Suicide...Passing on the Pain

I understand that my husband was in a lot of mental anguish when he took his own life.  His note to me told me I'd be better off without him and that I would find someone better than him to spend my life with.  These things are so untrue it makes me angry sometimes that he could even think it was okay to write that to me.  As if the kids and I could just move on easily without him. The sun rises on a better tomorrow?  No, our lives stopped the day he died.  It was some time before we could start moving forward again. Occasionally my life slows to a crawl as I process or reprocess the most difficult steps of grieving.

Taking your own life may stop your pain on this earth, but it causes a lifetime of pain for all the people who love you. You may feel deep down that everyone will be better off without you, but they absolutely will not be. You will mark them for life.  Eventually, they will begin to heal and move forward, but they will never be the same and they will always carry the loss with them. If you love them, and even if you can no longer feel the love you know is there, please don't do that to them.

For those who think I cannot possibly understand what it is like to feel as if the only answer to end the pain is taking your own life, I have been there and it is not something I am proud of. My friend Shantelle has shared with me how she has felt as she has faced the dark pull of suicide. She has helped me see things from a different perspective and it has given me some peace to know he was not trying to hurt me. It fascinates me that since Richard's death, I have contemplated ending my own pain.  After I have watched first hand the devastation that occurs like a ripple in a lake from such a destructive action. I have been so close it has terrified me that my mind could even go there. Except for once, what always pulled me back from the edge was my children. The exception was a particularly painful night when I laid in my bed sobbing in pain. I won't go into the details of that night except to say that in the morning when I awoke, I realized that through all the terrible pain, I had not thought of the kids at all. I now surround myself with reminders of them.  I carry their pictures with me. The truth as I hope and pray it to be, is I could never, EVER do that to them. I work hard to be sure I never get that close again(I will write more about that later).  So to anyone thinking that suicide is the answer, I want you to know just a bit of what it has done to my children and myself.

Dear Husband,

Your suicide ripped through our lives like a bomb, shattering our sense of comfort and peace. If you could be in our lives one day, seemingly fine and then be gone the next by your own choice, we were vulnerable to any unforeseen tragedy.

I sat with your children, one of each side of me.  They were confused that a neighbor had picked them up from school so early in the day and brought them home, without telling them why.  The heartbreak on their faces when I had to tell them you were gone was one of the hardest things I have ever had to witness.  And how do you say the words?  There is nothing you can tack onto the end to make it all okay.  I ached for them as I struggled with handling my own shattered emotions.

Although we talked about your passing often, it wasn't until several months later that your sweet teenaged daughter told me she felt it was her fault.  She said she knew you had been sad and was going to ask if you were okay. But she didn't.  And she felt responsible.  What could I say?  Had she asked, you would have lied and said you were fine. And she would have believed you, because you were that good at covering your true emotions. I could absolutely relate to her feelings though, because I also struggle with feelings that I could have or should have done more.  Even though I stuck with you after your actions hurt me again and again.  I told you that you were worth it to me, that our family was worth it.  I would have been there by your side if you could have just trusted me. But you didn't.  You could not share the deep pain you felt with me.  That leaves me feeling that I was unworthy of your trust and love; that I was somehow lacking as a wife.

You have no idea the pain it caused me to sit at the bank, asking about your account, only to have the service rep read your death certificate and ask if you were in a hunting accident, then read that it was suicide and tell me how selfish you were. It was a slap in the face. People can be cruel and people can be ignorant.  But it was your actions that opened me up to such a vulnerable position.

Find someone else you said. As much as I hate to think of the rest of my life alone, could I ever really trust someone with my heart again? You broke me time and time again, but I loved you, I stayed with you. I stayed with you, but you could not stay with me. To love is to open yourself up to the possibility of one of the worst pains there is. If I wasn't good enough to keep you here, how could I be good enough for anyone? Could I survive the conflicted feelings of loving another? Could I survive being hurt yet again?

Nine months after you died I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  There I was without you, my best friend.  Friends stepped up and helped me, but it wasn't the same as having the comfort of your love and encouragement.  I went through three surgeries, chemotherapy, many trips to the ER, and radiology without you by my side, waking up alone in hospitals, sleeping in our bed alone, feeling miserable without someone there to encourage me to keep going. I remember having such a high fever, but I was shivering so hard I could not get up for extra blankets. You should have been there with me, keeping me warm. This year has brought more health issues and I have had procedures done all by myself.  Sitting all alone in a waiting room, laying all alone on a gurney, waking up alone. Feeling so very alone. And all the while struggling to provide for the children, both financially and emotionally.

