Picking up the Pieces: Suicide, “Monsters,” and Hope for the Future

It was a Sunday afternoon in August and I had just finished eating a piece of banana bread with coffee to celebrate the $8,000 goal I reached as a part of the pre-launch campaign for my book, Good Enough.

I sat in awe, overwhelmed by all of the love and support I received from others and thought to myself, This is finally happening. My dream is coming true. I’m going to be a published author.

Before continuing my day of celebration, I decided to check the emails I’d abandoned while finishing up the campaign. In it, there was a message from my friend Kyle that read this:

“Idk if ya care anymore but thanks beyond. Best to ya Car.”

Attached to the email was a song called Follaton Woods by Ben Howard and I instantly knew my friend was not okay. Moments later, I received a message from his sister asking if I had heard from Kyle. She said he had gone missing and nobody knew where he was.

The next day I found out he killed himself. Never in my life have I been so wrecked. Never in my life have I been so devastated.

I never understood why those left to pick up the pieces of a suicide felt guilt. It was that person’s choice, I’d say. Nothing was going to stop them…they had it made up in their mind.

But then I — along with many others — was left to pick up the pieces of my friend, and all I could think was, This is my fault.