I have just come from the funeral of the schoolmate i mentioned here.
I cried - i cried tears of empathy for his mother and the mother of his children, both whom were shuddering with big, animalistic sobs. I cried tears of grief for his children, who will grow up without a daddy. And i cried tears of happiness for myself, that somewhere inside i found the strength that he could not, and escaped the same fate.
And i was ashamed. Who cries for themselves at a funeral? I have every empathy for his family, even more so that i am now a mother, and each moan that escaped his mothers body broke my heart. My own parents have had to bury a child, so i have some understanding of how much strength it would have taken for her to stand in front of everyone and place loved possessions on her sons coffin. I hate that they have so many unanswered questions, and that they'll never get the chance to have them answered, except when posed hypothetically. I cried tears for all of that, for their heartbreak and their grief and their anger. Yet, mostly, i cried for myself. Everytime suicide was mentioned my thoughts turned to how close i came to that decision, and the lyrics of the songs his family chose to farewell their son, brother and friend brought me further undone.
I didnt attend the internment - i felt i didnt have a close enough relationship to be at this more intimate rite of a funeral, and that my presence at the funeral ceremony was enough to show my respect. Instead, i drove straight home and gave my son the biggest hug i could muster, and sent Mick a message telling him how much i love him. Its all i could do and i hope, in case of dire circumstance, it will be enough....
NEW PATTERN is here–the Hold it Bin
5 days ago