If Nick had died in an accident, or from cancer or something, would it be easier to deal with? Or understand?
I've only known one other person that committed suicide, and that was back in high school. I wasn't really close to him. I mean, we were friends. We were lab partners in photography, and while it was hard not having him in class after he died, I think it was easier to deal with because we had such a strong support system. I think we all helped each other through it, and it helped having people around that knew exactly what I was feeling because they were feeling the exact same thing for the most part.
Another friend attempted suicide in college, but was found in time. Thank God. And while I think she still suffers from depression, I don't think that she would ever put her family and friends through that again. At least I hope not since she has a husband and 2 children...
Back to the original thought of this entry- would I have all these questions if the circumstances surrounding his death were different? Would I still feel so guilty? Confused? Frustrated? Angry? There are times when I slip back into denial. Like I'll start to convince myself that he's not dead, that that was not him in the casket. Like he's Elvis or something... Boy, would he love that. He was an Elvis fanatic. I've never been a big Elvis fan, but his love for all things Elvis was one of his most endearing qualities. He had two Elvis pictures in his bathroom, and one of them was in front of the toilet. I used to give him a hard time and tell him that Elvis watched me when I was in the bathroom. He would grab me and throw me on the bed and tickle me, which would usually lead to other "stuff" and he'd tell me that Elvis could have only been so lucky.
He never cared what I looked like. Whether or not I had makeup on. how much weight I had gained since the last time I saw him. He always told me that he was so lucky to have me, and that he didn't deserve me, or my love. One of the last things he said to me the last time I saw him in July was, "You are so damn sexy, Darlin'." I was walking in front of him about to get into the elevator at the hotel. I turned around and he was blushing because he had kind of said it under his voice and I guess he didn't think I could hear him. Now, I could have maybe understood it if I had made any kind of an effort that morning, but I was prepared for an 8 hour car ride to Alabama so I was not looking my best. That picture of us, that was that morning. I had gotten out of the shower, thrown on minimal makeup, pulled my hair back while it was still wet, put on that cap, and was wearing jeans and a white sleeveless shirt. And that "Darlin'" part?
Made me melt. Everytime. That was his nickname for me. It wasn't necessarily the word, so much as it was the way he said it. I'd give anything to have that recorded somewhere so I could hear it again. I do have three messages saved that he'd left on my answering machine about two years ago... I don't know why I saved them, but I would listen to them before I'd go to bed almost everynight that I didn't actually talk to him. From the first time we talked on the phone, I knew that I wanted that voice to be the first I heard when I woke up, and the last I heard before I went to sleep.