The Best Portion

The best portion of a good man's life - his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.  ~William Wordsworth

I know why you did it.

When you have felt the weight for as long as you have, you can only imagine the strength it takes to get out of bed, go to work, go through the routines of life effectively. You weren't just effective; you were a damn good nurse, who often stood up against doctors and hospitals to get the best treatment for your poor, rural patients. Like the retired, mostly-blind college professor, rattling around in his cave of a library,  his primary contact with the outside world your weekly visits. 

I know why you did it.

Feeling that weight every single day of your life, sometimes strong enough to take it, sometimes not even enough energy to get out of bed. Feeling worthless, though you were worth so much to so many. Feeling ugly, though you were one of the most beautiful people I knew. Feeling life curdling, turning sour somehow, though it always seemed to pass, eventually. And then, like the sun behind a cloud, you~ the real you~ appeared again.

You were loved, by so many.

With no children of your own, you were the most beloved of aunts; the most wonderful hostess; the most considerate of friends. You lent money, sent cards, remembered details of other's lives that would have been lost. Everyone who was remembered by you felt loved.

But: I know why you did it.

Eventually, the sunny spots began to fade. Especially this winter, when the cold and darkness piled up higher and higher, day after day of snow and freezing temperatures combined to make even the most even-keeled of us rock in the angry cold dark wake.

This is how I would like to remember you.

Hiking in the winter snow, six of us crammed into your then-boyfriend-soon -husband's Continental on the way home, when the defroster went out. We rolled down the windows, freezing our asses off, and stopped for hot glogg on the way home.

You, on the back of his bike, your blonde hair streaming out from underneath the helmet.

You and he, marrying, in the worst snowstorm of the decade. Dancing at the wedding, you and he so formally attired. We joked it was the last time we'd see him in a suit. You and he, standing up at my wedding. (He didn't wear a suit.) You and he, building a house. Putting in cabinets. Cherry wood, from your land. The table he made, the curtains you made. A home. A home that welcomed family, friends. Walks and skiing in the 40-acre woods behind your house. Food. Flower gardens containing so many plants, but you could name them all. Rudbecia. Phlox. All the lilies and ferns, the geraniums and roses and budding  green things that grew from you, an extension of you. The children that loved you. The neighbors that loved you. The husband that loved you.

But in the end, love could not save you. The weight was too heavy to bear, and sleep would not give you peace. So, you found your way out.  And I know why you did it. Though my heart breaks and my head aches, I do know why you did it.

But knowing and understanding are two different things. I'll never understand why the medications didn't work. I'll never understand why, when  you were weighted down, it was so very heavy. I'll never understand how it is that I'll never see you again, my dear, dear friend.

Because yesterday, you were here. But, you couldn't stay. You had to leave. Despite the love so many people had for you, we couldn't help. Despite the impending medical leave from work, and retirement, despite the travel plans with you & he, the reassurances that you would be ok, nobody could make you feel better. You only saw that one door. The one with the EXIT sign.

People say suicide is a selfish act. That it is an act of the self, thinking only of the self. I would say that I think suicide is an act that we can't understand.There is no knowing involved. Because that suffering self is weighted down with so many unknowable things, that we could never, ever understand the way it feels to be that person.

Be kind, for everyone is bears a heavy burden.

It's hard to think of the darkness that makes you decide that tomorrow is just to painful to face. I think we all have seen just a glimpse of it occasionally but it would be so hard to live with that all the time.

I will miss you, my dearest friend; my golden-haired gardener, healer of many, champion of the needy, friend to all. You have left a wake of sorrow in your leaving  rippling outward in hard waves.