A year after your death, your sweet son became very ill and lost a lot of weight.  He wasn't eating well and he had so little energy.  It took almost a year to determine what was causing him to be so sick. I took him to specialists in Salt Lake.  Without you. He is doing much better now, but I am told they are not certain what brought on this disease.  It could very well be stress that triggered its beginning. Your sweet son had to go through all this without his father by his side. And I, without my husband.

Father's day is hard for us all.  So much joy and celebrating fathers. My children long for the good times when you were here with us.  Father/daughter dances and activities.  Father/son campouts.  And so much more.  All have to be discussed carefully because your children no longer have a father to love and support them.

Who am I kidding, all holidays are hard. I'd prefer to ignore them all. But I must keep up traditions with the kids because it is what they need no matter how painful I find them to be.  They need stability and I try desperately to give it to them. It is exhausting but they are worth it.

I learned at a Wellness Fair last month that myself and the children are now at a higher risk for suicide ourselves.  I suppose you helped us plant that seed.  I will be vigilant in watching the kids closely and we will discuss suicide openly. I will do everything I can to protect them and keep them safe.

I am so very weary.  I miss holding your hand. I miss your hugs. I miss the long talks we had together. I miss our future dreams.  I miss your smile. I miss being your wife. I miss feeling loved and important. I even miss being at your side to help you battle your depression and addiction.  I miss you.

-Your loving wife

Please, please, if you are suicidal, find help. Call a friend, Call a hotline (National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Phone Number 1-800-273-8255), call me, text me, email me. I don't care if I know you or not, you are an important part of this world and I would love to remind you of that. I don't judge those who walk in darkness. I pray that you will soon see the beautiful light again. I want you to know you are not alone. (Amylloomis@gmail.com)

4th of July & PTSD

I wasn't there when my husband died.  I did not hear the gunshot that took him from us.  I was blissfully unaware for over an hour that he had left this Earth. 

Last night I put the kids to bed and as I was walking to my room, I heard the loud crack of fireworks in the neighborhood.  I immediately started to cry and shake uncontrollably. I put on my headphones, turned my most comforting songs up loud and sobbed in my bed for hours.  I even took an anxiety medication, but it did little to calm me down.  I couldn't stop seeing his last moments. In my mind I saw his reconstructed face as he lay at the mortuary and I sobbed.  This caught me completely off guard.  It wasn't by choice and I was truly helpless to stop it, so I rode it out, alone.  I am exhausted today and a quick trip to Albertsons to get a few things for dinner took forever. I wandered around, not sure what I was doing there or what to get.

I feel most of the time I am in control of my emotions and I deal with what comes along fairly well. I am good at the day to day.  I don't like emotional surprises.  I haven't yet learned to grieve in the presence of others.  I put on my smiley face and pretend all is well.  It is manageable.  But occasionally something will take me completely by surprise and I hate that. 

I am not sure what to do this evening.  More fireworks.  I want to be prepared.  Not sure if I should just try to get through it, or if I should put on my music early and climb into bed. I feel so sad for my kiddos, because mommy is emotionally checked out. I am so grateful for Adrienne, Jon and Jacob. Hopefully, no matter what happens with me tonight, they can help the kids celebrate our great country.

Happy 4th of July everyone.

Life In A Bubble

I live in a bubble. Some refer to it as widows fog, but I feel like bubble fits better for me. I try to avoid the "w" word, as I am not yet ready to accept that is what I have become, but I may very well be living in a widow's bubble.  It causes me to move/feel/process in slow motion, while the rest of the world is moving ahead at full speed.  Often times my view of the world through my bubble is clouded or foggy.  Other times I see the world so clearly, but I just cannot keep up.  This can be so frustrating for me, but at times I am able to accept that it is just how it has to be for now.

Life in my bubble is what causes me to look directly at you and not even process that I have seen you until hours later.  Or when one of you has performed some wonderful act of kindness for myself or my family and it takes me weeks to appropriately acknowledge you and offer my thanks, even though I feel gratitude towards you immediately. It is why I can get a sweet text or email from a dear friend and then find weeks have gone by before I sit down to reply. Sometimes I find it hard to properly articulate my emotions and thoughts, I may come across as a little off, or on a rough day, REALLY off.  But so far everyone is kind and patient with me.  I try to hide just how far behind the rest of you I feel.  I smile and pretend things are getting back to normal, even though they aren't. 

