A young lady took her life. I know you want to ask why. Don’t.
You are probably going to give 1000 reasons why no sane person should consider it. There’s so many reasons to live, right? Don’t.
You want to call her an inconsiderate coward. How dare she leave her two little children, 4 and 6 with no explanation. How dare she? Don’t.
You want to rewind time somehow, maybe get to know her, give her some hope, maybe, just maybe you could have talked her out of it. Don’t.
The other day she said she wanted to die, that she hated life and you laughed. So hard. Aren’t we in this adulting thing together, you asked. Was it true that she had dared to go into the water without actually knowing how to swim, you asked. Yes, she said. And oh how you laughed. Both of you. Oh how we like to find humor in everything. It’s how this life thing works, right?
Last night you got a call. She overdosed. The young lady took her life.
You are numb. You sit at her vigil tonight and watch. Watch them whisper in the corner, they say she was possessed. A spiritual death this one. Listen to them negotiate for a cleric. They say their God doesn’t listen to prayers for the unclean deaths. How can they be seen at such a burial? Of the young lady who took her life? Blasphemy! They say. You catch a glimpse of her father, somber but not one tear falls, much unlike his wife whose wails have turned into muffled sobs. His friends come around. How could your daughter do this, they ask. He shakes his head and kisses his teeth. Children, he sighs sounding more sorry for himself, whatever got into her.
A young lady took her life. She was possessed, they say. An army officer shot his family, took his life. What shall we do about these guns, we ask.
A young lady took her life.