Today marks the seventh anniversary of Colin's suicide. I've been anxious to read the new Harry Potter novel, and I keep thinking of the phrase "death-day". I love the phrase for some reason.
Happy death-day, Colin.
I wrote this the night I married Jeff. I'd like to share it here:
Jeffery is breathing evenly beside me, my indicator that any questions will go unanswered. The sound of the beach around me, usually a distraction, is tonight a soothing reminder of the continuity of the elements. It pulls me out of bed and to the picture window in our hotel overlooking the water. In all my days I have yet to have one so busy. Many emotions I've felt today, and many promises I have made.
As I contemplate what among my experiences I wish to commit to paper in this moment, the presence of my family crashes in on my awareness. The very fact of my grandmother's appearance at my wedding should be counted as a miracle of sorts. My grandmother, who has never approved me or my existence; she who has attended not only my wedding but my second wedding.
I am not quite over that fact when my mind takes a sudden detour ... I am married. Again. My thoughts are in such a jumble -- I have so many things for which to be thankful, not the least of which is that I am good enough for a man who will not someday take his own life.
I feel like crying, and I suddenly feel an overpowering connection to that elusive dead man. The man who first showed me how to love, and be loved; the man who taught me to love with all my heart and soul and hold nothing back. The man who taught me how to live in each moment as if it were my last. The man who showed me so many joys in life. I so badly want to turn and say to him "can you believe how far I've come?". Because, in a way, he would be the only person who knows me well enough to understand how truly far I have come. It occurs to me now, as it has many times in the past, that I've only grown as much as I have because he is dead.
I have difficulty with the magnitude of this thought, so I cast my eyes out the sea that he so loved, and I reach out with that little bit of my soul that still knows his, and I thank him for loving me.
And I thank him for leaving me.