I still feel awful. And mostly, its just been a feeling like I'm going to be sick, all day. But I never get sick, just continue to feel awful. She's gone.
Emily killed herself last Friday, and I can't even make up my mind how to feel about it. It's so hard to decide between angry, upset, depressed, guilty, exhausted, disappointed, crazy, and just plain red-hot pissed.
Troupe (the improvisation group I was in at MTU) has always been like family for me, and it always will be. I don't think I'm alone in this, I think most of us feel the same way. Even when I meet Troupers that I've never met before, it's like meeting your 2nd cousin Naomi or your great uncle Greg, there's an incredible bond that is just there because of the shared experience. And I know I would do anything to help another Trouper that needed me. Even years now after leaving, I'm still very close to many of the people I was in Troupe with, talking regularly and getting together.
But it had been many months since the last I'd spoken to Emily, and even that was too short. A friend of mine once said that it's never too late to write. That there's always a chance to catch up again, and you should just keep trying. But that's not true, because now it is too late. I won't get a chance to talk to her again, to hug her again, to cast her in a play to talk dirty because I knew she couldn't get embarrassed.
Emily was a lot of fun. She had an energy that was contagious, and to be honest, some days a lack of energy that was contagious too. She was fiercely honest and independent and demanding, and she expected no less from herself than she did from others. She loved music (especially the Beatles) and troupe and being incredibly silly. She was very good at all of them. In Troupe and out, I was glad for the time I had with her. Some days she made me laugh, some days she made me think, and some days she pissed me off. But she has never made me as angry as I feel right now. We were all out here, and we would have loved to hear from her and we wanted to tell her how much she was loved, how much she was wanted. Dammit, Kerby! Pick up the phone, write an email, something!
But she didn't, couldn't maybe. And I didn't either. And I don't know at all if it would have made a difference, but God how I wish I would have tried anyway. Maybe a short note from a friend was what she needed at a vulnerable time. I was shocked this morning, but maybe not surprised. Emily had never been completely stable, always on one edge or another, but always bouncing back. When I wrote my play, "Thunder Only Happens..." she helped me to critique it, and offered her perspective on how suicidal people feel. We talked about it a bit, but not enough. There is a universe of pain, built out of things left unsaid.
So, you, I'm talking to you reader. Listen to me. Say it. Tell the people you love, make them feel it. Maybe it won't make a difference, maybe we can't stop the road from ending, maybe its just words, but say it, say it, say it.
I love you, Em. I wish I'd said it more often. I wish so many things, and they're all useless now. "The only Emperor is the Emperor of ice cream." I love you, Em, and I miss you.
I was holding up okay until you posted her picture.
God speed, Emily. Peace.
C-.
Ok.
You nailed on the head ish. I wish I would have written more. Called more. Always meaning to, but nevering doing.
I had thought through what I was going to post in the comment to say about her. I just can't get the words out. She was special. In all the good ways that special can mean. She carried so much pain and wish there had been some other way to remove that burden. Share that burden. Maybe she would still be here gracing us with her smile and quick sharp wit.
When you felt down, she was always there with a hug. Well where is my hug now?
Aaron out.
It takes me a long time to wade through the shock of most large emotional events that I am unprepared for. I'm still in shock, though I shed a few tears yesterday reading through people's comments on the Troupe list, and this morning reading through yours. I just can't articulate at this point. Just numb and hollow. It's hard not to feel guilty; even a little bit.
end of line
[When she lived in Midland and you lived in Midland, did you look her up?] No. [Even once?] No.
[Did you have any plans to see her again?] No plans. Things would work out. They always do. [Right.]
[Do you feel guilty?] No. [Do you feel angry?] No. [Do you feel sad?] No.
[Where is it, andy?] Where's what? [Where's that sense of Republican smug condecension?] Shut up. [Someone who kills themself is unfit, right?] Not Emily. [No use feeling sad, she did it to herfelf.] Shut up.
I am so greatful for every second of my life. Even the incredibly vast number of them that I waste. Even though I very much doubt that there is anyone to be grateful to. Even... .. ... . so, why... [I thought you don't feel sad.] I don't. [Then stop crying.]
I know that there are people, who will be reading this, that have stopped talking to those they once loved [still love] because of things that have happend and things that have not happened. I'm going to say it as calmly as I can:
WHAT IN THE GODDAMN FUCKING HELL ARE YOU THINKING!?! ARE YOUMAD!? I HAVE NEWS FOR YOU. PEOPLE ARE ALL YOU'VE GOT INTHIS LIFE THAT CAN GIVE YOU ANY GENUINE SORT OF FULFILMENT AND YOU SPEND YOUR ENTIRE LIFE LOSING THEM. WHY ARE YOU DOING IT ON PURPOSE!?!!
[I thoght you didn't feel mad.] I don't. [Then stop screaming at the screen.]
