Member-only story
My First Suicide
I never expected to lose a friend this way, especially not this one
It had been ten years, maybe fifteen, since anyone awakened me from a sound sleep. I felt my husband Doug's hand on my shoulder, shaking me into awareness.
"Denny," he said, "Wake up. Maya's dead."
I thought I was dreaming but knew I wasn't when I saw my husband's face. I'd only seen him cry a handful of times in 48 years. He was flat-out weeping. That's when I believed she was gone. But there was more to tell. Much more.
"She killed herself."
"What? No! Maya?"
It didn't seem possible that my earnest, funny, fearless friend had decided to die. I'd never known anyone more alive. No one embraced honesty, nature, joy, or the wonder of life on Earth more than she did. How could she give it up so soon? Why, Maya, why?
Maya was only 58. Her daughter was grown but not yet settled. An elementary teacher by trade, Maya would have loved grandchildren. She had so much to show them and share. Too chic to wear a "World's Greatest Grandma" sweatshirt, she would have given any of those who weren't a run for their money.
Experience has taught me to be wary of the word "love" when it comes to friends, but I loved Maya and knew she loved me…
