My saddest day

I hadn't thought about my experiences on July 15, 2000, in a direct way in a long time. My conversation last night caused me to remember what happened. I was at Chalutzim at OSRUI that year, and I received a letter. At first I thought it was from my beloved, but it was from her parents. I remember the stamp held an image of the American flag. I remember reading how sorry they were that this was the only way to reach me, the only way to tell me, and that "their son" had committed suicide. They had found my love on July 12, dressed in a suit and tie, on the floor. It was too late. They knew that we had been close and considered me like family.

There was no way not to believe them. But I also could not deal with it properly. I wanted to run away from the news. I felt that if I could just get far enough away from that piece of paper doom it would go away. I ran from Chalutzim to Tiferet to search one of my former counselors (I did not feel I could trust the Chalutzim madrichim). I found one of my all-time favorite counselors who asked me what was wrong.

I remember saying, "She's dead. She's dead." I was sobbing by that point.

"I'm sorry. Who was she?"

"My life," I said. I'm not sure if I had ever put it in those terms before, and I'm not sure if he understood what I meant. He helped me calm down a little, and I think I told him then that she was "a good friend" of mine and a little bit more about her.

He helped me calm down, but by the end of the conversation, I was angry at her, and remained so for a long time. How could she have done this to me? (Clearly, she had never really loved me.)

I guess this was the start of my grieving process for her.