I visited all my loved ones in their dreams before I left. I held them and we spoke for hours. But when they woke up, they never remembered a word; though, a couple had a faint idea that they had dreamed about me. Every person told me the same thing, the thing I had never understood in life. It was true that I wasn’t the most important person in their world. But what they had never realized, what I forced them to realize, was that the tiny things I gave them had made their world better. More whole. And they missed me. And how could I have done that to them, to myself?
Then came the day I knew I was leaving earth for a long time. As the cosmos swirled around and within me, I realized with an ache deeper in my soul than I knew was possible that I had killed myself. I would never be able to kiss Aidan, something so simple that it was almost embarrassing to admit I had been waiting years for it. I realized I would never leave the country. I would never see a sister get married. I would never bury a parent or grandparent. I would never fall asleep under the stars again. For all I knew, I would become the stars.
It was terrible to think of, true. But even worse than all the things I would never be able to do, I thought of all the pain I had caused my loved ones. I finally had to accept that they loved me and had wanted to keep me around. I had to accept that I had wronged them, but they would move on. But I had wronged myself, too. Unfortunately, my consequence was more permanent than I realized. Surely, the one basic instinct man has cultivated for all these millennia is the one that tells us to survive. Now I finally understood why.
And so I said goodbye to the home I had come to know and left my mark on, a mark I could never change or take back. Because it was too late. Because I killed myself.
I tell you my story because I don’t want you to make the same mistake I did.