A few years after my uncle had died of cancer my aunt began dating again. She met a guy she really liked, a fun companion and a good partner, and for around 2 years they were happy.  And then, in less than 2 minutes, it was over. She had gone-out on a short errand and returned to a crime scene — her boyfriend had committed suicide by shooting himself.

I felt utterly devastated for my aunt and I was utterly dumbfounded myself… this was not some random story in the paper, not something happening to that stranger over there. This was in my life, this was my family, this was tragedy so close to home.  

I spoke with my aunt, tried to find words of comfort in a situation impossible to find comfort in. As we spoke, a little voice in my head was whispering… When was she going to ‘recover’ from this? Would she be able to move-on, escape her sense of pain and guilt? Is it worth it — 2 years of happiness for how many years of pain?

Is this really what life offers us? Me? Mine? Is this really what I keep coming back for?