Over the past three years, I fell deeply in love with a beautiful soul named Diana Hemingway. She told me early on in our relationship that she always hurts her lovers in the end. She warned me not to get too close. I did not, or rather could not, hear her. We were already “too close.”
Recently, she also told me that she is the one who always leaves her relationships, and that she felt that our relationship would be no different. I laid on her couch in tears as she rattled off the options: “I’ll get sick and die before you, or I’ll have a heart attack, or I’ll get wanderlust and run off to California, or I’ll commit suicide.”
Diana was suicidal for her entire life. On December 20th, 2016, she took her own life at the age of 46. She was only 13 years older than me, but easily two lifetimes wiser. She struggled with mental illness, societal rejection, facing the threat of homelessness, the cruelty of the world, and survival.
She ended her suicide note to me by signing “Yours forever, in love that never dies.”
It has only been just over 48 hours since I was notified of her passing. In these first two days, I have hardly been able to sleep. To eat. To think. To breathe.
When someone is your everything, and they leave, you feel like you are left with nothing.
And yet, I know I have so much — the memories of our love are vibrant, strong, and important. I am going to share my journey through grief here. If there is one thing that I am certain of, it is that our love was worthy of great novels. So maybe this will become a book one day. Maybe it will simply act as an outlet. Maybe it will help me remember, reflect, and ensure — in writing — that our love never dies.