A very select few people know how to leave the high speed reality of life and join me in my slow motion bubble.  They comfort me and reassure me that it is okay, that I am okay.  They aren't uncomfortable around me.  They don't expect me to be something I am not, they don't expect me to do things I just can't.  They are fine just being with me.  I know this is a gift most people do not naturally have.  It is not a gift I have, however it is something I want to work on and hopefully develop. I am so grateful for these people in my life.  They inspire me in so many ways.

A couple weeks ago I had a serious emotional breakdown and reached out to someone. I didn't know what to do or say, but I knew I had to let someone know I was not doing well.  Though it was late, she was willing to come to me. To sit with me, to talk, to listen. She offered, but I was afraid to ask so much of someone.  I was afraid to admit my weakness and allow her to see my at my worst. I was afraid that I wasn't worth the effort.  I must seem like a crazy woman, reaching out for help and then refusing it!  She came to see me the next day.  We talked and I felt better.  Just knowing that she is there for me gives me hope.  Hope that maybe I can let down my guard at some point and allow someone in at the worst of times, when I need someone the most.

I don't know if my bubble will ever release me back into this fast paced world. And maybe that is okay.  One of the things I used to get so frustrated hearing was "you are being prepared so that you can help someone else through their trials".  I would think to myself,  how can I help someone else when I can't even overcome my own pain? But I have learned that is really what I want my life to be about, helping others know they are never alone.  I hope to be able to share my journey and help others find the faith to get through the things that seem so impossible to overcome. I am by no means an expert, but perhaps through my bumbling experiences, I can be helpful to someone else. 

Suicide...::sigh::

Losing a husband/father to death is a terrible thing to experience at any age.  Losing a husband/father to suicide adds layers of turmoil to the loss.  It is in direct opposition to what a loving family is all about.  I want to remember the love we shared, yet I wonder, did he really love me and if so, how could he have left me the way he did.  During the darkest of times, I tell myself, he hid his depression and desperation from me, maybe he was only pretending to love me.  I am sure Satan is at the heart of that kind of thinking.  I try not to stay there.  I know my Richard loved me and our family and I know with suicide, the person suffering cannot see things clearly. They cannot understand the devastation others will feel, or the permanent scarring their actions will cause.  His note to me said his death was like a band aid being pulled off. That we would finally be able to heal without him here and that we would soon be happy again.  He saw the world as being better off without him.  But even knowing and trying to understand these things, negative thoughts come up from time to time. It is exhausting mentally to swing between thoughts of love and unity to death and abandonment.  I want to scream at him how wrong he was, how much we need him, how this kind of pain will never completely go away!  But I don't. I write it all in my journal to him.  And in some small way I am able to make peace with it. 

I understand so much of what he was going through. Even though he didn't share how bad things were, I knew and could relate to his pain and suffering.  These are things I cannot share with my little children yet.  They struggle with the way he died, just as I do. But they didn't see things the way I saw them.  To them he was strong, happy, invincible daddy! I struggle with how to help them cope with the questions that come up.   Last night Annalina came to me crying because she was missing Richard so badly.  I ache for her and we talked for a long time about it.  She told me she had noticed several times that daddy seemed sad and she wanted to ask him about it.  But she got busy and forgot and then he was gone.  I explained as best I could that had she asked him, daddy would have smiled and told her everything was perfectly fine.  That was just how he was.  She has been living with this for over two months now, this thought that had she said something to him, he might still be here.  I held her as she cried. I talked to her. I loved her. And I saw all my own regrets in that moment.  All the blame that I couldn't help but feel.  All the longing to go back and  change things, to make a difference, to save him, to keep him here with us.  And in helping my daughter deal with these things, I am helping myself as well. Because I really need her to understand this was in no way her fault, there was nothing she could have done.  That is yet another terrible thing about suicide. Those left behind are left with regret and sadness and so many questions. 

At one point I went to my Bishop and asked him why I woke up at 4 am to find Richard gone.  Why did I go talk to him and yet I didn't feel prompted to do more, to do something that would have saved him?  Was I unworthy of such guidance and did my unworthiness cost my husband his life? (Again, thoughts planted by Satan, I am certain).  His answer was that only the Lord knew how deep and painful Richard's suffering was.  Only He knew what Richard needed to be made whole.  And he wasn't going to get that here on earth.  And while I ache because I wanted to be all he needed, yes, a little egotistical, I am coming to an understanding that he is where he needs to be to heal and become whole.  Though we have years ahead of us of sadness and loneliness from missing him in our lives, we will have what we have always been promised we will have an eternal family.  It still hurts deeply.  But at times I think of our first reunion and the joy that will be ours at being together after so long apart.  Death is no longer scary to me.    

