My best friend took her own life on March 21, 2017. I remember because the date was 3,2,1, which I now refer to as “blast-off day.”

The book West of You is not for her.

It’s for those of us left behind.

Kittle never reached 45. She chose to check out prematurely, leaving no note, and no guidance as to how I was supposed to get through all the ridiculous changes of middle age.

West of You is not her story.

But it is a story of loss and the incredible hole left by a loved one who takes their own life. No other death leaves the same kind of raw, gnawing guilt for the survivors.

Suicide doesn’t end pain; it simply transfers it.