Today was the two year marker (I refuse to refer to it as an anniversary) of the day my daughter experienced her first loss of a friend to suicide. She was eleven then, the boy had just turned 15.

I didn’t know him, and I didn’t remember this date but she reminded me. I asked her if she thought he ever would have imagined that the two of us; one he knew from grade school (he was her reading buddy when she was just a little thing) and one he knew not at all — would still mourn his loss two years later. She guessed probably not.

Bless that boy and his family for the pain they endured that opened up a dialogue I don’t know if I could have otherwise begun. Because of them, my child understands, to some degree, the concept of “a permanent solution to a temporary problem”. And maybe, just maybe, if she’s ever in crisis, she’ll talk to me before things get critical.

Sorry about the segue. Your poem just made me think of a sad boy entering a place he should have never seen.

it was lovely. xoxo

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.

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