Some say suicide is a terribly selfish thing to do as it affects so many people.  Sometimes I think of my desire to keep Richard here and I think maybe I am the one being selfish.  I know how much pain and suffering I am feeling, and my children as well to a degree, but I cannot possibly know how much Richard was suffering.  I believe he is no longer in pain and darkness.  I believe he can feel hope once again and I believe he can feel the love and light of the Savior.  I am so grateful for this knowledge!

Trusting the Process

Grieving and raising a family are not very compatible early on in the process.  I try so hard to be what my kids need me to be right now, because I know this is terribly hard on them and they need someone constant and strong in their lives.  Some days I fail miserably.  A couple of Saturdays ago, Annalina had her first volleyball tournament.  It was an all day event and Richard and I went to each of her tournaments together last year. They were always so much fun.  I wanted to be there for Annalina and let her know that I would always be there to cheer her on.

It was loud and chaotic.  I began to feel physical pain sitting there watching.  I took Advil and Tylenol, but nothing helped as the pain got worse and worse.  Finally after 5 hours I told Annalina I wasn't feeling well and I needed to go home.  She arranged a ride for herself and I left, feeling like an utter failure as a mother.  I got home and climbed into bed and within minutes the severe pain faded and then was gone.  Is my emotional state manifesting itself physically?  And if so, how do I balance my own needs in this grieving process with the needs of my children? I feel the weight of parenthood crushing down around me at times.  I love being a mother. If I could spend eternity raising children, it would truly be heaven to me.  But it is so much harder when it is all up to me, alone.

I spent much of the rest of Saturday in bed. Then came Sunday and I spent the entire day in bed. I just could not leave the comfort of my warm, accepting bed.  I felt so much emotional pain on Sunday.  At times I could not help myself and I laid there sobbing.  I tried to read, but got sleepy each time I opened my book.  It was like the emotional dam that has held back all the feelings of despair had broken completely. The kids spent some time with Adrienne, they spent time together, but they spent little time with me. I just could not do it.

There is no handbook that goes along with grieving.  But there are resources.  Lately I struggle with concentration when I read, but I have been reading bits and pieces of the book, "On Grief and Grieving".  I found a section called Isolation.  It was very familiar to me.  It is what I have always done in times of great emotional upheaval.  I have always felt that I was doing "it" wrong because I turn inward.  But the book told me that isolating is a natural part of the grief process and that it is okay as long as it is just a step and I don't get stuck there.  People often see isolation as a sign of danger. I have a friend who really does not understand that it is okay.  She gets frustrated that I am not ready to go out with her, or when I don't answer my phone, or when I miss church.  She says, "what am I going to do with you".  She loves me and I appreciate her concern. But sometimes I feel I am being judged. I feel like I need to explain myself and right now I just cannot do that.

What I need friends and family to understand is that I am doing the best I can.  I am not one to let anything conquer me and I will get back on my feet and keep fighting to move forward.  That is just who I am.  But there will be setbacks and there will be times when I don't do what seems normal or "right". But I am doing what is right for me.  I am listening very closely to my inner voice, trying to do what is best for me and my family.  I am trying very hard to trust a process that I do not completely understand.  I need for others to trust that I won't give up, but sometimes I will need a break.  I feel like my state of being right now is exhausting. If I had a broken leg no one would question my need to take it easy and heal.  No one would push me to run a marathon, or even walk down the street.  A broken heart is no different. 

Bumps in the Road

Earlier this week the Detective on Richard's case came by to tell me that they were closing the case. He also needed a signature from me on the form releasing the shotgun because I didn't want it back.  There are so many holes in the timeline of that morning and I asked him questions. Perhaps it would have been better not to know, but I have found that every piece of information helps me to process what happened that day. And at times I feel I am desperate to make sense of it all, as if that is even possible. 

