It’s seven days until the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention Manhattan Out of the Darkness walk, and I received an update notifying me that we have until October 22 to get the last donations possible that will count toward the Walk donation goal numbers. I started fundraising in August and had reached out to all my close family and friends to let them know I was doing this, but I was hesitant to post this on Facebook. Not everyone in my Facebook community would know that my brother had died, that it was due to suicide, that this tragedy had fallen upon my family. As much as I want to be open about his death and the circumstances around it, it’s hard because how do I even know who wants to know or listen? The deeply cynical side of me thinks that no one really cares. A lot of people would just read the Facebook post and think, “how sad,” and then move on. Some might “Like” it. But that would be it.

Chris said to me, if just 1% of your 400-plus Facebook friends donated, that’s still something. For those who don’t, it doesn’t matter. Screw them. But for those who do, it’s still dollars towards an important and not talked enough about cause.

So I posted my Donor Drive page to Facebook and said I was doing this walk in honor of my brother. Over 20-something people “Liked” it, which doesn’t really matter that much to me, but I was able to get six people donate, and not all of them I’d expect to even care at all. Colleagues, a former boss, and a distant relative were included.

I can’t focus all my energy on the people who didn’t donate or help at all or care. I can’t spend time thinking about what people are thinking or how they may judge my family and me, or whether they even pity me. The only healthy choice I have is to be grateful that the six people who did donate because of my Facebook post did it because they in some way did care about me and my experience, and the cause itself. I am deeply grateful. I felt the same wave of gratitude come over me when I started seeing the donation notifications coming in, and my eyes kept welling up.

I might have been scared of what the reactions may have been, but it’s really necessary to do what you are afraid to do, suck it up, and move forward with what you believe in. The world isn’t going to change if I stay silent, even within my own small community. As much as I’d like, I can’t bring Ed back, but I can use my love for him to help others and try my best to be hopeful for the future.

Today was the first day this season when it’s actually felt like autumn. The air was cold and brisk. I went out to do a quick grocery run at Fairway, and my toes were a bit unhappy that I’d only put on flip-flops for this errand. My neck thanked me for wearing a scarf.

When the season changes and it gets colder, I think about all the things I have to do before the year ends — charity donations, volunteering, Christmas gifts to be bought, pantry clean-outs and food items that need to be eaten before we leave for Australia for Christmas. I also think about Ed and how it’s another season without him. It’s another season of my life that I will not have a chance to see him or talk to him. The only daily physical reminders I have of him are Bart, the gifts he’s given me, and the photos I have of him in the apartment. When I look up recipes to make for Thanksgiving and Christmas, I can’t help but wonder if Ed would have liked these things; I’m sure he would have. These are dishes I will be making for all these other people to savor and enjoy, but not for him. In fact, I cannot even remember the last thing I made that he got to eat. Was it the crispy oatmeal cranberry cookies that my mom got so excited about that she didn’t share as much with her best friend as she originally said she would? Or was it the chewy brownies I made? I’ll never know for sure. His memory just lingers on and on no matter where I am and what I am doing, and all I have left to think about it is — what would life be like if he were still here?

My friend recently wrote an article and posted it on Medium about how in every relationship, even happy ones, the “chase” should last forever. As someone who has had two other failed semi-serious relationships, I can completely relate to this idea. It’s easy to get too comfortable in our romantic relationships, and even in our platonic ones, as well. The concept of trying seems to completely die once couples have established themselves either by moving in with each other, getting engaged, or classically, by getting married and thus “settling down.”

I thought about his article for a long time after I read it. It made me think about how among my own friends, we rarely ask each other how our relationships are going once we are past the “labeled” stage of officially being in a relationship. We ask each other a lot when things are uncertain and when the label “boyfriend” or “partner” has not been given, but after that, those questions seem to die off. Do we just assume that because we are officially together that nothing might be wrong? Or maybe we just shy away from those topics unless our friends give indication that something may be off. I’ve tried to make a point to still ask, even if the question is unwelcome or shaken off with a response like, “We’re fine; we’re just (fill in the blank with whatever they are waiting to happen).” There’s always attention to be given and work to be done, even if we don’t wait to admit it out loud. The chase is really never fully over unless the relationship is over.

