Dear Mike,

The last time I saw you, you lovingly shook my shoulder as I sat on the rocking chair at mom and dad’s house. And you said goodbye to your 9-month old niece, my daughter. I don’t recall saying goodbye to you, although I’m sure I did.

But I do remember thinking the shoulder rub was your way of saying that you loved me, which you could never do, and how strange it was for you to say goodbye to my daughter, which you never did.

When I guessed, correctly, that you took your own life three days later, I think back to that Sunday afternoon. If I had said something else—anything else—would it have made a difference? I’m sorry I did not recognize the depth of your pain, and I will forever miss you growing old with me.

Denise, age 38