At our bank this morning, I sat on the chair where he had sat when we were there together for the last time, 2 days before Day 0. I felt close to him. I remembered how oblivious I was at the time to the fact that he was so close to the edge. I felt so utterly sad and stupid.
At home, as I sat on our sofa with my head resting on my partners left shoulder, watching TV, I remembered the last time we had watched TV together. His head had rested on my left shoulder. He was such a darling. I miss him so much!
Suicide leaves a legacy of guilt. Guilt is a corrosive presence. The core of my being is filled with constant agonising questioning. I wake up from sleep envisioning him sitting at the platform and my brain cries out.
The rational mind is incapable of dealing with it. I feel permanently and irreparably wounded. This is what suffering must be like. I feel like a mother animal. I keep searching for my baby.
Words offer solace for brief periods of time.
“Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.
All is well.
Nothing is past; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before only better, infinitely happier and forever we will all be one together.”
-By Canon Henry Scott Holland.