As time has gone on, I’ve become less and less of a phone person. When I was in middle school, I used to spend hours and hours on the phone when not studying or doing household chores. This was before I realized how lame that was because why would you spend all these hours on the phone with someone in your same city when you could just go spend time with him/her in person? In high school, I spent more time doing that – hanging out in person, whether at malls or walking through neighborhoods or at each others’ homes. Then through college and in the years after, I spent even less time on the phone. If I wasn’t on the phone with my then-boyfriends or my parents or Ed or another relative, I wasn’t on the phone at all.

It seems like this progression seems fairly normal, especially since it’s almost unheard of for people to call each other anymore because we live in a world dominated by texting and e-mailing — in other words, a world that is far more impersonal. When an old high school friend was visiting New York last month, he said he’d call me, and he actually did. I was honestly shocked (despite how stupid this sounds).

Tonight, for the first time since I could remember, I spent almost three hours on the phone with one of my best friends in San Francisco. Sure, I multi-tasked a little bit by doing things like flossing my teeth and creating scrapbook collages during our chat, but for the most part, we had a long, in-depth conversation about our latest activities, our families, our respective familial conflicts, and the future. It actually felt really nice. It reminded me of those middle school days when I felt so close to friends just by being on the phone with them. It’s scary to think how much time has passed since those days and the people that we’ve evolved into, and exactly how different our lives are now versus then. Yet we’re still connected, and we choose to be.

After work today, I rushed to see Chris’s aunt and uncle, who are spending their very last day in New York today. We met at the Shake Shack near Time Square so that we could have a quick bite together before I walked them over to the Minskoff Theatre to see The Lion King musical. Because of a work meeting that ran way over, I unfortunately only had about half an hour with them before we had to part, but it was a really enjoyable time. I presented them with half a loaf of the pumpkin cranberry walnut bread I made, and we discussed their time at the UN, Top of the Rock, and shopping in Herald Square. They were in high spirits the way they had been pretty much the entire time I have spent with them.

As I walked east after leaving them at the theatre, I thought about how I never feel as satisfied spending time with my own relatives. We can’t have the same types of conversations, and I can’t expect them to be as excited or happy about what any of them do. Being with my cousin and his wife this past Saturday wasn’t that enjoyable, nor was it as though we had much to talk about that meant anything to anyone; the enjoyable part was being able to see and play with their two-year-old son. The conversations I think I should be having with people who matter to me cannot be had with my relatives. I can’t even say what I think about New York City honestly around my own family without it completely being shot down or criticized.

But now, Chris’s family is part of my family. It’s still sinking in (and will probably continue to sink in) the same way it was still sinking in for the first month that the engagement ring on my finger was actually my engagement ring. It wasn’t on loan, and it wasn’t going to be given to someone else. This is mine now. And I’m blessed to have an extension of a family that is everything I’ve never had before.

It’s been a packed weekend so far. I had dim sum with my aunt, her friends, and Chris today, and right after, I went to meet an old friend from high school who happened to be in town for coffee at Little Collins. The last time I remember having any contact with him was in 2010, and I don’t even think I’d seen him since 2008. When I used to go back home every winter and summer, he and I would always make time to meet up and have a meal together. I was at Wellesley, while he was studying at Berkeley (like the majority of my high school). He was always one of those people I knew was really smart, but a bit on the quiet side, and you could tell he had a deeper side that he didn’t always want to reveal easily.

The last I remembered, I’d e-mailed him in 2010 and never heard back. I wasn’t sure if we had just drifted or perhaps I had said something that made him not want to see me again, but I stopped making an effort until now, when he reached out to let me know he was in town and wanted to see me.

