The story is true (some details omitted for privacy); the names are fake.
Content Warning: Suicide
You may not know this, but I saw “Ezra” the day before. I was cutting through the supermarket parking lot on my way to the nail salon, and he was walking towards the supermarket, so I rolled down my window and waved. I knew you’d just gotten home from the hospital.
JYP: Hey, how are you? How’s Joyce doing?
Ezra (gesturing across the street to the drugstore): Ok. She’s in the pharmacy now, picking up prescriptions.
JYP: Do you need meals or anything? My sister’s wedding is this weekend, so I’m not around, but I’ll be back Monday afternoon. I could bring over a meal on Monday evening.
I meant it. I’d taken the following Monday off because of the wedding weekend. I knew I would be back home with enough time for grocery shopping and prepping a simple comfort food dinner. Baked ziti or shepherd’s pie, that sort of thing. I’m not a great cook, but I can boil pasta as well as the next person. I was already mentally putting together a grocery shopping list.
Anyway, Ezra said “Maybe, check in on Monday”, and then we said goodbye.
I thought about dropping by the drugstore and saying hi to you. But it seemed weird to meet someone in a drugstore on a busy Friday afternoon. It was weird to do this even before COVID.
Also, I really needed to get a manicure and get to the hotel for the wedding weekend. So I drove to the nail salon. I figured I had time.
The pre-wedding segment of the weekend was great. Saturday was spent seeing all the family members coming in before the big day on Sunday. Catching up with cousins, enjoying dinner with brother-in-law-to-be’s family, celebratory drinks at the hotel bar on Saturday night.
I woke up Sunday morning at 5:30 AM for hair and makeup (we bridesmaids had to be at the salon at 6 AM). I checked my email out of habit. And I saw the email Ezra sent from your email address to all your friends. The email informing us that you had killed yourself.