All the other beautiful days

August 15, 2014
             Day 107

Today's entry won't be too long, because I'm working on just three-and-a-half hours of sleep, but also because there's been a lot of sadness this week already, and I'd rather not overdo it at this point.

First things first, a fact: Today is the 6th anniversary of the day suicide took the life of my friend Sal.  I purposely phrase it that way because I've come to see over time how his mental unclarity obviously got the better of him.  He didn't end his life after careful planning and months of agonizing over his choices.  The illness, in whatever form it affected him personally, just took over his brain enough to convince him of a lie.  It told him he had no other choice, though he always did.

I never judged Sal for his action that day, because to me that'd be like judging someone for crying.  When pain reaches certain levels, certain responses just happen.  Tears just happen, emotional pain just happens, and yes, even depression in all its scary, acute forms, just happens.  None of us are in any place to judge, or even casually pretend to understand what goes on inside a person who becomes a victim of suicide.  We don't share the same headspace of those who get to this point, so we have no right pronouncing our wisdom on the situation. 

Depression sucks.  Suicide sucks.  And people who pass judgment should seriously just shut the fuck up, and remind themselves how difficult this life we're living can be at times.  Suicide is a choice, but it's a choice that manifests from cloudy thinking, not clear thoughtfulness. 

When someone you love is taken this way, you're left feeling like hope itself has died, as if all possibility for a happy ending in life is forever marred by the fact that depression claimed the life of a dear soul.  My friend Sal was a very, very dear soul.  Like most 26-year-olds, he loved to party and have fun, but he was also a fierce friend, especially to those he respected and loved.  On one day six years ago, he lost an internal battle we didn't realize he was fighting.  And that just sucks.  Suicide just fucking sucks.  But sometimes it isn't enough to want to have joy.  You've got to believe in the joy you cannot see through all the cloudy thinking. 

When suicide claims a life, it's important to remember all the joy the person left behind, and not the last few moments of sadness.  For all the trauma Sal's loved ones went through in the months following his passing, the actions of his last day were just a few moments in the bigger picture of his abundantly beautiful life.  And it's that abundantly beautiful life that I know he would want to be remembered for.  Whether it's cancer or murder or any other disease or horrible ending, what one of us would want our last day to be remembered above all the other beautiful days we've lived? 

So we remember Sal, and we remember all of our loved ones who have passed this way, for all the other days.  So many cherished memories.  So much life.  So many beautiful days.