[Don't end it like that.] [Please.] Why not? [Emily deserves something better than this.] She deserved something better when she was alive; I didn't provide that either. [I thought you didn't feel guilty.] That would be irrational. [Yes.]
pain, hurt, anger, sorrow, grief, fear, sheepish, empty, hollow, dead. Can words really ever explain how we feel? what we are actually feeling at the time? I love emily so much, just like the rest of you, and I hate her so much at the same time. How could she do this to her? I hate us, how could we have let this happened to a fellow trouper? We were all so far, and so close at the same time. I feel guilty that I never tried to call, maybe that would have helped. I like chucks aim list idea, everyone should send him that info, then we can try to stay together, talk like we should, be the family that we are.I'm crying so hard I can't even see the keyboard anymore. sorry if my typing goes to hell. I think I;m just kind of rambling now, just trying to get out this feeling in me that woun't go away. It just hurts, and it won't stop, I don't want it to stop, I just want emily back damnit.she left, she didn't say goodbye, she just left, and we will never get to talk to her again, never hear her laugh. Never get to play what you doing with her again.never get to see her shoot milk or pop out oher nose at the dinner table. oh god, I am starting to remember.
I keep thinking about Emily saying "I just want to have fun!" and an entire troupe shouting "Run Around! Run Around!"
Love ya Emily
Miss you kirby
be well
I didn't know Emily well, though we shared several mutual friends. Therein lies the guilt; why did I never take the time? Could I have made a difference in her life? I've never felt that I've failed more than I do right now.
I want to share my own story with all of you now. Please bear with me; I do not mean to take away from Emily's memory in any way, but I feel I must DO SOMETHING. I hope that in sharing this tale, I may make a difference, however small, in someone's life. Emily's tragic passing has finally given me the courage to speak.
Most of you that know me know that I'm an alcoholic. It may not surprise you to know that I've also had times when I was very suicidal. Many alcoholics take comfort in the thought that alcoholism is a disease. Everyone is different, but in my case, I believe the alcoholism is more a symptom of deeper problems than the other way around.
I'm grateful for being an recovering alcoholic. But never before have I been more grateful. If my problems hadn't manifested in alcoholism and its ensuing non-lethal consequences (jail, loss of license, etc.) I may not be here today. And here comes the guilt again; why was I "lucky" enough to be an alcoholic and Emily was not?
But, I'm digressing. In my dark days, I was intensely afraid to express my feelings to anyone. Most of the time, I think I did a good job of appearing normal. Society seems to put such a stigma on openly expressing our feelings, good or bad. So it all got bottled up inside until I couldn't handle it any more. Eventually, I just wanted it all to end. I never was able to pull the trigger (literally), though, because the thought of what it would do to my loved ones if I did. And yet, I still could not talk to them about it. I'd be bad, shunned, no one would want to know me if they knew what was going through my head.
It deeply pains me to know that Emily was probably going through something similar at the same time I was, in Houghton, just a few blocks away. If only I had reached out.
Ish, Magnus, would it surprise you to learn that while you were sitting upstairs at the South Ave. house, that I was downstairs with a shotgun stuck in my mouth? I'm not trying to place any blame or guilt on you personally; it's just an example of how our damn society works. We don't speak of such things. It made me angry to read Emily's obit and the comments in associated guest book, that no mention was made of why/how she died. Like her suicide means there was something wrong with her. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her; there's something wrong with US!
It wasn't until after I went through my second drunk driving conviction, some jail time, and losing my license that I realized how much people actually cared about me--friends and family. The outpouring of support was wonderful and helped me dramatically change my life. But, it took a traumatic event for this to happen.
I certainly don't have a solution, but Martina McBride's song "Love's the only house" keeps going through my head (yeah, I know it's hokey country music). Best I can say is to let everyone you care about know how you feel, and take the time to listen. It may be uncomfortable, but it may do more good than you realize. A few months ago I went through the breakup with my girlfirend of 2.5 years (and fiancee), and some people I talked with about it tried to change the subject when I started talking about how I felt. They were well-meaning; they wanted to cheer me up. But what I really needed was someone to listen and to cry on their shoulders.
I'm not a very spiritual person, but I do believe that some good comes out of everything that happens. To that end, I want to say that if any one of you needs someone to talk to, I'm here. It doesn't matter how much or how little we know each other, contact me night or day. My number is listed; Kurt LaFrance in Jackson, MI. Or email kklafran@ameritech.net. I'll listen, and I won't think any less of you no matter what you have to say. There's a good chance I've experienced something like what you're going through. I may not have any good advice, but I'll listen and support you as well as I can.
There's so much more I want to say, but it just won't coalesce into coherent thoughts.
I hope, maybe, maybe, I'll make a difference with my ramblings here, and maybe, maybe, that will bring the tiniest bit of meaning to Emily's senseless death.
Emily, I hardly knew you, but I love you.