It was early May. The telephone calls had stopped, no one stopped by to visit (except the Jehovah's Witness on their neighborhood rounds), and I was feeling isolated and alone. I could find no joy in the things that had previously crowded and filled my days and no desire to do them.
My husband, dealing with his own issues, found it too painful to discuss what had happened or what either of us were feeling. Soon after Christian's death, he and I had reached a turning point in our relationship; and because of it the absolute rage I had felt toward him was gone. He had acknowledged to me that he understood the part he had played in Christian's death. For me this showed a depth of sorrow and regret that only a very humble, loving man could show. Had he reacted defensively our relationship would have ended then and there. And in that moment, as tears flowed down his face, I fell in love with him all over again and loved him more than I ever had. It enabled me to feel compassion for what he was feeling and for what he was trying to work through.
Initially I tried to erase or ignore my grief by drawing and painting picture after picture after picture. These are just a very few.
But no amount of artwork could fill the empty place in my heart. I began to sit on the porch swing on my back deck and relive the events that lead up to January 18th. I remembered all of Christian's suicide attempts that were not successful. The time when Bobby and I went searching for him fearing the worst after finding pools and pools of blood all over his porch, the kitchen floor, the countertops, and a bloody knife in the sink. The time we physically had to fight him to the ground to prevent him from swallowing more pills; and me telling Bobby to break his wrist if he had to. Bobby and Ashley resuscitating him after he had stockpiled heroin and tried to kill himself by overdosing. Remembering the day I spent hours searching through all his possessions trying to find the gun I knew he had hidden; and upon finding it, then trying to find a place to hide it that I didn't think he'd ever look. Hiding all the prescription medication in the house that might be lethal.
Hearing him tell me that he promised that he'd never kill himself in my house - that he'd go off into the woods to do it. Then when I'd come home and he wasn't here I'd frantically begin searching the house to see if he had left a note. And all the times when he'd turn his rage on me because I couldn't change, or in his mind, won't do anything to change all the things that were causing him pain. Listening to him rage about his brother and Ashley for any number of reasons (real or imaginary); and all the other people in his life that he perceived had betrayed him in one way or another.
His behavior was becoming more and more irradiate; and he was becoming increasingly more irritable and agitated. He was taking risks and striking out in ways he never would have before. He vacillated between sorrow for his actions against his ex-girlfriend and rage at being a victim of her and her new boyfriend. And me trying to keep it all together. Always holding my emotions under control. Trying to be the calming force in his life. Trying without success to get him to make an appointment to see a mental health counselor or readmit himself into a mental health facility. Feeling helpless because of my inability to have him involuntarily committed. My inability to get anyone to listen to me - to understand the urgency of his situation.
It was taking a huge emotional toll on me. I feared that I would be the one having a nervous break down. His anger was becoming more and more intense with each day. So I left him and went to my mother's house in Nevada. I abandoned him to save myself. I had even thought "If you're going to do it, just do it. I can't take anymore." Every day had become a battle. Whatever emotional strength I had was gone. I had moved into survival mode.
So I sat on my back porch on my porch swing day after day watching the birds and remembering all these things and feeling guilty for leaving and especially for my thoughts. And I sunk deeper and deeper into depression. My friend - my best friend - decided for whatever reason that he didn't want to communicate with me any longer and without explanation broke off all contact four months after Christian's death. I can't really blame him. I never told him what was happening at home with Christian and there were times that I struck out at him just because I needed to strike out at someone, anyone except Christian. He had been my go-to-guy and now he was gone too.
Then my exhusband, who I had remained very close to, died of a heart attack on approximately April 6th or 7th. We don't know for sure because he was alone in his apartment at the time of his death. He was in poor health. He had had two previous heart attacks; had one kidney removed and was on kidney dialyze. Bobby, our son, drove him to his appointments at the VA hospital. When he stopped answering his phone and didn't come to the door, we had the police do a wellness check and they discovered that he had died. We had spoken either on the day of his death or the day before. I had ask him how he was feeling. He said not good but okay. At the end of our conversation we said "I love you" as was our custom. Now I found myself making arrangements with the funeral home for another departed love one. The children and I were the only family that he maintained contact with. It was too much for tender hearts still suffering.
I felt as though my life had come completely unraveled and I was broken beyond repair. These images are not as light hearted as they appear at first glance.
I was beginning to feel suicidal. Extremely suicidal. My despair was so intense, my sadness so overwhelming, my guilt so great. Had it not been the tears of my daughter and her pleading voice over the phone I might have gone through with it. Without saying it, she made me realize how much the children had already gone through. This mother would not do that to her children. Although it happens every day, it would not happen to this family on this day. When in that deep, dark place, I was not thinking about my family. I was only thinking about a way to find some peace in my chaotic life and stop my memories and my pain.
I had to take myself out of that mental place. I just had to. And so I did but not without great and conscious effort and some anti-depressants, anxiety medication, and a doctor's help. And with the support of wonderful people I came into contact with through some online survivors of suicide support groups.
I am so thankful for those other survivors that were there for me. I just hope that in some small way I can do for someone else what they did for me. And continue to do for me. Almost every day someone reaches out to me. How blessed I am.
I suddenly just realized another thing that I have been blessed with. I don't know why it didn't occur to me sooner. I had the opportunity to say "I love you" to both Christian and Bob shortly before they left me. What an amazing gift! I have friends that are nonbelievers but when things like this happen, how can the existence of a loving Heavenly Father be denied...... "Praise God from whom all blessings flow."
