I Don’t Know Her


She was in her 30’s.  She was quite lovely and gentle. She was an alcoholic.  She committed suicide a few days ago.

I don’t know her, but it still hurts.  Samantha, one of us who passed too quickly, will be remembered in a simple candlelight vigil on the weekend.

I don’t know her, but I would like to attend.  She was at a group that I used to go almost every morning.  She started coming after I stopped going there – I was starting to get back into the stream of life by then, and morning meetings weren’t possible for me anymore.

I don’t know her, but I know that pain, that insufferable feeling that I just can’t be from this planet, and do not belong on this planet.  I know that pain of not only imagining to die, but actually making plans.  Forming thoughts of the nuts and bolts of it.  Of knowing it could end at any time, and it would be by my hand, and nothing else’s.

I don’t know her, but that fear she must have carried is the fear I had in my own eyes.  I see it in the eyes of someone who is still struggling.  I saw it in the eyes of a newcomer at a meeting today, as I gave him my number.

I don’t know her, but she probably felt alone, even in a crowd of alcoholics.  She probably felt the loneliness that only alcoholics and addicts know.  She may have felt apart from, not a part of.  I know that loneliness.  I had it wrapped around me like a shroud.

I don’t know her, but I can imagine the despair as she ended her life, and perhaps that flash of peace, that feeling that things truly would be better off leaving this place.  Doing the one thing that is counter intuitive to our core…just to quiet the voices.  Just to be at rest.

I don’t know her, and I never will.  Another alcoholic death.  Another one that the illness took from us.  Another example of why I do what I do every single day.

R.I.P Samantha

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