Three days before my little Sister died by suicide, we spent the entire day snowshoeing. There was not a doubt in my mind that despite the snowy, sunshine-filled mountain landscape, she battled through every moment of our day together.
She was not okay.
Later, we sat in the lodge,
snowshoes and jackets off,
Limbs sprawled along the bench seats.
Gear spread wide on the wooden table.
For a single moment.
She looked at me.
Her eyes wide. dark.
Despondent.
And she said, softly,
Almost beneath her breath,
“I can’t do this”
And I said,
“What do you mean?”
And she said,
“Nevermind.”
And this one time,
I didn’t pry.
She said it.
I heard it.
But I didn’t listen.
I didn’t act.
This was the last day I saw my Sister.
My love. My world. My Best Friend. My everything.
I beg you, please.
When someone—anyone, absolutely anyone—has fought through every ounce of their darkness to even so much as whisper their pain to you. That you listen as though it were a thunderous scream.
That you answer their call.
That you drop everything.
Nothing. Else. Matters.
There is ALWAYS hope.
There is ALWAYS survival.
There is ALWAYS living.
There is ALWAYS thriving.
Behind the storm clouds, the sun still shines. And sometimes, we have the power, even for just a moment, to be someone else’s light before their clouds have cleared.
And I beg you, please, to be kind to yourself.
To recognize that we often fixate on the moment we were not there. The moment we missed. The moment we failed. The moment we will always regret.
But oh, please do not discredit the tens, hundreds, or thousands of moments that you were there.
The moments you talked.
The moments you listened.
The moments you acted.
You are a gift.
We all are.
