Two years ago today you decided that the fight was too hard and you chose the easy way out. You had just turned thirty a few weeks before. You had an entire life ahead of you. You were surrounded by wonderful parents and amazing siblings, little nieces and nephew, friends. Yet, two year ago today, darkness won and you chose to give up the fight for joy, the fight for light, the fight for life and pulled that trigger. And maybe you didn't realize, but you took a little bit of all of us that loved you away with you that day.
If anyone understand what it's like to have your soul invaded by some darkness you cannot find, it's me. I'm pretty dark and twisty inside myself. I understand the weight. I understand the pain. I understand the desperation. But here we are, two years later, and even though I do understand, I have so many questions that I can't answer. Why? Why, did you let it get that bad? Why didn't you fight harder? Why didn't you get help? Why didn't you tell anyone? Why you and not me? Why did you pull that trigger? And so even though I understand, I don't.
It's been said that we never get over great losses; we absorb them, and they carve us into different people.
You were the first real friend I ever had and even two years later, I'm most definitely not over losing you. I don't know yet how much and how different it has made me. I'm still trying to understand, accept, absorb. I want to say that it has changed me for the better, but I don't really know yet.
Today, even though the way you left makes it hard, I try to remember just the good times, the good memories, the beautiful person that you were before the darkness took over. And even as I'm still filled with unanswered questions, I know that one day, it won't hurt quite so much. But until then, I miss you.
In memory of Maria Harbin, 1984-2014