I keep asking myself Why?

Why did Rob do it?

Why did he do it the way that he did it?

Why did he do it this time and not the other times when he threatened to do it?

Why didn’t he let me help him this time?

Why didn’t we have an honest conversation about how he was feeling?

Why did he decide not to be here anymore?

Why did he think it would be okay for all of us who loved him to be here without him?

Why wasn’t all of our love for him enough to keep him here with us?

Why would Rob break our hearts knowing that what he did would break our hearts?

Why do I simultaneously feel both a crushing weight and unfathomable emptiness each day without him?

Why am I asking these questions that have no satisfactory answers?

Why am I asking these questions when there’s nothing we can do to bring him back?

Why is it futile to ask why?

6 thoughts on “Why

  1. The questions that deserved to be asked but may never be answered. I hope as time passes the questions hurt a little less, and the memories will help fill in the space that remains without Rob. As much as it will never make sense, the struggle is real, and there doesn’t seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel, and if all he could see was darkness, this was the only way to end his pain. I hate to say I understand that feeling.
    Much love to the whole family and everyone touched by Rob


  2. Why is the ultimate question for everything!!
    Why- what’s the problem? The riddle? The mystery? The puzzlement? The secret? The cliffhanger? The reason? The proof? The evidence? Yet there’s another question even when you get all the answers. That question is- But why? ( I don’t believe there’s an answer for – But why? ) Why do I love you so much? I don’t have a definitive answer but I do!!!❤️❤️❤️


  3. Larry, my sister still asks questions. She searched through everything of his, trying to understand why. She would sit next to me, going through every text her son had sent her, asking in between, “Does this sound like it’ was a depressed person?? Does this sound like someone with no plans??” The texts were about a future class, future events, future plans, future vacations. She would go through every line, word, and say to herself more than to me, “How can this be someone who killed themselves? Read this!” The more information you have, the more questions you ask. It is impossible to imagine, I listen, but It is impossible for me to imagine.


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