"There's nothing clever about dying young."


I don't know who said that, but it is certainly true. It is fresh on my mind because a week and a half ago a friend of mine took her own life at 30-something. Some think it was accidental, but either way, she swallowed some stuff and never woke up. No note. Very un-clever. Devastating. Incomprehensible. I want to believe it was accidental. That would be much easier on everyone, especially her parents. Your child taking their own life must be the worst thing ever. Ever. EVER.

So today was the viewing. I went, partly in order to believe she's actually gone. Almost immediatley upon entering the funeral home, tears sprang up, taking me by surprize in their early arrival and abundance. It's not like we were best friends; we had only known one another for a year or so...we bonded over shared battles with depression. I guess I cry easy, especially around something so frickin' SAD. She tried so hard.

One of her sweet aunties was there, greeted me almost as soon as I entered, and was so kind. She took my arm and steered me to the Dad, who gave me a big bear hug though we'd never met, then auntie said "Amy's back here" and led me down the hall to the chapel room where she lay. There she was, looking like herself. Except she wasn't there. I kept expecting to see her move her hand, or see her chest rise and fall with breath. But the breath is all gone. We don't notice the movement of life until it isn't there. She was still. Completely still. There, but gone.