The death certificate states he died between 5 and 6 am.  I knew he did not hit send on the email he wrote to me until 5:47, so why did they think he could have died earlier?  I asked the detective and was told that a security camera showed the Jeep pulling into the parking lot at 5am.  If each day is a step forward in healing, this information set me back miles.  I had always thought he was on autopilot and that it all happened incredibly fast, before he could think about it, or talk himself out of it.  But now I know better. I know that he sat in the back of that parking lot for at least 47 minutes before he got out and took his own life.  Did he try to talk himself out of it? Did he consider calling me and asking for help?  Did he just sit there in complete mental darkness for such a long time, sinking deeper into despair each minute?

When someone we love passes away, we find comfort in knowing it was quick and the suffering was short.  But to know that someone has suffered so deeply for any length of time is devastating.  The wounds in my heart, which will never heal properly, were torn open again and I feel as though the mourning process has started over.  I ache for my poor lost husband who felt he had to bear his burdens all on his own.  I am so sad he he felt all alone.

For a couple weeks after his death I felt so much guilt about not knowing, not getting him help, not saving him.  My mind understands it was not my fault, but my heart still struggles with this.   I am working through those feelings and I think my subconscious attempted to help with that through a dream I had a few weeks ago.  I was with Richard in the hospital. He was in a hospital bed.  We were told he was being released and I could take him home.  In my mind I knew we only had moments left and that he was about to die.  He got out of the bed and as we walked to the door together, he fell to the ground. I knelt beside him and knew he was going to die and I held him as he passed away.  In that dream I knew there was nothing I could do to stop what was going to happen.  But I got to be with him, to ease his last moments and help him feel my love for him.

I wish so much that I could have eased his burdens at the end.  What I wouldn't give to have been able to hold his hand through his suffering.  But I am also coming to the realization that there was nothing more that I could do.  We had a loving marriage. I expressed my love to him often. I liked to tell him, "I don't just love you, I adore you".  I knew he had huge things he was struggling with and I was here to help him, but I also knew there were things he wasn't comfortable sharing.   He was a wonderful husband and I tried to be a good wife.  I think that some damage just runs too deep.  There was so much distrust for others throughout his early life that I think that carried over into our marriage.  Through no fault of his or mine, he just couldn't trust that I would always be here for him.  Which is incredibly frustrating to me, given all we have gone through together, and the fact that I was still here!  I feel I have been blessed with compassion and great understanding of his trials in life and how they affected us.  It is because of this that I feel no anger towards him.  I still love him and still look forward to eternity with him.  I have a journal in which I write to him.  In it I remind him often to work hard to do those things he needs to do to be ready for us as we join him one by one.  A friend said to me that she believes the healing he needed could only happen in the arms of the Savior.  What a beautiful picture that brings into my mind. 

The Day Life Changed Forever

I woke up in early hours of the morning on January 22nd and my Richard was not in bed.  I went to find him and he said he was unable to sleep and was just checking email.  I went back to bed and left my lamp on so I would not be too deeply asleep when he came back to bed. I wanted to talk with him before we had to start the day. I never saw him again.

He had been feeling down all week, but my sweet husband tried to hide that from us. He didn't want to burden anyone.  As everyone who knew him knows, he was always willing to help with a smile on his face. He was happy, friendly and outgoing, never revealing his inner turmoil.  He never returned to our room and when I awoke I found an email - the saddest email ever - in my inbox.  My sweet husband had been suffering for so long.  He had reached a point of hopelessness and in his dark state of mind, he felt the best thing for everyone would be if he was gone.  He had promised many times over the last year that he would never leave me again and I remember saying out loud, "No, No, No" as I rushed to get dressed. My heart was pounding as I imagined the worst. I somehow managed to get the kids off to school without a word. I thought I could find him and bring him home and love him and it would all be okay.

He had mentioned the Temple in his email so I drove there to look for him, praying the whole way that I would find him alive.  He was not there so I came home to start calling him, never realizing I passed him along the way, but he was already gone.  I called my Bishop, but he was out of the country. I called the first counselor who immediately came over and advised me to call the police right away.  Adrienne rushed home from school when I asked her to and my counselor came over to be with us too.  Richard had left his cell phone on next to his wallet in the Jeep so he could easily be found, but he did not die in his Jeep.  The police came and took information and his cell phone number and shortly after that got a ping nearby.  They left to check on it and when they weren't back in 45 minutes I called the detective. He did not answer. I knew this was a bad sign, and yet a silent plea continued, "please let him be okay".  A few minutes later the police officer and the detective came back with the news that my husband had been found, but that he was not alive. The world stopped in that moment. My mind flooded with thoughts of my children and how crushed they would be, questions about how could I go on alone, without my best friend and eternal companion. They say when you die your life flashes before your eyes. In that moment my future flashed before my eyes, all our plans, our goals, our dreams, how would they be possible now?  The pain was more than anything I have ever felt before.

