She told me she loved me. (TW, Suicide)

I lived with my grandparents growing up. They didn’t speak much English, they were extremely traditional... (Thailand) and although I’ve never questioned if they loved me, they were very far from affectionate. Lucky for me, I had an Auntie Liz around to help them raise me. I owe all of my best childhood memories to her. She had a son of her own just 5 years younger than me, but she never let me feel like he was any more important to her than I was. She loved me just as much. She bought me my first Easter basket, my first Christmas tree, my first Halloween costume... She taught us how to cook, play baseball, garden, fish... She was superwoman and she could do anything.. My Auntie Liz was everything to me, because she was the mother I really needed growing up. Fast forward to March of 2019, Liz moved in with her boyfriend 2 hours away, and Christian and I get a call from her first thing in the morning. “Call into work losers, we’re going shopping” So we did. Lol. (We played hookie to hang out with her 9/10 times that she came into town.) She had just come back from a vacation in Vegas and won big at the casinos so she wanted to spoil us. She spent nearly $1000 on each of us. Shoes, clothes, jewelry, perfumes. And then we went to have hibachi and sushi for lunch. That’s when she broke the news to us. Stage 4 colon cancer. Terminal. 1 year to 18 months left, if we were lucky. “But I’m not just gonna pump myself full of poison so I can lay in bed and wither away before I die... They say I’m dying anyway so I wanna enjoy the time I’ve got left.. No crying” Big swallow. I choked back my tears for her. From this day on she called me daily. Every morning at 8am -10am right before I start my shift. We planned a vacation. “We’ve never been to Hawaii before and then we don’t need passports!” We had hard conversations about what would happen in the end... “My body is just a vessel, don’t spend any money burying me. Cremate me and call it a day. Don’t have a funeral, don’t buy me flowers, don’t wear black.” These became our regular conversations, and knowing what was coming ahead, I took mental note of what she was saying, but didn’t think about it too deeply so that I could focus on the time we did have left together. About 6 months after we got the bad news.. 9/10/19 Phone rings. 7AM. Earlier call than usual, but no big deal. “I love you Pookie. You know I’ve always loved you right?” Well duh. What are you doing right now? “Just sitting here writing. I’ve been really tired lately but can’t seem to get any sleep, so I’ve just been writing” Whatcha writing about? “Oh you know how you write letters to people that you never send just because you wanna get something off your chest? Just some of those.... I think I’m gonna try and take some sleep aid and take a nap. I love you so much Pookie, goodbye” Are you okay? Liz? I love you too. *phone hangs up Okay... that was kinda weird.. *tries to call back, no answer. I call Christian, “moms super down in the dumps, have you called her recently?” He tries to call her, no answer. “Okay, let’s just call into work and go see her. She’s probably just having a hard day and I think we can cheer her up.” So we left. We made it to her house 1 hour and 46 minutes after she hung up the phone with me. Front door is locked. That’s weird. Back door, always open. No shoes in the house, so we walk in the back door and take our shoes off. The dogs aren’t barking. That’s weird. Then we saw what would become our worst nightmare. My Auntie on the floor, face down, her two little dogs laying quietly and perfectly still behind her. Panic. Christian grabs her and flips her over. Her face is crusted in blood. She’s cold. Panic. We ran out of the house, still trying to grasp what we just saw. I call 911. “My Aunt is unresponsive, she’s covered in blood. I need help.” Is she breathing? “Idk..” I need you to check and see if she’s breathing. I’m sending help. “Ok..” I start walking towards the door, then stop. “I can’t do it, I can’t go back in there” Sheriff arrives, and goes inside. Christian and I sit in my car in the driveway. Both dogs in there with us. Sheriff comes back out. “What was her name? Who are you to her? Blah blah.” I knew she was gone, but I needed to hear it before I could let go of the last strand of hope that maybe she could be saved” “She’s not okay is she?” The sheriff replied “no, I’m so sorry.” Cue hysterical crying. What do we do now? She didn’t want a funeral. She didn’t even want us to tell people when she passed. But we’re just kids... we don’t know what we’re supposed to do. “We have to call our family. I know she told us not to, but we need them for us. WE are not okay.” No life insurance. But she didn’t want a funeral anyway. We couldn’t afford embalming, so we had 3 days to cremate her before her “vessel” would start to decompose. My family rushed there in 2 days to be there the day of cremation. No casket. They just laid her on the table for us to say goodbye. Christian never made it inside, he couldn’t. I had to. I couldn’t let the last way I saw her, be the last time I saw her. She looked like she was sleeping. Fast forward 1 year and I still can’t cope. I still see her face, crusted in blood, lifeless, everytime I close my eyes. I still wait for my phone to ring in the morning. Christian had a baby she will never have the chance to meet. I was the last person to speak to her, and the last thing she said to me was “I love you”. But if she loved me why the f**k did she just leave me here? I’m still all over the place about it, and idk if I ever won’t be, because I’ll never have any answers. I’m angry. I’m angry she left me. I’m angry she orphaned Christian with her own hands. But I’m also just so heartbroken. I loved her. I loved her unconditionally. I valued her life above nearly everything my life has to offer, but she didn’t value her life at all anymore. She took both bottles of sleep aid while she wrote her suicide notes on the phone with me and I couldn’t put the pieces together until it was too late. So is it selfish of me to think she should have continued to live because I “needed” her? Should she have lived depressed, sick, and unhappy, just for my comfort? No. She shouldn’t have. Because ultimately it was HER life, and if she wanted to end it, that’s her choice. But I’m still mad at her for it. Kind of. As mad as you can be at someone who’s dead. I’m mad that she took herself away from me, and I’m mad she told me she loved me. I’m not religious at all, and sometimes I wish I was. I wish I could believe that she’s in a better place now, but all I know is that she’s gone, and her vessel is now 6 pounds of ash in an urn on my mantle. She left me here all alone, but she told me she loved me.