One of my best friends killed himself at the beginning of this year.
For the first few weeks after it happened I was in that state of mind where you can just about manage to block it out enough to get yourself through the day, only to have it suddenly overwhelm you out of nowhere.
10 days after he died, I was on a packed commuter train out of London, squashed into a corner seat. Some little thing had set me off and before I could compose myself I started unravelling before the carefully averted eyes of my fellow commuters. I rang my Dad to try and talk it through, but couldn’t calm down. Trying desperately not to sob audibly, pressing myself into the window and willing myself to stop shaking; just thinking about my friend stepping off the ledge over and over…
Then the lady sat beside me – a well dressed, middle aged lady who turned out to be Canadian-but her arm on my shoulder and said
“I couldn’t help but overhear; I just want you to know that whatever you’re going through now, I promise you it’ll be ok.”
We ended up talking about my friend the whole journey, and she chose to share with me that she lost her first husband to suicide. She talked to me about bereavement and loss, and then she made me laugh. She gave me a hug when we got to her stop, and I never saw her again.
I’ll remember her for the rest of my life.
~ by ’Strawby’