She was a member of my cohort in nursing school. At the tender age of 23, she sat down on the bathroom floor, jammed the barrel of her boyfriend's rifle in her mouth, and pulled the trigger with her toe. It was Spring Break and he'd just broken up with her before heading off to for Key West with his friends.
The paramedics that worked with her boyfriend were the ones called to the scene. She must've known they'd be the ones to find her. They actually tried to revive her, even though it was clear she was gone. They rushed her to the ER - the one she worked at - where so many of her coworkers and friends got to witness the gore that had become of her.
When my mother told me, I went numb from shock. I brought a dozen roses to her funeral, 11 yellow and one white. There were 12 of us in my cohort... I handed out the yellow ones to all of us left behind and gave the white one to her mother. I don't remember much else from the service other than the building rage as I sat there in my dark silence.
Twelve years later, I still think of her every time I see a black Mazda Miata convertible... as if I'll find her smiling at me from behind the wheel.
I hope she has found her peace.