the stories of other people

they miss you, dear lucia

SUICIDE TRIGGER WARNING
SUICIDE TRIGGER WARNING
SUICIDE TRIGGER WARNING

orever is way too short, today is way too long

The moment I saw the straight line, my heart sank, down and down into an abyss. I thought I was prepared for it.

Yet my expression hunched up in terror, and my voice trembled. Faint whimpers turned into soft weeps, then into simple tears. I clenched the worn-out blankets, grasping for one last hope. My eyes gazed at her for one moment of silence, and I noticed her usual bronzed cheeks were bloodless and grey.

I started bawling mindlessly.

Somewhere during the wailing, there were people desperately attempting to soothe me. My hands were covering my vision and my tears, but I could feel hands patting my slouched back in reassurance. Words were spoken, but I was deaf to them. All I could sense was the sound of the machine - making a continuous, monotone signal that a life ended - and the feeling of loss.

After releasing every emotion I felt, everything I regretted, my body sat up from my slouched position. I raised my hand to graze her open palm with my fingers, feeling the smoothness of her skin. Her familiar perfume wafted in the air, amongst the unfamiliar scent of medicine.

She was perfectly fine! I wanted to protest, but it was left unvoiced. 

Nevertheless, it was not Lucia Federmann’s fate to leave at the tender age of thirty-five. She was a lively, healthy housewife with a long future. She had no children, yes, but there were people she loved. Who loved her.

Didn't she know that?

And now that she was gone, where is that love going to end up?

A hand gently placed itself on my shoulder, and my body stiffened a little. I turned my head ever so slightly, and the nurse’s eyes locked with mine. Hers were full of empathy, but she had obviously seen this happen more than a dozen times. How can she fully understand the people who rarely entered the clinics to deal with a death of a loved one? By their own hands?

But that's not for me to say.

With that thought, I brushed her hand off, and stood up, turning on my heel.

“I’ll be leaving.” My face wore a wry smile as I glanced at the nurse. “Thank you for your time,” I added. I shifted my vision to the sliding door, and with heavy, loud footsteps amongst the silent atmosphere, I exited the ward.

I sighed after I closed the door, and drifted my vision to the corridor, where Paulo awaited - his forehead resting on the wall with his eyes shut, as if contemplating or in meditation.

Understandable enough, I thought. Paulo Federmann had every right to sulk. In these circumstances, I would allow him to mope for approximately three days. Of course, being the spouse of Lucia, his grief might have been on a similar height to mine.

A little over five years had passed since their marriage. While they had many challenges together like different interests and values that imperiled its continued existence, they both adored each other overall. That is why this was so sudden.

A sad ending, but it was simply too uncalled for me or anybody to prevent it…

None of us knew how she felt.

A fine husband, Paulo was. A tenacious pilot called “intimidating” by some, his height easily over six feet contributed to that. He had kept him and Lucia afloat with no concern for finance and security, and his bulky figure was still overwhelming. 

I sighed. Paulo gradually opened his eyes.

Look at him now.

The corners of his eyes were clearly red, dark eyebags could be seen that were not visible previously. The collar of his shirt was stained wet - he had been crying without stop.

I must have a similar look on my face.

Dear Lucia, why did you leave us? Don't you know we care about you? What went through your head, causing you so much despair?

Those are always the questions, aren't they? 

-

I'm sure a lot of us have someone we lost to suicide. I consider Lucia Federmann as that someone in everyone's story. No matter the age, situation, wealth, whatever.

Well. I wroted this thinking of someone I lost. And I'm sure he left partly because of me. I screwed up. Bad.

Everyday, I think to myself - Why did I say that? When it so clearly would hurt his feelings?

I can't change the past, but I can treasure its memories. I miss you, man. I hope you're okay. I'm sorry.

larkin