Goodbye my friend. I’ll see you on the other side.

LOST

She lost her voice, went outside to find her words. She got lost in the moon and the stars and the sky. The coldness of the winter night wrapped itself around her like a blanket. She could not find her way home.
January 15, 1961 - January 14, 2013

Sadness is such a lonely road to travel alone. It takes you further and further into the darkness, and sometimes to the point of no return. I remember what it was like to be lonely, hopeless, and stuck in my own despair. In these lonely times I did not long for connection and I didn't dare reach out for help. It was my despair, my pain, my lot in life. It was who I was, and I was where I belonged. I have lost two friends to suicide, one in 2003, and I just learned of another friend’s death, perhaps not suicide, but certainly a death that could have been avoided. Today I am grateful for my recovery and the many friends, mentors, and guides that have supported on my journey to wholeness.

In the wake of disbelieving, grieving, loss, and confusion, the question we ask is, “why didn't they reach out, ask for help?” We try to make sense of a sadness we will never understand, unless you have had the experience, then you already know and you will not need to ask. You will not try to explain. You already know this sadness has a paralyzing venom that keeps you trapped in despair. Rarely does a person in this place have ability to ask for help. Ask yourself, if they had this ability, wouldn't they have reached out? They lost the ability to see the glimmer of hope and their light faded into dust. They could not find the words to explain their sadness. We trace our steps and find pieces of the puzzle, evidence of their struggle and despair, and we can't help but wish for a different outcome. We want to think we could have done something, and maybe we could have, but for whatever reason, we were not able. They are ashes, they are a reminder of how close we are to the edge, how precarious and precious this life is. Seconds and inches.

I hold the light of Jackie and Jennifer in my memory, in my heart, and into my work with others. As therapist, we talk about being the lantern that our clients carry with them into the darkness. These two beautiful women will be the light in the lantern that I hold for my clients.