The Morning After I Killed Myself

The morning after I killed myself, I woke up. I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.                                     The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed. The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine. The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication. The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother. The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach. The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started. - Meggie Royer

Lesson learned...

Remember these things. So many good things.

Remember; you ARE the good thing you are searching for.

You are your best friend.

You are the only person who understands everything you have been through.

You have always been there for you.

You know exactly how you like your sandwiches.

You never leave you.

You are so good at running yourself down; try treating yourself like you would treat someone you love.

missgrandfleur ... You need this, like... yesterday. 😂

Snapped my snap 😜

😂😂😂

Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.

Stephen R. Covey (via gettingahealthybody)

Sadly true.

Yes.

I wish somebody had told me that loving people, knowing how to love those people, and those people loving you back were three entirely different things.

Della Hicks-Wilson (via ohlovequotes)

Lesson learned.

Trying to feel this hug, this love...tonight.

Dear Dad,

So, I miss you. Of course, you already know that. I was talking to your baby brother today, he misses you too. Also...damnit, Dad! Why'd you have to do it? I just really don't understand. You told me that you'd always be there for me. Where are you now? I need you now. Please? Life, it's hard. It's getting to me. I need your advice, for you to bring me back into reality, to help me come up with solutions...with all of the right answers. You always had all of the answers. I try talking to Uncle K about you. I do it less and less now.. because he talks like you, has your same mannerisms and facial expressions...it makes me smile and then cry. Usually a lot, probably too much. I cry too much. You always told me that I needed to think more logically, with less emotion. How do I think less emotionally about this? How do I make these tears stop? How do I make sense of this one, Dad? I know you were hurting, but why didn't you think of how much pain you'd be causing me. Your grandson, granddaughter, all of your family and friends. Were you even thinking? Was that last glass of (what I can only assume) tonic and gin, worth it? I'm not mad at you. I hope you know that. What I would give to have just one more day with you. One more phone call or even an email. I wish you would've left me with more than just "life hurts" ...why did those have to be your last words to me? Was "I love you, always and forever" too difficult for you? Were you too drunk to type it? To call? I wish I was washing this lump in my throat away with whiskey, right now. I know better. You always told me I "shouldn't drink because grandpa was an alcoholic and so am I, you have about an 80% chance of being one too. So, just don't drink, okay?" ...Yes, dad. I'm listening now. Can you say it one more time? Please tell me one more time, because the caffeine and nicotine just aren't cutting it anymore. I need something more to numb this pain. You always fixed everything else. Dug me out of every hole I got myself into. Fix this. Please, dad. I know my tears tonight aren't enough to bring you back. I know this empty hole in my heart will always be there. I know I'll never get closure from this pain. I just want my dad. I miss you so much, probably more than you ever thought I would. I'm sorry for being so rotten, for so many years. Man, I wish I could take all of those years back. I keep looking up at the sky, hoping to see some sign of you. Not tonight, I guess. I should sleep. I miss you and love you...with every bit of my broken heart, I love you. G'night, dad.

42

We met when, He was 18 & I was 24.

So peacefully beautiful. Thank you, Lovely.

I LOVE Hoos! :)

Ross' inappropriate song...just got appropriate! Haha!