In Memory of Lizzy

Lizzy has passed during the  night. As it turns out, she overdosed on antidepressants. She battled with depression. Had I been closer, I probably would have known that but FB only shows the outside of people. I had no idea. It's heartbreaking.


Her poor, poor son. I was his age when I lost my father to suicide. They're of course not mentioning that it was suicide on social media for his sake. But one day he'll find out, and he'll spend the rest of his life asking "what if".


It is rare when you meet someone with whom you immediately know that you're able to be yourself -  unguarded, vulnerable and genuine. She was so free. With her compassion, her love, her caring, her empathy. She'd post weekend morning pictures of her son and his friends (of all races) hanging out in their living room. I swear I could smell the pancakes and feel the coziness just from those images. It was a house filled with love and warmth.


I've learned from this that life - time - is precious. It's so precious, and depression is real. None of us talk openly about it because so much shame still exists. We're so afraid of being pitied or being seen as "less than". We're so afraid to admit thoughts of suicide. Thoughts of loneliness. That has got to change. This world is moving so fast that sometimes it's hard to keep up. We have to do, do, do and be, be, be everything at once in order to be happy, pay bills, be successful, etcetera. I don't believe we were meant for this speed. We're losing ourselves in that process.


I want to take time to look around.  I want to know where I'm rushing to, and what I'm trying to keep up with. I want to start taking care of my self. I want to tell people how much I care about them. I want to slow down enough to notice how the other people in this world around me are really feeling.


I don't want Lizzy's death to be in vain. There is a lesson in everything and definitely one in this.