...two months after I lost you...

Dear Victrola,
After last night's dream, I needed to write you another letter. I've been dreaming about you a lot. In all of them, those closest to you are present, namely Devin, Aimee, and Lynell.
First of all, I want to say that I do believe that the moment your spirit left your body, you were instantly with Jesus, completely wrapped in love, peace, and healing. All the past erased, as you were simply His child who had already been washed clean and forgiven. I do believe this.
But here on Earth, I wrestle still with anger and questions, and sometimes I want to yell at you about this. But I forgive you; I will ALWAYS forgive you. That isn't even a question. What you did will always be forgiven. And at the same time, what you did will never be ok.
At some point, I will have to let go of you. I sense that time coming. I will have to let go, because time moves forward, and if I keep my head and heart buried in the past, I will be robbing those who are actually here on Earth. They deserve my time, focus, and energy. Two of my children are teenagers, and I need to be able to look at them and really see them.
I'm not wearing your clothes today. Guess what, they're not actually hugs from you. They're just your clothes. But I'll probably wear something of yours again tomorrow. I'm not ready not to. It's complicated.
Yes I'll probably also hug your teddy bear and cry.
At this point, my feelings can best be described as emotional nausea. Like morning sickness, except instead of time counting down to the joyous arrival of a new life, I'm counting down after the loss of a life. (2 months plus since you've been gone. Soon it will be 3.) So maybe it should be called Mourning sickness. Like pregnancy, only backward, and with no end in sight.
Last night I dreamed that "we" (the typical mourners of you who are in these grief dreams grieving with me) were at some camp retreat place. There was a knock at the door. I opened it, and it was YOU! You were standing there in all of your earthly beauty. Your mane of crazy curls pulled back in a pony tale. But you weren't looking at me; you were spaced out and out of it, like a zombie. You walked into the room, and after a spilt second, my excitement at seeing you again was replaced by reality: I said to you, "I don't believe you're really here. I believe you are in Heaven with God." As soon as I said that, your body slumped over onto the couch next to Devin and it began to decay.
Which is part of this tragedy: you took a thing of beauty deliberately out of this world. You could be sitting in a chair in this very room right now, being your beautiful self, wearing your own clothes.* But not anymore. There is nothing of you here now. And the rest of us must find a way to walk through each day with this knowledge and this...strange nausea.
So...this suicide is always forgiven. But it will never ever ever be ok.
Also, for me, Today is not the day to let you go.
Love, Michelley

*P.S. This is assuming your natural time to go had not occurred yet. We will never know when your natural time would have come. But since you set that date on your own, I wonder now if God still has work for you to do, and if part of your rest is interrupted by Him still giving you jobs to do, such as visiting Aimee's work friend in a dream and telling her not to kill herself and break her own sister's heart, as you had. I just wonder.