Happy Birthday, Jason... It is a year ago tomorrow...

[sara1998]

It was a year ago tomorrow that I lost my husband to suicide. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of him. I have never missed someone as much as I miss him. I miss his laugh, his sarcasm and wit. I miss his opinion and his view of life. I miss the loving husband and father he was. I miss picking up his dirty socks from the floor, and his cigarette butts in the shower. (Don’t ask) I miss the way he was so meticulous about how he kept his truck up. I miss everything about him. A lot has happened to our daughter and me since then. We fell down, hard. I have cried, laughed, and cried again. I have loved him, hated him, been angry with him, been angry with the world, and tried to make it up again. I’ve run the gamut of emotions since our loss. I have been sad, depressed, angry, distant, and numb. I have been hard to council, hard to talk to, hard to live with, hard to work with, and hard to understand. I have been through alcohol, antidepressants, and at least a thousand cartons of cigarettes. I have listened to my now 5 year old talk about him every night at bedtime wondering why he left us. There is times where I wonder what would have happened if I was the one who commited suicide. There were times where I wish I could have committed suicide. But, that is not an option for me to solve my problems with. Reasoning puts me back in my place, and I know there is a little one here who depends on me to take care of her. I know there are friends and family who don’t deserve the burden of my death, and my little one who does not deserve to be parentless. There is too much life for me to live. There are times where I wish that we could run away and start life all over again in a new place, where no one would knew the hell we have suffered. Somewhere I am not paranoid of people looking at me differently because of my situation. Somewhere where people don’t know me any differently from who I am now. I have encountered people who are overly sensitive, and people who are not at all sensitive. Some are indifferent. I’ve heard lots of people’s stories of their own loss in their lives. They seem inclined to share it with me, and I am sad for them, but I am thankful to hear their stories of their loss. It lets me know I’m not the only one who has lost. There are people who have suffered through the suicide of their husband, but every case is different. No two scenarios are the same. And there are people who try to understand, but never really will. I don’t want anyone else to have to understand. If you’ve never been through the suicide of a spouse, you will never understand the pain, the not knowing why, the guilt, and the trauma. The minute he left this world, our lives changed drastically. You so desperately want to get back to normal, but when a spouse dies, they take “normal� with them. There is no normal left. It’s up to you to make it up. You are left a very different person then who you were. You struggle to figure out who you now are. You struggle to make up a new normal. We moved from our home and bought a new one. We have a new routine. I have a new job, with new people, and different hours. She goes to a sitter. We even do grocery shopping differently. I cook only for two. The burdens of home are solely on me. The daddy a little girl longs to play with is no longer here to swing her around or teach her to fish. There is no father in her daily life. Every little thing changed. That’s hard to imagine, but it really happened. And looking back, it’s like it was all a dream. Looking back, it’s hard to imagine that anyone could suffer through all we have suffered through, and make it out alive. Looking back, I’ve surprised myself with how strong I really am. I’m surprised I’ve come as far as I have. I have dealt with lawyers, insurance companies, creditors, mortgage companies and the IRS; things I’ve never before done on my own, but am learning to do so. I have literally pulled myself up from my bra straps, and regained control of my life. I have supplied a good, stable environment for our daughter. I have rebuilt our lives from the ground up. And I am proud to say I have done most of this on my very own. We fell down hard, but we picked up fast. There are a lot of things he taught me in our 5 short years together, but there are still many things he made me learn even after his life was over. And I am still learning. I’m learning to be mom and dad. I’m learning to be soft and harsh. I’m learning to stand up for myself. I’m learning that I am the only one here to do it all. I’m learning to use the drill, and the weed eater! I’m learning that even though he was a key person in my life, life still marches on no matter what. I’m learning to march on with it. I’ve learned to live life while you have it, because it’s a short trip here. Go and do in life what you most want now, because it can end so very quickly. It’s not an easy lesson to learn. I have to be thankful for everyone who has put up with me, grieved with me, listened to me, cried with me, talked to me, and loved me unconditionally. I have been impossible, but it’s all part of healing. I am still healing today. I still have bad days, but those are getting further and further apart. I am still learning about who I am, because I have changed since. It’s a long process, but I will get there eventually. It’s hard to believe it’s been a year. It seems like I’ve lived a lifetime without him, but at the same time, it seems like it was just yesterday…

In loving memory of a beloved husband and father.
We miss you terribly.



Civil War-

"Our friend died on his own battlefield. He was killed in action fighting a civil war. He fought against adversaries that were as real to him as his casket is real to us. They were powerful adversaries. They took tolls of his energies and endurances. They exhausted the last vestiges of his courage and strength. At last these adversaries overwhelmed him. And it appeared that he lost the war. But did he? I see a host of victories that he has won!
For one thing, he has won our admiration, because even if he lost the war, we give him credit for his bravery on the battlefield. And we give him credit for the courage and the pride and the hope that he used as weapons as long as he could. We shall remember not his death, but his daily victories gained through his kindnesses and thoughtfulness, through his love for family and friends . . . for all things beautiful, lovely, and honorable. We shall remember not his last day of defeat, but we shall remember the many days that he was victorious over overwhelming odds. We shall remember not the years we thought he had left, but the intensity with which he lived the years he had. Only God knows what this child of his suffered in the silent skirmishes that took place in his soul. But our consolation is that God does know and understands.