What I’m grateful for has changed
dramatically since you died.
I am grateful for odd things
most people never think of.
I count it as a blessing that you
chose to kill yourself where you’d
be easily found; that the method
you used wasn’t bloody,
but just as sure and swift.
I am grateful for the time I had with
your body, while you were still
the “you” I love, and not some awful shell.
I thank God that the coroner could see
the cause of death and did a “visual autopsy”,
rather than cut you apart.
I’ve seen autopsies before and never want
anyone I love to go through that.
When you were cut up,
it was to give pieces of yourself,
so other people might have the life
you were so burdened by.
Somewhere, people rejoice,
while we cry.
Blind can see now,
because of your eyes.
Somewhere your heart beats,
I am grateful I was there,
at your birth,
as well as your death –
to welcome you,
then say “goodbye”.
I love that I really knew you;
that you weren’t a casual acquaintance,
but as if you were my other son
and for 24 sweet years I had you.
Most of all, I am grateful
that it hurt so many people
when you took your life,
because it meant that you had
lots of love while it mattered.
I only wish your illness
let you see how much.