this post. I wish I didn’t have to write it, but I do. It’s been there, bumping against that lump in my throat for 5 months. Five. Months. I can’t believe five months has gone by and I still don’t want to write this post. Please bear with me while I try. Hold my hand and wrap a friendly arm around my shoulders. This is going to hurt.


My Graduation Party

My friend Aaron isn’t so much like my friend as he is my brother. We grew up together, lived in the same house for a while during our formative years, and never strayed too far from each other.













He has been my brother’s best friend for more years than I can remember. There are so many memories tied up with Aaron, his family, and mine. In fact, I can’t remember a momentous day without remembering his contribution to it: thoughtful, kind, caring, funny. Damn funny. Aaron makes a room laugh with him, at him, but not because he’s a clown or an idiot. He knows your chuckle point, what gets your giggle going and he exploits that knowledge with discernment. And when he’s got you laughing, you’ll be privy to the smirk, the same little grin he’s carried since the forever accompanied by a twinkle of his eyes. His green eyes had the greatest twinkle.




Had. Aaron died on June 7. Five months have crawled by since my friend, my brother took his own life. I miss him every minute. I think of something I need to tell him every day, of places we should go, of food I want to cook for him, of hugs I need to give him. I pick up my phone to text or call him often. So often. I think of things I should have said, could have said that might have helped, but this isn’t about me. This is about Aaron. He was a good man, a wonderful friend, and a loving brother. I love him so much and this world is a darker place without him.


I want to point my friends and readers to some resources that can help them when they see the signs of depression in themselves or their loved ones. Post Secret routinely donates to The National Hopeline Network, which can be reached by calling 1-800-SUICIDE. The National Suicide Prevention Hotline is a 24 hour resource. 1-800-273-TALK (8255) NSPH also has a Veterans line in partnership with the VA which can be reached by calling 1-800-273-TALK (8255) Veterans press 1.

To those who feel themselves being drawn into the shadows of depression, please talk. Talk to your friends, family, coworkers, they love you! We love you! We want to help you. No subject is taboo. If you’re too shy to talk to a friend, call one of the hotlines above.

Thank you for reading along with me and for holding my hand. I love you all.


I love you, Brother.

~SmSc


10 comments:

Melanie Avila said...

Oh, Sara. I'm so so sorry for your loss. I can't even imagine trying to write a post like this.

I have no other words.

Danny said...

great job!!!

Wendy said...

:(

Missing that smirk. Nice post.

Janna Qualman said...

Aw, Sara. This is a beautiful tribute, made all the more poignant by the love in each sentence. I'm so sorry for your family's loss. A tear or two of mine have joined yours.

Hugs.

Sara Spock said...

He was so loved, which is more testament than I can ever make. We miss him so much.

Thanks, everyone.

Russ Painter said...

He was a good man. I wish I had gotten to know him better. That's the lesson I'm taking from this - don't take people for granted, they may not be around as long as you think.

Mary Anne Gruen said...

I'm so so sorry! My husband lost a friend like this once. We know how hard it is.

Lauren said...

:(

Nadine said...

I am so very sorry.

Beautiful post and I admire you for writing it. It will save lives.

((hugs))

Kathy said...

Sara, you wrote a beautiful tribute to your friend. What a sad and tragic loss.

It's good that there are places where people can find help. More people need to know they exist.