Yesterday

Yesterday I got the news that you died. You took your own life, in your own way.

You told everyone that you were OK - said you were going to live a long, long time. But it was all a lie. Inside, you knew the hours were limited. Perhaps you set the date in advance. Maybe you just woke up that morning and knew that this was it. You hid the evidence. Perhaps you had the stuff for a while and it gave you peace, knowing that you could check out at any time. As someone once said to me "you must never be sad if you hear I killed myself, for it was the the thing I wanted most, at that moment, to do".  She took her own life in 2003. I was still sad.

I know how you struggled with the insistent voices in your head telling you to end it all. You tried everything you could think of, to ease your pain. At first, it was alcohol and drugs. Later, you worked with a therapist and took medication. You reached out to religion and embraced your cultural ancestry. Finally, you devoted your life to your gift for language and imagery and became an incredible poet. My world has been enriched by your words. And now, you will not see the publication of your first book of poetry. What was to have been your life's celebration will now, instead, become its memorial.

Goodbye my friend. I send you love.