His death put me on this path. His death changed me in ways I never thought could happen. I went really dark the first few months after. And in all honesty, some of that darkness remains. A friend of mine, also my so incredible tarot reader, told me once that we who have the brightest lights are often the ones that come through the darkest dark.
I’m beginning to forget how he said my name.
Guilt. I couldn’t save him. Suicide is funny like that. It leaves the survivors wondering what we could have done differently. We question the last conversations, those precious last moments. I’ve broken apart our interactions the final weekend for clues. As a healer, I failed in healing. One conversation repeatedly stands out. He said something. I felt something. I called him on it, he laughed. I shook it off. Guilt.
This isn’t about him.
This is about me. He chose to take himself out. I hate being that blunt about it but he did. And he didn’t care in that moment to think of someone else. Anyone else. Part of my healing has been to call him an asshole daily. It’s a piece of homework given by my teacher that I do. And now, more than a year after she gave it, I believe it most days. There is more healing for me to do.
I’m lucky. At some point, I realized I wanted to thrive. Not just to live. I don’t know what or how the catalyst kicked in, but it happened with the pull of Forrest Yoga. I’m luckier still because the universe – in all its power – and the Sacred Ones – those that have gone before with all of their knowledge – granted me passage. I don’t know if it was the fire from my dragon that put the spark of survival in me, but it burns brighter. I’m learning more and more about dragon magick. And I’m lucky to have another fire creature flying with me – the Phoenix. New birth. Fresh starts. Out of the ashes comes Beauty.
Out of this darkness come the brightest light.