My sweet daughter Adrienne held my hand as we cried together.   I have a great respect for law enforcement.  They took plenty of time to answer questions and help me understand what would have to happen next.  They were kind and compassionate. I learned later that he was not found where they originally told me his phone had been pinged.  And they would not tell me where he was found until after his body had been taken away.  They worried I would try to go and see Richard and they wanted to protect me from that.  I am grateful.  The detective shared advice from his own experience of losing a child to suicide.  Jacob came home and was so emotional at the news.  The police called the schools to tell them the kids would be leaving early and my sweet friend Taunya picked them up and brought them home.  It was the hardest thing to have to tell them daddy was gone. My counselor told me to be vague and just say that daddy had passed away, but Joseph started to ask the hard questions right away and I had to carefully share that daddy was struggling and took his own life.  Heartache after headache.  My children cried in my arms.  All we could do was cling to each other.  We sat together for hours, in shock over this incredibly heartbreaking loss.

People were in and out all the rest of the day, though I cannot really remember exactly who.  President Parkinson came by and gave the kids and I all blessings.  The police came back a third time to discuss where the body had been taken and details of what would need to be done in the next few days.  They were kind and told me to take the rest of the day and just be with my family. But more people came by and papers needed to be signed.  I had to call and let family know. By evening I felt the need to do something. The police had told me the Jeep was released for pick up, so I had Adrienne drive me to it.  I just sat there crying for quite some time, trying to fathom how this was all possible.  I prayed, I cried some more. Being there, where his last moments took place, my heart just ached for Richard, that he had been so alone, that I was not able to be there to ease his burden.  I drove the Jeep for the first time that night.  I brought it home. It smelled of him.  So many happy memories we had in that Jeep, exploring the beauty of Idaho.  I parked at home and sat there for the longest time, sobbing.

The little kids decided to sleep with me. I was grateful because I did not want them to be alone and I didn't want to be alone either.   I took a sleeping pill.  About an hour after finally falling to sleep I woke up terribly thirsty.  I got up to get a drink and immediately got dizzy.  I leaned against the doorway and closed my eyes for a moment and suddenly I was falling. I was so tired I fell asleep standing there.  I climbed back into bed but didn't sleep more than a couple of hours.  That would be my new normal as far as sleep goes.

Looking back, I don't know how I survived that day emotionally.  Or the days and weeks that followed.   I have been told that I am strong and that I am doing well handling it all.  I appreciate such kind comments, but I have learned that we just do what has to be done. We move forward because there is no choice.  I am grateful for the faith that I have developed over my lifetime. I am grateful for the knowledge that the Lord is our merciful Father who knows our hearts and will make sure all is as it should be in the end, which is really just the beginning.  I am grateful for the love and support my family has received and I will write more on that later.  Mostly I felt the need to record my experience, to make this a part of our family history.  I don't know what our future holds, but I want to be able to remind myself that I am a survivor, that I can do impossible things, that I am strong.  And I hope at some point someone at the beginning of their journey of heartache might read this and know there is hope.  As dark as things may seem, the light will eventually start to shine through. 

5 Things About Grief

Here are my thoughts on some advice I just read on grief.

"#1 - It won't look normal. What the heck is normal anyway? Cry, don't cry, walk around in a daze - it's ALL NORMAL."
Funny thing about me, I like to do things "right", how I perceive they should be done. I struggled for a while in counseling because I felt like I was doing it wrong.  The same has happened with grieving.  A sweet friend came to visit me last week. She said she had heard that people were worried about me because I wouldn't go out walking with them or go visit with them or answer my phone.  She wanted to check in with me to be sure I was ok.  I apologized and started to explain how sometimes its just hard to pick up the phone, or to leave my house.  How the world seems somehow scary to me now that it is missing the presence of my sweet companion Richard.  How I am afraid someone will need something from me that I just cannot give right now.  She said I did not need to explain it to her.  She told me I was doing what my mind/body/spirit needs at this time to feel safe and that grief looks different to everyone experiencing it.  I am a worrier, I am often more likely to try not to offend someone than take care of myself and my own needs.  She told me that my friends are not offended when I don't take them up on their offers and that was nice to hear. They are just trying to help in any way they can think of.  That day I learned its okay to admit I am not okay and that I don't have to put on the face of "everything being okay" when its not, when I am not.  I don't have to grieve in the way that seems "normal" and that each day my grief can look very different. 

