I once wrote you a long letter saying how I really didn’t want you to choose your own adventure with a gun.

I have a weird thing where my brain constantly floods me with imagery regarding how people look when they die. Movies, crime documentaries, a news story, a photo of a friends loved one, living or not, I can see it.

It’s not because I am a paramedic. This has been since I was young. Maybe it’s some weird form of clairvoyance or something.

You really listened to my concerns, you understood, and you tried your best. We had morbidly frank conversations about helium, driving, and all options possible. I still laugh when I remember you texting your old acquaintance asking for heroin because “you wanted to kill yourself and your daughter suggested that” (thanks for that lol, but it did leave us with no options and get you to the hospital for your miracle news). As ridiculous as that entire time was, it gave me peace knowing that you had all of the chances you asked for and still chose your own path. I’m happy you made an informed decision. Also, it was a divine miracle that cannot be explained.

I know you wanted to make sure when you chose that it was a final choice. No possibility of being a vegetable, no suffering, no mistakes.

When I wouldn’t return your property you purchased the biggest baddest shotgun for a reason.

I understand your choice, i knew it was only a matter of time, you warned me, we talked about it. While I thought I was managing the imagery ok, this last week it has deeply upset me.

As a medic I’ve never seen anything like this. Yes a gunshot to the chest sure, but nothing like a shotgun to the head.

My husband gathered your things so I didn’t even have to see the room.

But I am constantly imagining it. I’m sure the reality was even more horrific.

Where did your glasses go.

Why at the table.

I know it was planned for days, but the decision in the actual moment was quick.

We’re you listening to music? Why was your phone using data that day. Did you cry before? Did you think of me? Did you say “goodbye chubley”? Did you think of me or was that thought to painful? Would that thought have stopped you? What we’re you last moments like on this earth

I’ve learned more about the situation, but I’ll never know enough. I’ll never know if you got my emails saying I love you.

We weren’t speaking. I believe this was for a bigger reason. I hope you got those emails. I hope you knew how much I love you. I know you knew before, and I hope you understood my silence was to protect myself from hurting.

Your phone was the best goodbye. You couldn’t say it, but you said it in so many ways by leaving me a wonderful thoughtful life of our memories that you neatly organized and presented in your phone for me.

I don’t know how I am going to get over this imagery. I don’t know when I will stop wondering and searching for more answers or insight.

How do I erase an image I’ve never seen.

I know you tried your best for me.

These images have no impact on my memories and love for you.

I just need to find a way to stop my imagination.

I’ll try my best for you.

Writing this has helped.