(no subject)
I never really thought much about death. It's come to mind that I will not know what to do when someone I love dies, perhaps. I had a grandmother die when I was young, seven years old maybe. Really, it just didn't feel too terribly tragic or important. I remember crying, but not feeling too much of anything.
I live in a sober house. We have many roommates come and go because they go back out drinking or using drugs. It's a fact that I've learned to accept. It's never too much of a big deal. On Sunday a new woman moved in. We had a lot of contact with her mother before she moved in, and her arrival was much anticipated. She was soft-spoken and very nice. She had two small children of whom she showed us many studio-quality photos. On Monday she left to attend some sort of event in which her son was participating. She didn't come home that night. We heard nothing from her for a few days. In a circumstance like that, we always assume the person has gone back to their old ways and habits.
Wednesday night I was sitting up late with my roommate Terri. The phone rang, with the name of the woman's mother flashing on the caller ID. As Terri spoke to her, her face became grim. She made a cutting gesture across her neck while mouthing the words "she's dead." We sat in shock and I doubt anyone really slept that night. The next morning the mother called again. Our roommate had taken her own life. Some are sicker than others. That's what I'm always told.
On Saturday the remaining six of us attended the funeral service. The doctor from the treatment center four of us attended spoke of addiction, sickness, pain, and grief. We cried. It was the first time I've felt something because of a death. Perhaps it hit close to home. Not simply because she lived in our house. But because I am, or used to be, more similar to this woman than it may seem. I had only known her fro a few days, but I was overwhelmed with an unnamed feeling. I thought about how easily myself or any of the girls sitting around me could be driven to that same fate if we don't take the right steps to avoid it. I'm really not sure. I cry when I don't know what to do.
We returned home and were mostly very quiet.
Her photo album and a note from days before reading, "Spaghetti dinner on Thurs. before meeting. Love, Jamie" are still on the kitchen table, right where she left them. Her photographs are still on display on the shelves in her room. We saw some of the same pictures on display in the funeral home. I guess it's true. Some just really are sicker than others.