I saw something online talking about mental health, focusing mostly on suicide. And of course, my mind instantly turns to you. But I know that wasn’t you

"A little over 7 years.." it knocks the wind out of me every time. But it also knocked the wind out of me after 4 days, 1 month, 6 months, 2 years... and every day in between. It has been 2,623 days since you left me & please know that I have missed you with every cell in my body for every single one of them.

I have somewhat adjusted to the fact that you are gone and never coming back. After 7 years, you get pretty used to it. It used to break me down to the fetal position knowing I couldn’t call you or pass you on the highway. Knowing I wouldn’t see your truck at the gas station & pull up just to talk to you, knowing I would see you at home right after. I think what makes me the saddest is that we will never drive to another soccer tournament looking for cool car washes, I’ll never wake up on a Saturday or Sunday morning & see you sitting on the couch, in your boxers, reading the paper, drinking your God awful Folgers black coffee, waiting for kick off. “Get your pop tarts & pop a squat.” Same joke, every time. You still laughed your deep belly laugh, every time. That was you.

Some days I smile at the thought of you, and some days it brings instant tears to my eyes. Kind of like right now. Am I chopping onions, or writing a blog? That’s for me to know.

I was 16 years young when you left, which I believe is why those memories are the things that used to crush my soul. But now that I am 22 years OLD, (23 next month,) the adult side of your death has begun to set in. The things I didn’t know know then, but I know now. The mental health side. The PTSD side. The battle with drug addiction and alcoholism side. The real reason you hung yourself that night. You died, but that wasn’t you.

You saved a man’s life and you hated being praised for it. You and only you, SAVED HIS LIFE, and you could not stand talking about it. No one could understand why. You HATED the attention, but that wasn’t you.

After your death, I was mortified to tell people that you committed suicide, and I’ll be honest, some days I still am. Why didn’t you die with honor over in Iraq? Or in a car accident, or from cancer? Why didn’t you live to be 120 and pass peacfully in your sleep? Because that was not God’s plan for you, that’s why. I couldn’t understand it, not for the longest time; and again, some days I still don’t. But I have enough love for you to try because I know it wasn’t you.

As a teenager who thought the world was against her already, I went through what I believe was the real version of Hell. Not only did I, but my sisters, my brother, my MOTHER, my stepfather, your best friends. Once I realized that I was not the only one going through the Hell, I began to hate you. Hell isnt when you die, Hell is here on earth. Hell is your father, your best friend, your hero, committing suicide. My father died, but it wasn’t you.

I don’t know exactly what your motive was, and I suppose I never will. But I know a few things for sure; 1, I will never be able to drink and not cry about you. I now run into your friends at bars, or they come to my birthday parties, and I think for every drop of alcohol that goes in, a tear comes out towards the end of the night. Because there’s nothing, NOTHING i wouldn’t give to drink with you. How can I say that knowing that your BAC is essentially what pushed you over the edge THAT night? You killed yourself, but you weren’t you.

2. NO ONE will ever disrespect you, or your name and get away with it. I may not be able to piece everyone up, but I know that the people I can’t get, karma will do the job. I will never let that slide, even though it wasn’t you.

3. Your death in some odd, twisted way, brought all of us kids so much closer to not only each other, but mom. I don’t know if it was because she was still there, holding us together, because we couldn’t stand to lose another parent, or because we just realized how short, sad, and unfair life can be. Damn, I think talking about the things mom has done and gone through since you left makes me cry faster and harder. That woman... I’ll tell you what. She lost her ex-husband, the father of her children, but it wasn’t you.

Your funeral was the longest, dumbest, most irritating and heartbreaking thing I have ever experienced. I think whoever planned it, (which I know who but I won’t name names) just went down the page and check marked every fucking box. There were so many people weeping and sobbing, snot running down their faces. Me being the asshole I was, was so unbelievably annoyed. Who the hell were these people? If they were such good friends with you, why had I never seen or heard of them? I get that someone died, but that someone wasn’t you.

Everyone that walked through that mile long line, “hi, I’m so-and-so, I’m so sorry about your dad, he used to be my best friend.” Each and every person I’d roll my eyes, shake their hand & say to myself, “yeah I bet he did.” Like I said, I was a teenager. But looking back now, it all makes sense, you were loved by EVERYONE you met. So helplessly & effortlessly loved. Maybe that was you.

After the 16374 hour mass, I watched your best friends load your casket into the hearse one last time. Me and Pal have been best friends for almost 20 years and still one of my most vivid, cherished memories of her, is us hugging and sobbing into each other outside the church that day, as they loaded you up & took you away. But it wasn’t you.

After your burial, I watched Nickie go up to your brother’s grave and sob into her husband’s chest. How dare you. How dare you put her through that again. But I know it wasn’t you that did that.

We all went to the luncheon put on by the church. I can’t remember who I sat with or who I talked to, but so vividly remember the moment I knew that no matter how badly it hurt, no matter how long it took, everything was going to be all right. Life was going to continue on and we were all going to get through it, as a family. I eventually found my mom, with Nickie of course. She was eating like a starving child and raving about the potato salad. She literally would not stop talking about it. I looked at my mom as if to say “wtf.. that potato salad wasn’t even that good.” But then it hit me, she was FINALLY pregnant again. She didn’t even know yet. Her doctor had not even called her with her test results, but anyone that obsessed with some average ass potato salad is either pregnant or stoned, and Nickie isn’t not a stoner. That next July, we were blessed with not one, but TWO tiny, perfect angels. One baby was not enough from you, so you gave us two. THAT was you.

You were everything good in this world. Kind, compassionate, smart, handsome, & easily the funniest person I had ever met. You were not your demons. Your demons were not you. Nowadays I’m more in touch with my mental health status than ever, and also everyone’s around me. Losing you has made me more compassionate, and thoughtful of those other than myself. I am truly sorry I could not save you from your own head. I will never forgive myself for letting you slip through my fingers. You are my best friend, my first real love, my motivation, and most importantly my pride. Nothing fills me with more pride than saying, “I am Bear’s daughter.” That will never fade away. Just like the love and memories will stay with me forever.

You are free of your demons that made you, not you.