Epilogue: A Cure Was Not to Be

I’d like to think someday I’ll know how to deal with death. I’d like to believe that someday I’ll know exactly what to do when somebody tells me they’re thinking of taking their own life. I hope someday I’ll be perfect at understanding people around me who suffer with mental illness.

For now, I’m going to choose to forgive myself.

Now that all this time has passed, I feel relieved. I feel angry. I feel sad. I feel happy.

And I don’t feel bad.

We put a poem in the newspaper on the anniversary of her death, and it ended like this:

“So when I saw you sleeping so peaceful, free from pain.

I could not wish you back

To suffer that again.”

Some people didn't understand when they read it, and maybe I was one of those people, but that was okay.

Now I understand.