It's 11/11/11.
It's major somehow, and yet at the same time, it's just another day.
I even missed my chance to wish at 11:11 am.
Fail at wishing.
Instead I am busy writing a letter to a dead girl.
A friend of mine is celebrating the birthday of her dead daughter. Had she not taken her own life as a teenager, she would have been 23-years-old today.
The loss of a child is something I cannot even imagine.
The loss of a child whose pain was so much so that she couldn't bear to live anymore? Heartbreaking.
My friend, J, takes her cards and presents and lays it at a little memorial.
So I write.
I write for my friend a letter to her daughter, and hope that J can somehow take comfort in knowing that there are people who are thinking of her daughter even though she is gone.
The way we mourn for our own is different for everyone.
I do not speak to the dead. For me they are too far beyond my reach for them to even hear what I have to say.
These gestures, of memorials and letters and gifts are to bring us comfort. They are for us to make sure we never forget. These words are for the living.
And so I write.
But maybe, with whatever magic is at at play today, my message might get through somehow.
hey, where is the rec button? It's true, all of what you say here. All the rituals are for the aggrieved, to find solace somehow. I am very sorry to hear about your friend's loss. Death is hard enough as it is but death by one's own hands is unimaginable for the loved ones left behind. I hope magic will take your message, and help heal the ones who went as well as the ones are are left behind. Thanks for sharing with me.
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