by KL Evans
Time was all we had. Now the memory of that time is all I have left.
Aftermath
I ended up leveling the dilapidated pile of wood next door after all. I needed the closure and Ava needed the space. She’d hired a team of contractors and I convinced them to let me drive the bulldozer over it the first time. Then I left the property and didn’t return until the whole project was finished.
Here’s the thing about Ava: she may be a trust fund baby, but she’s a trust fund baby with a good heart and fierce desire to do something useful with the good fortune she has. She was a little directionless for a while, and that’s why she latched onto me and Missy the way she did, but now she’s found a place where she fits. This is one of the silver linings of your death, Charlie.
Ava, being full of piss and vinegar and righteous indignation, insisted that we make your death mean something. So she brought her adventures in homelessness to a close, drafted a mission statement, filed for a 501(c)(3), and Charlie’s Place was born.
Your house went up for auction and Ava managed to buy it for a decent price. She wrote letters, found sponsors and donors, and eventually raised enough money to give the house a hardcore cleaning as well as a makeover fit for its new purpose.
Included in the makeover was a new paint job. A boldly-hued mural now adorns the exterior of the house and the artist was none other than Christian, who finished his stint in jail and fulfilled his community service hours by helping get the house ready. He’s attending classes at the community college and on the weekends he works with Missy, who was able to quit her shitty job when Ava hired her to be the foundation’s administrator.
There is a small staff and a handful of dedicated volunteers, and between all of them, your home has become an open-24-hours-a-day-seven-days-a-week safe place for teens and twenty-somethings who are desperate and toying with the idea of making the same choice you did. Ava and Missy managed to fit a bunch of couches in your living room and they host informal group therapy sessions several nights a week. Christian felt the paint scheme was a bit too abrasive—his word, not mine—and now the walls are all a similar blue to the one on the walls of your room. I made a single contribution to the renovation because I couldn’t stand the sight of it. Where the Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here sign used to hang, there is now a hand-lettered quote from Desmond Tutu.
Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.
The kitchen is stocked with food and beverages, and sometimes people will crash on the couches overnight. Although, several months after the opening, Ava found that the amount of people needing a place to sleep was beginning to exceed the capacity of the small space, and that’s when she decided to buy the property upon which the dilapidated pile of wood sat. That’s when I finally unleashed my anger at your father in the form of bulldozing the remnants of his meth lab.
Six months after that, a brand new house sat next door. It can accommodate up to twelve people comfortably, which isn’t much, but it’s good enough for now.
Everything feels good enough for now. But that’s about it. Everything is good enough, which is somehow very different from simply being good. I am told that two years is still not much time and everyone processes this kind of loss differently and on a timeline unique to them. I am told that however I feel about it is fine. I am told that it’s fine that I don’t feel completely fine just yet. I am told that the only thing that matters is I’m trying to be fine. And I am. I’m trying.
Ava moved in with Grey and me about four months ago and she tells me she can see that I’m trying. Her being with me has been good for me, but I don’t know how good I’ve been for her. I worry that she feels insecure about the fact that I’ve still got a little Charlie-shaped hole in my heart. She assures me she isn’t. She says she understands, and I hope she does. I have a lot of fear of making the same mistakes and, even though I know it’s preposterous, I have fear that somehow Ava will veer off down the same route you were on. I am told this is post-traumatic stress and that it’s normal.
Nevertheless, I try to be as honest as possible with her. I tell her I love her. I tell her that I’m grateful for the friend she’s been and for everything she’s done to help people in your memory. I bring her flowers and leave her notes telling her she’s the most supportive, wonderful girlfriend and how much she brings out the good in me. I hope it’s enough. She assures me it is and that I really don’t need to worry, but I do.
I wish I could give you a more upbeat status of how things are going, but I still don’t feel very upbeat. Maybe two years is still too soon for things to be tied up in a pretty bow. Maybe there will never be a pretty bow. How can there ever be a pretty bow in the aftermath of such an ugly, unnecessary ending? I’m not yet convinced that there can be.
For now, a utilitarian bow will have to do. Because I’m still here. I’m still trying. I’m still getting up every day and going to my job and spending time with the people I love and I’m still just… living.
But I’m also still missing you and I’m still thinking the world would be a better place if you were still in it.
1-800-273-TALK
Dear Reader:
First of all, I’m really sorry about Charlie.
