Today is Michael’s birthday. He would have been 29 years old. I think of that kid every day, but days like today are particularly difficult. They shouldn’t be, I suppose. After all, other people have birthdays today. In fact, another friend of ours has her birthday today. And while I can be happy for Stacy, I can’t ignore the sadness that I feel from not having Michael here.
There are so many things wrong with suicide. The loss that it leaves, the pain that precedes it, just the whole damn thing.
I’ve never felt anger or blame for Michael or anyone else who struggles with sadness, depression, or suicidal thoughts. I feel compassion for the pain that I believe they are experiencing. As a human (and as his father), I feel a deep need to try to remove the pain and lift the burden.
There isn’t much else I can write today. I am just missing my boy.