So what is normal?  Some days I cannot get out of bed, some days I cannot stay in bed. Some nights I sleep an incredibly long stretch at a time, other nights I barely get an hour or two of sleep.  Some days I feel no emotion, other days I could cry all day long if I allowed myself to.  Some days I feel ambitious and attempt to get things done, others I can barely motivate myself to take a shower, let alone plan dinner for my family.  One thing hasn't changed, and that is this: I miss my husband so much. And I love him still.  Some days life just feels like it is something to endure and while I have heard that the joy will return to my life, I just don't see it...yet.

"#2 - You will want to talk about the person who died - at length."
When my mother was here I talked a TON about Richard and our life together.  She was wonderful to sit and listen to me and to join in with her own thoughts and memories.  So much reminds me of him and it is hard for me not to talk about him. Having my mother here to listen to me was very therapeutic. She loved my husband so much and that has been such a blessing to me.  Sometimes when I talk about Richard in front of the kids, its makes them sad, so I find myself thinking carefully about what I say about him.  A couple of weeks ago I wanted to write down memories of him that the kids have so we could always remember them.  It was too soon and Annalina just turned around and went to her room.  I found her later in her closet with the door closed.  It is a tough balancing act, all of us grieving in our own way.

"#3 - People will shun you to protect themselves from feeling uncomfortable."
I am probably hyper aware that some people are uncomfortable around me.  And its okay, it makes perfect sense to me. I try not to talk too much about things with people I sense may be uncomfortable.  I have a few very close friends who come by to visit whom I feel very comfortable sharing with.  My friend Lisa came from Oregon to spend almost a week here in Rexburg with me and I was telling her how everyone is always asking me if I am working yet and sometimes it drives me crazy.  She told me it was a safe question for people, that it showed they were interested in my life and how we are doing without talking about the heavy stuff.  Brilliant!  That made so much sense to me and that question doesn't bother me anymore.  The last thing I want is to make other people feel uncomfortable.  Maybe that is another reason I prefer to stay in my home and not interact with people.

"#4 - You will laugh at the most inappropriate things probably for the rest of your life. I call it widow humor."
I think my mom and I started to do this a bit while she was here.  Sometimes its easier to laugh at the things that really hurt rather than to cry about them.  I don't do this a whole lot yet, but I can see where it may be something that develops as time goes on.

"#5 - You will smile again and at first it will make you feel incredibly guilty but in time you realize your smile is a tribute to their life."
The first few days after Richard's death I could not eat and I barely drank. I couldn't listen to music. I could not play cell phone games for weeks. I could not watch tv shows or movies or read books. I felt like it wasn't right that I should go on doing things that I enjoyed when he had been in such despair that he took his own life.I felt like I had to punish myself for still being alive when I couldn't keep him here.  And before anyone says, "you must know this was not your fault and there was nothing you could do to save him", please realize that my mind understands this, but my heart still struggles with it. If I could go back, knowing how bad things were for him, I believe he would still be here and I could have made a difference. I try to keep things light with the kids, we giggle, tease, and play and at times life seems almost normal again.  But it doesn't always feel real or complete.

I am trying so hard to understand what has happened and what will happen next.  I want to see the big picture. I am tired of devastating surprises in life, but complaining about it is not the way to learn and grow.  I find myself leaning on my faith and the Lord to help me develop into the person He knows I can be.  I cling to the beauty of the Plan of Salvation.  I see myself walking into the arms of my husband someday and I find that comforting.  As much as I know that life is a gift, I truly look forward to that day.

Ramblings of a Broken Heart and Clouded Mind

"We've found your husband...I'm sorry to say that he is deceased."  Words spoken kindly and gently and yet they ripped through my life like a class 5 hurricane.  Lost dreams, broken hearts...nothing will ever be the same.  How can our world ever be okay again?  How do I mend the hearts of my sweet children who miss their daddy so much and can't possibly understand why and how this happened?  How do I put myself back together enough so that they I can help them?  How do I be strong when my best friend left me permanently alone in this life?  By choice...he left of his own free will.  I understand that his mind was darkened with mental anguish, but it breaks my heart that the love I have for him couldn't get through to him in the end.  I feel like a failure and my mind races maddeningly with thoughts of what I could have done differently...desperately wishing I could go back and change things.