What happened to her makes me as sad as it probably made you. At this book’s inception I still wasn’t convinced I wanted it to end the way it did. However, the longer I thought about it, the more I realized the point of this book was to do everything I could to illustrate what losing someone to suicide feels like. Although I wish nobody ever had to feel such a thing, I think understanding what it feels like can be useful, especially if it can be experienced without having to actually live through it. The terrible truth about a story like this is it’s one that many of us are familiar with. Many of us know a Charlie. Many of us know, or are a Seth, myself included.
I called this book a “semi memoir” because everything in it is from my own life, albeit condensed and fictionalized in a way that I could share it with the world in the form of a story that didn’t violate the privacy of the people directly involved. This accounts for the atypical story style, often maddening behavior of characters, and borderline-unbelievable plot elements. Truth, as they say, is often stranger than fiction. So it goes with the events of my life that ultimately became this book.
Perhaps I feel that an explanation is in order, but I needed to express that I wrote this book as a way to sort through my own feelings about the loss of one too many people to suicide. After a number of years and a lot of deep introspection, I decided to publish it because I think it’s important to talk about these things. I’ve noticed that the more people talk about these things, the more those suffering tend to muster the strength to be honest with themselves and open up to others about the silent battles they fight on a daily basis. The unfortunate reality of those who struggle with mental illness and suicidal thoughts and tendencies is they are often not inclined to reach out for help for any number of reasons. I am personally of the belief that if the rest of us start the conversation, keep it going, and maintain an attitude of non-judgement, the ones who need help will give us a hint. Our job is to be keenly observant and respond.
To anyone who read this book and identified with Charlie, I hope that seeing what happens in the aftermath is enough to give you a nudge toward someone and open up about what you’re feeling and going through. I intentionally wrote Charlie as someone who saw herself as a person with nothing left and nothing to lose. But you don’t have to be in the throes of grief and financial hardship to consider taking your own life. So many people we have lost to suicide had families who love them and many appear to have all the success in the world. The trouble is you can have all of those things and still feel like your mind and thoughts are drowning you. And the reality of Charlie is that she did have people who cared, she just couldn’t see it. Maybe she chose not to. The reality of Charlie is a reality I live with and I don’t have any answers or explanations. I only have an ex
hortation.
I understand that suicide is a choice. I understand it’s not an easy one to make. I understand if you feel like it’s your only choice. Nobody can force you to stay if you just can’t or just don’t want to. But I wish you would. A lot of people wish you would. Probably way more than you realize.
I welcome discussion on this topic. I welcome people to talk to me about it. I welcome anything anyone has to say, especially if they just need someone to listen. I can be reached at any of the links on the About the Author page.
In Solidarity,
K.L. Evans
If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of suicide, please take advantage of one of the following resources:
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline:
1-800-273-8255
https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
Online Chat:
https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/
American Foundation for Suicide Prevention:
https://afsp.org/find-support/
Suicide Prevention Resource Center:
https://www.sprc.org/
National Alliance on Mental Illness:
https://www.nami.org/Find-Support
800-950-NAMI
Crisis Text Line: Text “NAMI” to 741741
About the Author
K.L. Evans is better known as Katherine L. Evans, bestselling author of romantic fiction that is far more light and fluffy than what you just read.
For more information, visit www.katherinelevans.com.
Connect at:
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/katherine-l-evans
www.twitter.com/katherinelevans
www.facebook.com/authorkatherinelevans/
www.goodreads.com/katherinelevans
Acknowledgments
To my beta team, who read this so long ago they might not even remember it, and that’s okay.
To Q Design for creating a gorgeous, yet gripping cover.
To Sarah Bale for not only providing me with beautiful interior formatting on absurdly short notice, but also being such an awesome friend in general.
To Eric Warren for steering me away from a poor decision regarding the marketing and publication of this book, and also for being my Soul Sister despite the fact that he’s a dude.
To the EMTs, the doctors, and the nurses for doing what they do despite how hard it is.
To every friend, counselor, and empathetic stranger who saved a life, whether they knew it or not.
To those who were sick and didn’t make it. You are missed. Wish you were here.
Literary Fiction by K.L. Evans:
Rise
Thirty Hours
Romantic Fiction by Katherine L. Evans:
Romance in New Orleans Series:
Joie de Vivre
Only the Strong
Luck of the Draw
Unbreakable Love Series:
The Arrangment
Until You
The Choice
Standalone Romance Novels:
Long Gone Cat
Stay With Me
