Day 12
The backstory to today’s entry can be found here.
It’s been just over a year since you died. So much has happened since then, but sometimes it feels like just yesterday when I found out you had died by your own hand. I find myself thinking about you at the most random times and I still wonder if there was something more I could have done that day we met.
The Friday after your death, I met with my therapist, Dr. P, earlier than usual. As I told him about the week’s events, how a Saturday night text hinted at something serious, where I was when I learned what happened, how I sat through your funeral completely numb, I realized I had been holding in all of my emotions, evidenced by the tears that came and couldn’t seem to stop. I distinctly remember looking down at my left wrist and touching the faint scars that are the only physical evidence of my first suicide attempt. I couldn’t take my eyes off those healed wounds as I relayed how Rabbi Stern’s voice broke as he spoke about your bat mitzvah in Israel, how Cantor Niren’s voice faltered for a moment at the end, the somber looks on the teenagers seated around me, the boy who sat next to me and how I could tell he was struggling, but I didn’t know how to help him.
Temple did a wonderful job of providing support to our shell-shocked teens. It was one of countless times I have been grateful for this community. They supported me as I carried you in my thoughts during the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention’s Out of the Darkness Walk in New York last June. I also trained to become a crisis counselor for Crisis Text Line because I needed to do something to help people who are in the same dark place and feel like they have nowhere to turn.
The day we met, I taught the class about golems. After much internal struggle, I decided to use the same lesson this year. I took great care to make sure I included the Hebrew you had helped me with that day and to ensure that the class enjoyed it. I think you would have liked what I added.
When I walk for suicide prevention in Washington, D.C. this June, I will carry your memory with me. It’s the least I can do to honor your short life. Your memory will always be a blessing, for me and the community that loved you.
The golems that sit in the minds of some, bring constant pain and question of worth so often end up leaving such wonderful people to leave us behind. Questioning, could we have done more, been there, said something. But unless a great fight is won and people understand the truth of mental illness and the pain in brings, we will continue to build the wall on the tomb stones of loved ones. I’m so proud of you and your decision to reach out and learn, a true gift.