It is what it is.

I’m still here. I’m ok. I’m sorry it’s been so long… again.

I had to take some more time to do some more grieving, processing, living.

September 11th, 2017 our family, or should I say my husband’s family, and myself, took another hit. My husband’s cousin, who was a rock and support for me after his death, decided she could no longer cope with her own pain. In the early morning of September 11th, 2017, she succumbed to her own illness and died by suicide.

My heart hurts for her sister, nieces and nephew, for her brother, brother in law and for her parents. For all of us who, had hoped Anthony’s death by suicide would be our last hit. She was only 33. She was kind and empathetic. She had become my friend.

She was going to counselling, working with her doctor, didn’t drink or use drugs. She was doing everything she could to take care of herself. Everything completely opposite of my husband… and yet…. well, here we are.

And so I’m left wondering, again why?

And I’m also left wondering if Suicide can be prevented at all?

And I’m left feeling helpless, jaded and saddened. This journey is getting a little too long.

I’m not giving up; I made a promise and it appears I’ll have to make another. I’m just trying to accept something I can’t understand and this is difficult to do.

I can’t lie either, her passing brought up a lot of grief from my husband’s death. The same funeral home. The same faces. I haven’t seen his dad since that day, and seeing him brought back so much.

That man has lived through the untimely death of his wife, his mother, his twin sister, the suicide of his son and the grief is affecting his physical health. I hugged him, we cried together, and we haven’t spoken since.

While sitting in the Catholic Church where her service was, I wished he was there for me to put my head on. I wondered if he greeted her on the other side, and if they celebrated his birthday together two short weeks after she left this earth. Knowing they were together brought me some peace.

I appreciated the stories she told me about my husband’s goofy disposition growing up. She helped me feel close to him again, and I got to know her as well.

So now what? I keep asking myself this every morning. Now what?

I have no answer, I just get up, breath and walk out the door like I do everyday hoping one day I’ll feel more than this dysthymia that seems to have once again settled in my chest.

Today, I have no words of advice. Today I have no answers. Death sucks, Suicide sucks.

It just is what it is.

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