I have been thinking a lot about Matt this week. It isn’t particularly surprising because April 23rd was the 14th anniversary of his suicide. The weather and the smell of April always reminds me of those days just after he died.
I also went to a very emotional, well-attended funeral for my uncle last week. I was moved by the outpouring of support for his family and the opportunity to tell stories about the person who died. It was really a celebration of his life.
I didn’t have that when Matt died. I just had me –alone in the muddy woods where he shot himself the day before – trying to make sense of it all. In the weeks and months that followed, the people who knew him bent over backwards to avoid mentioning Matt and his death in my presence. They were probably trying to be kind, but it felt like I was wearing a scarlet letter and that Matt had just disappeared and no one even noticed. Then, I had a long lonely year where I hardly talked to anyone at all. I was consumed by the black hole of my grief, until I slowly started building a new life after.
The day after Matt died was the last time I spoke to his sister, who was also a good friend of mine. I located her with google four years ago, but I never wrote to her. I didn’t know what to say. I still regret never calling her, never seeing her, never talking to her again. I can look back at me as a 19 year old and cut myself some slack, because I was a walking trainwreck then. But I still have regrets.
Today, just a little over 14 years later, his sister sent me a very brief message on facebook. I am stunned. Speechless. A little bit panicked.
Should I apologize? Tell her I still remember him? Greet her like I would any other old friend?
I don’t know where to begin.

just take one step…respond to her and remember that she probably has the same feelings/insecurities/etc that you do. Also remember she has extended a hand of friendship and will be happy to hear back from you.
I think she would be comforted to know how you remember him, every year at this time. Since I have known you, you have mentioned him every year at this time. That would be a great comfort to her, in my opinion.
That is beautiful. Thank her.
Tell her you still remember him. That he was deeply important to you. That you have always regretted avoiding her because of your grief. If she’s still the person you knew, your best friend, she’ll be able to handle it.
yr doing just fine. This is the way we figure it out- not all at once- but over a large landscape of time. xo hugs.
I think you tell her something of what you wrote here, in the words that OmegeMom uses.
I’m sorry for your loss. It’s amazing how wounds heal, but scars remain.
Ahh, facebook. You know, no one got into these tricky situations before social networking. Chicagomama calls facebook my bad boyfriend.
I’d email her back and tell her what you told blogland- that you missed her and are happy to hear from her, but not quite sure what to say. Then in another email, I’d tell her what you told all of us, anonymous souls- I’d venture to guess that she was a bit of a trainwreck when Matt died, too and she’s either thinking and feeling very similiarly or will understand why you are. You know, she wouldn’t have sent you a message on facebook if she didn’t want to hear from you (and by you, I mean you- her old best friend and you-her brother’s old girlfriend.).
Oddly enough I get a *lot* of “years-later apologies” on FB. (weird) Albeit for very (very) different reasons….but I can tell you this: If actually saying the words, “I’m sorry” will help you to take even one more hook out of 19 year old you….DO IT. You could apologize for 5 things and 4 could be a complete surprise to her, that you’d held onto something, that you worried about something, so forth. But being honest, and being….genuine…even in facebook…is still a step towards healing.
Facebook really is bringing up all sorts of new etiquette and social questions that just didn’t happen previously. I agree with the folks above – I think that she’ll feel very comforted by the fact that you still think of Matt every year at this time, and short messages can grow to longer ones over time.
I like Megan’s suggestion the best.
I am sorry that Matt did this. When I get depressed and the suicidal thoughts come, sometimes, just reading how others miss those who have committed suicide is enough to stop those thoughts.
Thinking of you.
Definitely write back to her. I think it would be comforting for both of you to be able to remember him and talk about him.
I think it’s great you reached out to her. You should mention him. I’m sure there’s not a day that goes by that she doesn’t. I imagine it would be comforting to her to know you still think of him.
Send her a brief, friendly message, and then get your ass over to Graeter’s. I always combine the really tough stuff with ice cream. Let me know if you need someone to help you eat some!
I think FB is a wonderful gift in this way (not always in other ways) that it gives people permission to reach out. I would tell her what you told us, what you tell us every year. It hurt like hell, it still hurts, and you had no support or guidance and wish you had done some things differently.
I have someone whom I keep hoping will reach out to me on FB. I have no idea what I did wrong (I know what I did wrong 23 years ago, but I thought we made up 5 years ago) and have emailed several times over the last 3 years. He joined FB a few months ago (yes, I keep checking) but I don’t want to violate any boundaries. Since I have made it clear that I want to maintain our friendship, now, I wait. But I keep thinking the FB magic will hit him at some point, and he will friend me.
Your “Matt” link seems to go to an entry about a Chinese tutor. Just FYI.
I would write her back. A lot — A LOT — changes in 14 years, and the chance to correct some things is an opportunity you won’t want to miss.
not a lot to add here, everyone else has said so many great things. but yeah, i would write her back.
it makes me sad that no one really celebrated matt’s life with you, or walked you through the grieving process.