But unfortunately for me, the door was just shoved open so hard, I expect the stairwell to spit a human out onto the rooftop. let me rephrase this so that it more appropriately reflects my feelings in past tense. I love it when the sky makes me feel insignificant. Dead fathers and exasperating roommates and questionable eulogies don’t feel so awful when the night sky is clear enough to literally feel the grandeur of the universe. It’s not unbearable, but it’s not comfortable, either. I didn’t account for how cold it would be up here, though. I just really needed fresh air and silence, and dammit if I can’t get that from my third floor apartment with absolutely no rooftop access and a roommate who likes to hear herself sing. As soon as I finished delivering his eulogy today, I caught a flight straight back to Boston and hijacked the first roof I could find. I’m Lily Bloom, and Andrew was my father. And father of Lilyīloom-that strange girl with the erratic red hair who once fell in love with a homeless guy and brought great shame upon her entire family. Husband of the highly adored Jenny Bloom, the most revered teaching assistant in all of Plethora. Owner of the most successful real-estate agency within city limits. Adored mayor of my hometown of Plethora, Maine. It was the funeral of the prodigious Andrew Bloom, after all. Or the one delivered by Steve Jobs’s sister.
Don’t get me wrong the eulogy I delivered wasn’t profound enough to make history, like the one Brooke Shields delivered at Michael Jackson’s funeral. My mother, who probably won’t speak to me for a solid year after today. I guess that would depend on whether you were asking my mother or me. It very well could be considered the most disastrous. Particularly today, considering I just-twelve hours earlier-gave one of the most epic eulogies the people of Plethora, Maine, have ever witnessed.
This was a bad idea.” Somehow, I think not. Do they look at the ground as it rushes toward them and think, “Well, crap.
Do they ever regret it? In the moment after letting go and the second before they make impact, there has to be a little bit of remorse in that brief free fall. I’m more focused on other people, and how they ultimately come to the decision to just end their own lives. I like my life enough to want to see it through. And for my mother, who made sure we never saw him at his worst.Ĭhapter One As I sit here with one foot on either side of the ledge, looking down from twelve stories above the streets of Boston, I can’t help but think about suicide. For my father, who tried his very best not to be his worst.
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