My first boyfriend hung himself in his basement about a year after we broke up. His twin brother found him in the morning. His girlfriend would often delete my number from his phone, etc etc. I was going through my own issues at the time and was very angry about this.
The last time I spoke with him, he told me I was the only one who cared about him. I told him to go call his girlfriend and that wasn't my job anymore. About a month later, he texted me happy birthday. I tried to call him but he would never pick up or return my texts. About a month after that, he died.
I had so much guilt about it. He and I had this connection; he lived across the country and when shit started going down for either of us, we'd just know. That's how I knew he died. My text to him was, "Listen, I know it's late, but you're on my mind and I can't sleep. At least let me know you're OK." I still couldn't sleep so I looked on his Myspace and that's when I saw everyone commenting. So I searched for an obituary. This was also during the time we were evacuating from Ike and, living next to a bayou, I was prepared for my material life to be gone. It was one of the worst experiences ever.
I cried for years and years on his birthday, anniversary of his death, when speaking about him. I still miss him and it'll be 7 years in August. There are still time that I think about texting him when a joke crosses my mind, but at least it's not a knee-jerk reaction to pick up the phone anymore.
I think he always planned on it, honestly. When asked about he future, he would say he didn't know, even though he was taking courses at a community college. But it wasn't "I don't know, but I'm thinking about XYZ." It was the kind of "I don't know" you'd give if someone asked what you'd do in the last hours before an apocalyptic meteor hits the earth.
I was so angry at him for a long time; I felt like I could have done something if he'd told me - if no one else, he always listened to me. He'd call me before his girlfriend when things went horribly wrong because I "always knew what to do." I thought it was selfish and unfair; I spoke with someone and they told me, "Look at it this way: you can't control anything that happens to you in life, right? Why are you mad at him for controlling his last act on earth?"
The last time I dreamed about him was about 6 months ago. I used to all the time, and I'd have traveled back in time and told him he's going to do something horrible and please, please don't do it. Or I'd talk to him on the phone and he'd already be dead. His responses were usually similar: "I'm doing what I need to do; please don't be too sad about it. It's OK." These went in stages from alive > dead but speaking with me > I saw his dead body (I didn't go to the memorial because distance). The last dream I had, I knew he was dead and we were sitting at this picnic table in a park. It was a perfect day - the kind that's a bit cool, but when you sit in the sun, the temperature is just right. I only remember that we were laughing and he was happy and it was going to be OK.
I'll never forget him; I was a virgin when we met and I was his first kiss. I love him and miss him. But the hurt fades and leaves you with your memories.