Being the mother of a suicide victim means always having regrets. It means that the what-ifs can rule you if you let them, and I often do. I mean, how can you help it? Tell me you don’t let regret rule you every now and again and I’ll tell you you’re a fucking liar. I once had a friend who told me over coffee I don’t have any regrets. Lofty bitch drinking her macchiato. I didn’t see her much after that.
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