We tried to catch each other up on the last four-plus years of our respective lives since we last spoke. There were a lot of gaps to be filled, and some that were never discussed. He’s a bit more jaded now than he was the last time we were in contact, and he still asks those same esoteric questions he used to ask when we were in high school that would annoy others. He also still uses words like “alacrity” and “effervescent” just as easily as he did then. He said he cut off contact with pretty much everyone for the last three to four years, mainly out of embarrassment that it felt like everyone else’s lives were moving forward while his was not. He has since gotten a Master’s in ecology and is now looking for work and considering leaving the Bay Area. He’s realized that the world seems too small when you stay in the same place forever.

I thought about my old high school friendships for a while during my walk home. I’m still cynical, but I’ve always been cynical about why some people stay in touch and others don’t. I always used to think that if I had lost touch with someone, it was probably just meant to be and there was a reason for it whether I was aware of it or not. When I was with him today, I thought about how good it felt to be reunited with him again in the most unexpected context, and how amazing it was that so much has happened in both of our lives, yet we still mesh the same way we did over four years ago. Some things are meant to happen in the weird ways they do.

I spent my first night in a San Francisco hotel last night. And today, I spent the day in the Mission working out of my company’s second office before we consolidate offices in the city and move to the Financial District later this month. In the Mission, I’m overwhelmed by all the Latin food options I have, but for lunch today, I got to enjoy pupusas, plantains, and beans at a cozy Salvadorean restaurant along the main strip with my friend.

For dinner, Chris and I went to Limon, which is a Peruvian (fusion) restaurant that opened in the city about 12 years ago that had a huge following. I’d been wanting to try this place for the last 12 years and finally ate here tonight. While enjoying the chicken, ceviche, and seafood dishes we ordered tonight, I wondered why it’s taken me over 12 years to try a new restaurant in the Mission in my own hometown. I guess I’m just like most people when they go back home; they tend to want to do things that they are comfortable with or used to always doing because they have a limited amount of time. It’s quicker to do what you are used to than explore new things. But I’ve decided that I’m going to make a point to be more proactive about trying new places every single time I come back home. Then, it will make me feel like more of a tourist in my own city. But that’s okay because it will make my home experience better.

A friend sent me an article about a web-based game called Depression Quest, an interactive game where the user plays a fictional character that has depression. You go about this person’s everyday life, and your goal is to manage your illness and regular life events to the best of your ability in spite of your illness.

The goal of the game is to help those who do not know what it’s like to have depression to attempt to understand it better, to raise awareness for depression, mental illness, and suicide prevention, and to also help sufferers of depression realize that they are not alone in their feelings. Ironically, this game was released on the same day that Robin Williams was found to have committed suicide. If you’d like to play it, you can either play it for free or can pay what you want; all fees go directly to the National Suicide Prevention Hotline.

I think the game is a good attempt at trying to help raise awareness, but as someone who has lost someone to suicide and knew how hard his life was, I’m not fully convinced that this can help outsiders understand the state of mind better. After going through about 10 pages of the game, the only real “interaction” that happens are prompts that ask you what you want to do next (making a choice). The rest is all text and some sad background music. I can understand the state because of how close I was to Ed, but if I didn’t have that experience, I’m not sure I would gain more empathy and understanding just through this. It’s worth trying, but hasn’t struck a chord with me.

I’ve asked my friend, who works at Trader Joe’s, to see if she could ask if they’d be willing to donate snacks or beverages for the walkers this October’s American Foundation for Suicide Prevention Out of the Darkness Walk. The frustrating thing about asking is that they don’t accept e-mail, apparently because they want to be perceived as a “friendly neighborhood store” despite being a massive corporation that is skimping out on health insurance for its hard working employees, and each store will donate only $40 worth of goods for a given event. We have over 120 walkers who have signed up already, which does not include the number that may sign up between now and October 26, so this definitely doesn’t give us that much in actual food quantity. The cheapest granola bars at Trader Joe’s go for about 99 cents each.

So I’ve asked my friend to ask three different locations to donate, so that way, I’d get $120 total in donated food. Still not ideal, but it’s better than nothing, and it helps that I have someone who works at the store who can talk to them for me.