***Trigger warning: Suicide***
It’s the time of year when I’ve been thinking a lot about my mother’s death. The hardest thing about living with the loss of a loved one to suicide is the seemingly never-ending guilt and anger.
I replay the moments that torture me on a loop – thinking if only I could have done more. Gave more, done more, been more. I’m angry at myself for not being something that I could never be – that no one could ever be. I’m angry that sometimes I lashed out. That I wasn’t always perfect. That I wasn’t a never-ending well of giving.
That I couldn’t give all of me, all that I am, to save her.
It’s supposed to be easy to love someone.
I think sometimes, loving someone is the hardest thing you’ll ever do.