I realize this may have been the outcome a year ago when our family felt the full effects of my husband's mental illness for the first time.  A year ago today he left for a month, disappearing without a word.  We prayed and fasted and prayed some more.  He finally came back to us, broken, but home.  Many times over the past year he has promised me he would never leave me again, unless I asked him to.  He left, for good this time, and he promised me he wouldn't.  How does my mind even begin to process this?  He told me that last year he wanted to die and he was not going to come home.  But then he wanted to hear my voice one more time.  He was so disconnected with our world that he had no idea what I had been doing to try to find him.  That I was not angry and only wanted him home where he could get the help he needed while wrapped in the arms of his loving family. He thought he would call, and I would be angry, and he could make his permanent exit from life.  He was wrong and I am grateful for that.

I feel this past year is a gift.  We struggled, we worked hard to get over temporarily broken hearts, we talked, we laughed, we spent so much time together, we struggled some more, things were far from perfect, but we kept trying.   I tried so hard to understand what was going on inside his mind.  I knew he wasn't capable of sharing everything, so I tried to be patient with him and just love him.  Sometimes I failed at that, wanting change to come quicker.  He was my best friend.  I miss him so much. It hurts terribly, but if I was given the choice, I'd do it all over again.  The 15 years of our marriage were worth this terrible pain.  Our family is worth it.  He is worth that to me, and more.  I only wish he could have seen that.

I have faith that through the Atonement all will be made right in the end.  I know that we can be a forever family, as we always planned.  I know my children and even myself will be okay through the comfort that only the Savior can give us.  My doctor asked me today, as I sat in his office having an anxiety attack, if I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.  No, there is no light and there is no tunnel, as it feels I am in a small dark place and there is no way out.  But I do believe that relief will come.  In time.  I am once again choosing faith and  not fear.  As heartbreaking as it is to move forward without my Richard, I know I can do it.  But life stretches out so long in front of me...

So much So fast

I saw my doctor yesterday.   I tried to be strong, but instead I sat in the waiting room sobbing, luckily I was alone and didn't have to wait too long.  Doctor Hardy is so kind and gave me such good advice.  He prescribed me something to help me sleep. Something very heavy duty, since the night before I only got a total of about 2 hours of sleep using my old Rx.  Last night I took a pill and climbed into bed.  Both kids came in to sleep with me and my sweet Annalina started to cry. She said that she keeps forgetting that daddy isn't coming home.  I fought the effects of my pill and comforted her for quite a while.  My heart is already broken and yet it breaks into smaller pieces to see my sweet children suffer.  Two and a half hours later I was wide awake and obsessing about the obituary that was due today.  I was so worried about doing a good job telling about Richard's life.  Things kept going through my mind.  I finally got up and typed out what had come to me.  Then I started going through photos for the obituary and program.  What a brutal experience that was.  Having to look at photo after photo of good times with the man I love!  I cried and cried.  Someday I hope to get to the point where those photos bring me joy.  But that time is not in sight yet.

I had to go to the funeral home to go over some things.  Sweet Adrienne went with me.  The funeral director helped us finish up the obituary and didn't even get upset that it wasn't completely done.  (Why did I feel like a schoolgirl turning in an unfinished report?)  He was kind and helpful to us.  I had found the perfect photo.  It was of Richard and Adrienne together on her wedding day.  He cropped it down so it was just Richard and the look on Richard's face is priceless. He was so happy and proud of Adrienne that day.  I am grateful I found that photo.  It is exactly how I want my husband to be remembered.

After all that, I spent some time with my husband.  It was so painful and yet such a tender experience, to touch his face which was hard and then to touch his hands which were soft.  At times I wish I could feel anger towards him for taking himself away from us like this.  Then the pain would take a back seat to the anger.  But all I can feel right now is a great love and compassion for him and what he must have gone through to end up doing what he did.  I am heartbroken he was so alone. I am sad he didn't feel that he could share his desperation with me.  I miss him so very much.  He no longer looks like himself.  They did quite a bit of work on my dear husband, but the damage he did to himself was great.  I carefully asked the kids if they felt they wanted to see him one last time and was grateful to hear that they would prefer to remember him as he was.  Adrienne was with me every minute.  I know it wasn't easy for her, but she was there loving me and supporting me and it was so very precious.  I talked to him.  I hope he heard me.  I think he did.  These kind of losses are so hard because there is so much left unsaid.