The Chancellor died. This impacts me because it is my job to write letters for the Chancellor. But also because she died when she jumped from a tall building, and my brother died when he jumped from a bridge, and oh that is really, really bad. I know how it hurts to hear the news, and I know about the shock, and the lying awake crying/thinking about it/wondering why or how it could have been stopped, and the hating everybody who makes a stupid comment and hating friends who look terrified and embarrassed by my emotional displays or who just disappear, and the sense of unreality that goes on for years and eventually gives way to a new reality that is maybe not as sad as the initial grief but will always be at least somewhat sad because it’s the “after” reality, as in after the person I loved (still love) committed suicide. That is, maybe they did. Probably. How do we ever know for sure if they did it on purpose? Were they one hundred percent sure about that decision?

People, as in casual observers, say a lot of ignorant shit. Some people laugh. Some people get angry. Some people say, ‘well, they were miserable anyway…” When it was my family’s tragedy, I was wounded by so many people’s reactions that it didn’t seem worthwhile to reveal anything, after a while. Why sign up for a crash course on the magnitude of human ignorance? Best to hide and protect the fragile core. But what a lonely life that becomes. Just a lot of reading and writing and crying and waiting to feel better. And hating, as I mentioned before.

It’s not my heartbreak this time. I’m sad about Denice Denton’s death, but not devastated the way her loved ones are. This means I can hear/read people’s remarks and witness their reactions with detachment (now that the first few days have passed). I’m surprised to find that this is helping me forgive many of the people who hurt me through their carelessness after I lost Josh. Since I’m not in that awful position of feeling like I’ve been eviscerated, I have the ability to discern actual nuances in the responses I see around me. There’s confusion, and panic, and a touch of hysteria. Life seems ridiculous. I’ve felt all of these things, and found myself laughing uncontrollably and totally inappropriately, over the past few days. Maybe that’s why other people laugh, too. Or why they say it’s better this way. News of a suicide is a roadblock in our everyday understanding of life. How to get around it? Everybody’s got a different method. Make a joke. Blame somebody. Try to sound clever. Declare a political position. What is this crazy thing that has happened? How can we categorize and sanitize it? I really can’t fault people for having such impulses, now that I’ve had them myself.

It’s a relief to forgive. Makes me want to get in touch with some people, see how they’re doing. I thought I could never be close again to anyone who just didn’t get it when I was the most traumatized, but I could have been wrong about that. Maybe I wasn’t hurt by their words (or lack thereof) as much as I thought. Maybe I was just hurt.

We’ll see what happens. I’m still a weirdo who needs lots of solitude. But there’s a chance I might not be so angry anymore.

My condolences and best wishes go out to everyone who loved Denice, especially her family. I hope you find strength in each other, and I hope you meet with many kind friends who understand that what you are feeling is not a condition to be cured but rather the evidence of your undying love.