The sad truth is, as a sixth grader, suicide hurt me.
The thought that my Papa didn't feel like I loved him enough...to stick around. It hurt me so deep.
As an adult, I know is wasn't *me* that he was running from, and I know it wasn't *me* that didn't love him enough. But, somehow, it still makes me think, that maybe he just needed a little more love.
Or he just needed a reminder, that whatever it was, that was hurting him so deep in his heart, he could get through it. And in a day or so, he would be glad he didn't give up.
But, sadly. He did give up.
He lost his will to fight.
He let go.
And, he ended his own life. And today, that still hurts my heart.
I wish he could've met my kids. I wish they could've loved him.
I wish they could've sat on his porch,in that lawn chair, and enjoyed that big back yard with him.
I wish they could've held his hand like I did.
I wish they could've seen his endless stash of Izod clothes and socks.
Oh the izod socks.
So many things that suicide took away from us all.
So, today. I write love on my arms.
And I am posting it here, and twitter, and facebook.
And I hope that if someone that I love sees this, it will BURN this image into their heart, so that when you think you want to give up. You won't do it.