Nine years since that Fucking Suicide assaulted our Lives.

August 25, 2005 is when my Boy was found hanging in his Mom's closet.  Nine fucking years since we got the call. Nine years since our world became face to face with the ugliness of Suicide.  It was a blur, the phone calls, the fast drive from one place to another to see our boy. Nine years, since we stood in the hallway of the apartment while the police officer told us to wait until the medical examiner was done. Nine years since the medical examiner came out of the apartment and told us, that we had to prepared. Nine years since she told us that it was not pretty, that his tongue was sticking out of his mouth and we can now go see him.  Nine years since we entered to see our Boy in a  body bag with his head exposed so we can see him. Nine Fucking years since the smell of death greeted us as we entered.  Nine years since we saw him dead. Nine years since I rubbed his head, felt his hair.  Nine years since I lost my Boy. Nine years since that Fucking Suicide Assaulted our Lives.

It may seem like a long time for people to understand that we should be over the grief by now. Suicide doesn't let you move. Maybe the grieving changes in how it is displayed but its there. It is lurking inside you. Just waiting to assault you. Waiting for a trigger. Waiting for your guard to be down. While you are out at a movie having fun and then it decides to hit you. Bam!  A young couple are sharing a moment and you think, that could be my Boy. He should be enjoying the everyday moments of life. He should not have had to kill himself. That is what happens. You don't chose to be sad hurt lonely.  It just comes out of the back of your mind, from your broken Spirit, your heart.  That is what happens. So please forgive me if I sound like a broken record, same old story, same of violin playing that sad song. The grief of Suicide has never left. It is now part of your being. It is who you are: the Dad who let his Son kill himself. The Dad who could not be there when his Son needed him most. That it has been nine fucking years and we can't forget and as long as we breathe we will never know the joy of a Boy living a Good Life. It hits you when you are watching the news. Some children dying in another foreign land. Some Boy, young man gets shot and killed. Some girl is murdered and dumped like trash. It seems that Suicide laughs at you. It says see how ugly it is out there? You sit here and pity yourself over one Fucking act?  You are such a pifyful fuck!  That is what suicide does. It lurks forever in your life. It surfaces just when you think you can laugh without guilt once again. It shows up at your kids birthdays. Your grandchildren fun days. Suicide just hangs around, waiting for its chance to slap you hard across the face. You see a photo of a good memory and suicide tries to sully that memory, tries hard to ruin it.

Tonight we will have our children over to hold a meal for our Boy. We won't talk about that day nine fucking years ago. We will enjoy the meal. We will converse with our Grandkids. We will act like suicide is not lurking and trolling around our home. We will keep a dish for our Boy. That is what we do. We tackle suicide by keeping our Boy alive in our home. We talk about how good our Boy is. We laugh at how beautiful of a Spirit he had when he was just a child. That is what we do.

Maybe tomorrow we will go visit the site where his body rests. We will take a few pictures to let us know we have not forgotten him and that we still and always will Love him. That he is in our Lives everyday. We don't forget him.

For us we don't see Donovan as the twenty year old young man, we see him as our Boy. That way he was when he was just a boy. When he was 7 years old blowing out the candles on his birthday cake. The way he was when he was riding his bike and running away from his older brother. The generousity he had to others and the kindness he showed. That is who our Boy is. Not just another young Native suicide.

We don't talk about him to solicite sorry or good wishes of condolences/sympathy  from anyone. It is quite embarssing really to get them. We know people mean well and that's nice. But We talk about him for us. To keep him alive. He lives with us. He lives around our home. In how we conduct ourselves. We talk about him because we can. There are people who are newly hurt that the grief is so fresh that they are numb. Those are the ones that need your comfort and your very good heart right now.

So keep your own children close to your hearts. It can't happen to us, is a cruel cliche. It can happen to anyone. That fucking suicide lurks around. Keep him away from your home. Once he enters, he is there forever and he is ugly.  Suicide attaches to the Living and its horrible.

So we battle Suicide everyday and we do that by always Loving our Boy.