The morgue

It's not that I'd forgotten about the morgue.

Forgotten is not the right word. I still remember how it felt, late in the afternoon, after we'd contacted all the hospitals, bugged the police multiple times, and had run out of ideas on where to look and call, when Nick suggested we contact the morgue.  The morgue.

Who calls the morgue to find their dad?

And then we did. And then we had our answer. And it was a million times worse than driving around making calls.

So it's not that I have forgotten, but rather that I no longer think about it all the time. It doesn't live just beneath the surface of my skin anymore.

Time is healing, therapy is healing, but neither erase.

Sometimes I am more equipped to remember than others.

The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention is hosting a community walk on the Mall this Saturday to raise funds and awareness. I will be away, visiting a friend I haven't seen in 15 years. Otherwise I'd be walking. Nick and my mom will be walking in memory of my dad.

Also, the AFSP hosts walks on various dates all over the country.

If suicide or mental illness has touched your life, and you want to walk with an incredibly supportive group of people, you should join. Registration is free.