A year older

A year ago I was recovering from discovering my companion on the floor.Passed out cold, clammy to the touch drugged, barely breathing, I couldn’t find a heart beat.¬† He had tried to end his life by suicide.

The warning signs had been there. His depression started to spiral with the loss of his mother and the pending loss of his sister and his grandmother to illness. A few months prior we saw a commercial for an insulin pen and he joked about how he would end his life, or how he would take another’s life. He’d use insulin.

The evening before I found him, that’s exactly what he had done. He overdosed on his insulin, his anti depressant pills and his anxiety medication. He had taken the time to place all of his eagle feathers around him and used the blanket I had given him at an honoring before we were together and wrapped himself inside.

He left a note asking me to use his money for cremation and to do what I wished with all his belongings after his family had taken what they wanted.

A year ago I mourned the loss of that relationship, as he survives into a new beginning. For someone who thought he was all alone, even in love, he was surrounded by family who were making sure that he would never see suicide as an option again.

It has taken the better part of the last year to deal with the pain and other emotions of this experience. He and I have had our talks and we have just recently started to check in with one another. Not to try to get back together, but to just make sure the other is ok.

I ask him about car stuff and he asks me about issues or makes a joke about how I’m changing the world.

I’m a year older. A year of healing and I’m glad to be alive.

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