It was only once I understood the grieving process and why my reactions were the way they were, that I was finally able to heal, make peace and move on. I understood that it was ok to let the pain go. I accepted that living a happy and productive life didn’t mean that I loved or missed Matt any less.

To cap off the process, I created my own sort of funeral ceremony to finally say goodbye to Matt and release the pain I had been feeling. This was done just a few days before the seventh anniversary of his death.  Here is what I wrote in my journal then:

On Sunday I made a pilgrimage to the bridge. I tried to go with Matt’s dad, but we could never hook up. I’ve found in the past that when I go by myself, I get numb, and need other people there with me for the visit to have any meaning.

I listened to my “Matt CD” in the car on the way up there. I made it not long after he died, and it’s a compilation of different songs that had meaning then. They used to remind me a lot of that time right after- songs about not jumping, about not being able to let go, about not being able to see above the pain…

I couldn’t listen to most of them. They just don’t speak to me anymore. I was surprised at how agitated I got skipping over them. There’s only a few I actually listened to– Fire and Rain by James Taylor, 1000 Oceans by Tori Amos, If I Wrote You by Dar Williams and I’m Movin On by Rascal Flatts.

I brought eight roses with me. I tied seven to the freshly-painted railing, and tossed one into the water. I wrote Matt’s name and dates on the railing with a sharpie.

Then I had a long “talk” with Matt. I told him I loved him, I thanked him for sharing so much of his life with me. I told him I was sorry for the times I wasn’t there for him, the times I made him feel bad, for not helping to make his last few months as good as they could have been.

I didn’t apologize for not telling an adult about his talking about wanting to jump. I know that I did what I thought was best at the time. If I told someone, and Matt jumped anyway, would anyone be better off? Matt would still be dead, I would still be heartbroken, and that person would carry the same guilt that I have these many years.

Then I told him I had to say goodbye. I told him that I couldn’t go on living my life as a martyr to his memory. I thought I was paying tribute to his life by giving up so much of my own, but in reality I was just tarnishing what was left of them both. I told him I would always love him, but I couldn’t be trapped in this grief any more.

Then I took off the necklace I’ve been wearing for years. It has Matt’s name on one side, and the date 10-7-97 on the other. I wanted to throw it into the river, but I was afraid. I knew it wasn’t the tribute I had intended it to be, that it was a shackle that bound me to a place full of pain and regret. Still, I wondered if, by tossing it into the river, I was demonstrating the same carelessness with something I once found so valuable, as Matt did with his life. I didn’t want to regret tossing it. I didn’t want to wish I had it back.

Finally, I kissed it and watched it fall into the water below. I started thinking I should time it, so I would know how long Matt’s fall really was, but I stopped myself. Instead, I just absorbed the beauty of the sun glistening off the water and the gold until it just disappeared.

I never shed a tear.

In the car afterwards, I did a lot of thinking about how I got to the point where I could do that, and my conclusion was twofold. I had 1,000 Oceans playing in the car, and the lyrics were, “These tears I’ve cried, I’ve cried 1,000 oceans…..and I cry would 1,000 more, if that’s what it takes to sail you home.”

That part is true. I would do anything to sail Matt home. But I had to come to the realization that just because I would do it doesn’t mean I can. I think there is a part of me that was always hoping for a do over. I had to let that part go.

The other realization is what a gift my life today is. I made a post back in April about all the things Matt is missing out on- he’ll never fall in love or get married, he’ll never wear a cap and gown or make a car payment.

But I can. Every day I live is one more that he didn’t. It’s one more chance to do all the things that he never did.

I am so incredibly blessed to have such a wonderful family and amazing friends. I have experienced more love from them than I ever dreamed possible. When I have to choose between wallowing in the pain of one very bad decision by one person, or soaking up the absolute overabundance of love that surrounds me, I’d be a fool not to choose the latter.