Letter #1 - July 31st, 2024
Hi Alex,
Today I woke up thinking of you. We haven’t talked in a while. I’m turning 40 in September. Birthdays continue to feel weird since you died. Next year, I’m going to catch up to you. I’ll be your age, when you decided to take your life. Time is something else now that I don’t quite understand. Three years feel like a lifetime and yesterday all together.
I took your black Ciele running cap and I use it backwards, just like you did. I started running as well. Who would have thought? I heard it strengthens the heart and mine has been through the wringer. I didn’t know you could experience so much pain and not die. I figured your body would shut down to protect you. But I don’t fight the pain anymore. Somehow, I learned to live with it, although it has certainly changed me. Now I understand your pain better and much of the pain I see in this world. The biggest challenge has been reconnecting with joy, beauty, and all the goodness in the world. But I’m getting there. My sense of humor remains intact though, maybe sassier, and even darker at times. That year that you died, I dressed up as a widow for Halloween. All dressed in black with a cried-out make up effect. You’d have gotten a kick out of it.
I wonder whether our cat Nimbus has been keeping you company. I didn’t expect for him to die too and when he did, my world went dark. It was different from when you died. I felt like someone had severed a part of my body. I can’t even look at pictures of him. But I hope that one day, like an octopus, I’ll be able to grow back the part of me that died with him.
Dating has been interesting, especially when my date asks about my previous relationship. I never know what to answer, how honest I should be. Did you know that there are men in Vancouver who don’t like the beach? Weirdos, I know. I still remember our bike rides to Jericho Beach. We had so much fun that summer. I never imagined there'd be no second summer for us. “What’s the rush? We have our whole lives ahead of us?” You used to say. Did you know deep down there was a chance you could leave? You broke so many promises to me and sometimes I wonder whether I’d move into that house with you if I knew what was coming my way. “Good luck telling Paula what to do,” you used to tell people. It’s true. I would’ve done it anyway. Because this experience felt wrong and right at the same time. Like I was supposed to be there by your side so I could tell our story.
I borrowed your tattoo idea and got the words “Stand Tall” tattooed right below my knees. It keeps reminding me to face this life with courage, grace, integrity, and compassion. People often tell me how brave I am, but there was no other option than to face it head on. The only way out was through. I learned that from watching you struggle. I learned that from your mistakes. There’s no such thing as burying the pain.
Writing was the only way I found to keep myself alive these years. I remember you wanted to write a book about your life, all your crazy stories. I ended up writing a book about mine. Your death is the first chapter. I’m scared to put it out there, terrified to be completely honest. But I remember how reluctant you were to share how you were feeling with others, how you felt you had to keep it a secret. I once heard that silence cannot protect you and that if you don’t acknowledge your pain, you might lose your soul. Sometimes I wonder whether you were dead before you even killed yourself.
There’s a lot in that book that you won’t like. You might be furious at me for some time, just like I was when you left me behind. But remember that I wrote this book to break the silence, to set us free, to find peace. Because all I ever wanted was for you to be okay.
Let’s chat again soon.
Love,
Paula
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