Tales of Wit and Charm…

AK and I never talk about our friend Tim. In fact, since his death, we haven’t spoken about him for more than a few minutes at a time. It’s too hard for both of us. We both feel guilty. Anyone who has dealt with a suicide knows this feeling all too well. While we both know we weren’t responsible for Tim’s decision, we will spend the rest of our lives questioning if we could have done more to help him.

Yesterday AK and I talked about Tim for nearly an hour. It was heartbreaking, yet beneficial for both of us. I told AK I’m scared of forgetting all the small details of Tim’s life. It’s time I start writing about him, I suppose. Writing is cathartic for me, and frankly I need to remember all the funny details of his life rather than remembering the day I found him.

Sometimes when I miss Tim so much I can’t breath I think about him in some sort of after life. Tim hated religion. He was an avid atheist and took great pleasure in arguing with everyone about his or her own personal beliefs. I picture Tim approaching the pearly gates and screaming at God for existing. I can see him saying, “God you’re driving me fucking crazy with this bullshit; I need a beer.” And then he’d challenge God to an arm wrestle; the winner would get to rule the world. Tim would, of course, lose and then accuse God of cheating. Without fail, my tears are suddenly tears of laughter as I picture the Tim vs. God scenario.

And as blasphemous as this coping mechanism may seem to some, I don’t care.  It works for me, and that’s what counts.

Dear Tim,

Last week marked the third anniversary of your death. And frankly, I’m still pissed off at you for choosing to leave. Sometimes I understand but mostly I’m just mad. Someday I hope that anger fades to forgiveness, but for now I still want to yell at you… only you’re not here to listen.

I still remember the first time I saw you, it was 1998 and you were interviewing for a chemist job. Your hair was way too long, your suit didn’t fit and you rode a bullet bike. I was positive we’d never be friends. And in a way we weren’t… we were family. I admired you more than I was ever willing to admit. I never told you how much you meant to me. I’m not so great with emotions: anger.. yes, tender shit, no. And now you’re gone and I wish I’d been able to tell you how much I cared about you. You and Alex are the older brothers I never had. Both of you loving me in your own weird ways.

Today, while driving home, I passed your street and was overwhelmed with emotion. I came home and cried, and then I threw up. I could almost hear you laughing at me for “having a girl stomach.” Remember how you always teased me for getting sick so easily, and then when I was really sick you were there for me every day. You called me every other day to check up on me. I never told you this, but I saw you driving past my house a couple times a week just to check in and make sure everything looked okay. Tim, you were always there for me. I hope someday I can forgive myself for not being there when you needed a friend.

I don’t know if there’s life after death, but wherever you are I hope you’re happy, and I hope there is beer. I’m going to drink a Corona for you. And I don’t even like Corona.

Love,
Sarah