My mom never got to cry at my wedding, but she did come to cry at my funerals. In the past, she didn’t mind about losing me. She cared about losing all the things she wanted me to become. “If you love someone let them go,” and I knew at that time that leaving her was the only way to make us both happy. You don’t know how to love until they’re gone. She now thanked God, and blamed the Devil, for finally bringing me back home.

My father never said he loved me until he realized he would never be able to say it anymore. Only when he held my cold and rigid corpse did he realize that it had been ten years since he ever hugged me. He promised himself to tattoo my ashes on his chest in a “Memento Mori”, remember you will die. A dad will never be able to forget his little girl is forever missing. He told my mother he was sorry for hitting her, standing in front of my coffin.

My brother called my parents after five years to tell them to get him out of the streets. It was the first time he ever asked for help. He took a shower, cut his hair, shaved his beard, and finally put on a black suit to look his best for me. For the first time, he realized sleeping in a loveless home was better than resting in peace six feet under the ground. He considered himself lucky.

Killing myself brought you all back to me.

I had to lose you to love we.

Iris Goodwill

1996-2023

Until life do us part

My death is only the start