Today marks the first anniversary of the death of a friend. He committed suicide. I blithely tell people that he “ate a gun” when it comes up. I act hard. Cold. Callous. Because if I let myself be anything else, my heart breaks into a million particle pieces over again. No longer is the smiling, beautiful man I once knew. His star struck eyes (I used to say he had stars in his eyes, as they were blue with this amazing yellow-gold around the iris) gleam no longer. He, and all that he was, has been rendered into ash. And his name is ash on my tongue. A bitter deluge of sorrow follows and taints his memory. I am left with the bitter question of what I could have done. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. All I know is that he’s GONE. I’ll never get the chance to to try and make it better. And the guilt that maybe some how I could have, and I didn’t. . . So for all of you out there who might be contemplating the same (and goodness knows that I have myself). . . Please. DON’T. Someone loves you. I promise. You will break their heart if you do. And you will leave them forever questioning if there was SOMETHING more they could have done if they only had the chance. Only had the time… To tell you how much you matter. and how much pain your absence would leave it it’s wake. You are loved. You are meaningful. Your life is worth something to someone. Don’t make them pay that price with pain.