by Brynne Weaver
The thing about suicide is: everyone assumes everything was bad.
This assumption has bothered me for years. The day of my mom’s funeral – where the air was filled with an insurmountable heaviness, “So sorry, so terribly sorry, we never knew, we never thought….”
Yes, well. Neither did we.
My mom was extroverted, fun. She was loud, loved to laugh, and smoke and drink. She loved pranks. She loved her ’80s hair (long after the ’80s) and bright red lipstick. She loved us. She showered us daily in her love: … Read more...