I wrote back in April about my friend, going missing. She was luckily found shortly afterwards.
A bunch of us, her friends, made her a blanket, so she could be wrapped in all the love we have for her and maybe, just maybe, not feel so alone. She said “To all those who held me in their hearts. I love you all more than I can even begin to describe.”.
Sadly, she took her own life in July, leaving behind her two daughters.
I have tried to write this post over and over and over. Sometimes it’s about my anger at our mental health services that such a vulnerable woman was able to just wander off. Sometimes it’s about what a fucker depression in any form is.
Once, fleetingly, it was about how selfish she was to leave her girls behind. And then it was about how strong she was to fight so hard, for so long. Because she did.
But mostly, I’m just sad. So heart-wrenchingly sad. Sad for her feeling so alone that that was a viable option for her. Sad for her girls growing up without her. Cried my tears.
Scared. A lot of scared. Because that could have been me. Her path could have been mine. If I hadn’t had the support I did.
Angry. Her family wouldn’t let her friends attend the funeral. Angry that I couldn’t go and see her and say goodbye. Lit my candle and said words in my own way.
But I think Joss Whedon summed it up beautifully in an episode of Buffy I watched recently. Buffy’s mother, Joyce, has just died and Anya (who used to be a demon) is working through the human etiquette of death, having not faced it before.
“But I don’t understand! I don’t understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean, I knew her, and then she’s, there’s just a body, and I don’t understand why she just can’t get back in it and not be dead anymore! It’s stupid! It’s mortal and stupid! And, and Xander’s crying and not talking, and, and I was having fruit punch, and I thought, well Joyce will never have any more fruit punch, ever, and she’ll never have eggs, or yawn, or brush her hair, not ever, and no one will explain to me why.”
Death feels like such a juxtaposition of feelings. A definitive ending of life, but the start of that person’s soul-freedom. Heaps of sadness, but relief that she is no longer suffering. No more fruit punch, but a lot more peace.
And so, our beautiful Polly is gone. Flying free wherever she is, in whatever form of heaven or afterlife she believed in. And we just keep breathing, and cry a little less, and keep walking onwards, and cry a little less…