It’s been six weeks and two days since you killed yourself.  (There…I just said it.  Time to be direct.)  A lot has happened since that day.  After we inventoried your storage locker, I took a box of your motorcycle gear back to the townhouse.  In the box were shirts, jackets, hats, items that might be considered special to others in the club. I knew there would be some who would want something to remind them of you. I put these items on the club’s Facebook page with truly the best of intentions. Even though I was mad at you, I knew others weren’t and there would be those who wanted a special hat or shirt to wear in “remembrance of you.”

What started out as a good deed went south because of your “friend” Grant. I use those quotation marks thoughtfully and purposefully because you did consider him your friend, although in reflection, I’m not sure you understood what that word truly meant. Grant’s responses blindsided me and although I know his opinions were formulated through grief, I wasn’t prepared for the backlash that followed.

So first, let’s talk about Grant. You were constantly telling me not to talk about our relationship with my friends and you assured me that you were not sharing information about us with anyone.  OK…that was clearly a lie.  Your narcissistic skill of manipulation was clearly used on your friend as you wove a picture of the woman you claimed to love as a lying, cheating bitch. During the past few weeks, I have learned that you spread these lies to your parents, your daughter, and numerous friends.

And that’s the narrative Grant was promoting. And he played right into your hands after your death.  He turned my post into an opportunity to point out how cold and calculated I was, trying to give away items that belonged to your daughter.  Told everyone the terrible lies you said about me. Directly blamed me for your death.  

I wonder now if you knew you were going to kill yourself, had been planning on getting some sort of revenge, all along? You succeeded in making yourself the ultimate victim…kicked out by the lying, manipulative girlfriend, dead on her garage floor among the items she had moved out of the house. I am breathless with this realization and it dawns on me that you’re that good.

And the grief is turning into rage and betrayal. Is this part of the grieving process?