What it was like for me the day you died...

Dear Shawn,

I think I need to share with you, for my own healing, what it was like for me the day you died.

It was my 40th birthday.  Oh, how I had been dreading turning 40!  Not only did it sound old - I actually felt old, too.  It turns out that day aged me more than any other.

The day hadn't started out great.  For the first time in my life I hadn't spent the preceding weeks jubilantly announcing that my birthday is coming.  This meant that no one in the house greeted me with birthday wishes. 

And, really, this is the way I wanted it - I wanted to be mad and sulk about turning 40 and what could be more perfect than letting them know the day after that they had forgotten my birthday??  Childish, I know.   But, look at it this way, even if I was getting old on the calendar and physically, there was no reason I had to act mature mentally!!

They may have forgotten it was my birthday but I don't think you had.  It wasn't like you to forget- you were one who remembered these sorts of things.  Paid attention to the calendar, called your parents on their birthdays, made people's birthdays special.

I was sitting at work feeling sorry for myself when the text chimed.

It was from your wife.

Your wife who had spent most of the two years of your marriage speaking ill of me to anyone who would listen, your wife who sent me emails where my name in the "To:" field said, "Huge Fucking Pile of Shit" (that was your name for me wasn't it - it is quintessentially you), your wife who told the kids that their mommy "was a liar". 

It was from your wife who probably put me on the bottom of the list of people she would reach out to in an emergency.

And it said, "Have you or the kids talked to Shawn since last night?"

Shawn, my heart instantly dropped into my stomach.

I knew right then.

I knew it was really bad.

I knew that your wife had to be desperate with fear before she typed those words on her phone.

I knew that fear too well. 

I had been through it with you before.  I had called your friends with the same question.

Of course, we hadn't talked to you.  I hadn't talked to you on the phone since the time you made me cry after I got laid off.

We hadn't talked to you because you didn't call.

I wrote back immediately and let her know we hadn't heard from you and asked, "Is everything okay?"

The reply came quickly..."NO!  Can the kids stay with you tonight?"

They were supposed to see you that night.  You were supposed to have dinner with them.

And now you were missing.

And I knew how bad it really was - I knew that if it was just a Lover's Quarrel between you and Amber where you had gone to sleep on a friends couch.  She would have never texted me for that.

Now you were missing and suddenly my pathetic little birthday pity seemed very small.

Shawn, my thoughts immediately turned to the kids.  I had just dropped them off at school a few hours before.  You would never hurt them, would you?  You weren't that far gone, were you?

Do you have any idea how shameful it felt to call the school?  Did you know I was still protecting YOU and your image when I didn't tell them the details of my concerns and simply instructed them 3 times in a very firm voice that NO ONE except me should pick up the kids and that if ANYONE - even another family member came to pick them up that they should call me and the police.  What kind of person has to make this call?  People with "normal lives" don't have to make calls like this.  And I thought I was done with that life when we divorced.

I don't really remember the rest of the work-day.  I do remember texting Amber and telling her to look for you in the Buckhorn Canyon - it was your favorite place and where you had gone the "other times".

At 3:30 I picked up the kids.  They were surprised to see me.  They were expecting you.

I put on a smile and told them, "Daddy and Amber had some things going on tonight and thought it might be nice for you to spend my birthday with me."  This seemed to make sense to them and there were no further questions.

The plan had been to celebrate with my Mom on the weekend but she had quickly run out to the store for some food and a cake - I think she had sensed I was shutting down and needed to be there with the kids for the distraction so...it was an impromptu birthday party!!  Hooray!

Except I kept checking my phone.  And we all kept faking a smile for the kids.

Around the time my Mom was putting the candles on the cake I received a text, "They found his truck in the Buckhorn but he's not with it."

I shared my screen with my Mom and John and then everyone sang Happy Birthday.

What else were we supposed to do, Shawn??  We had to protect the kids as long as possible.  Maybe this wasn't heading towards where it seemed to be.

Driving home my phone rang right as we turned on to County Road 5.

The kids were in the back seat laughing riotously.

It was Amber.

As we crossed the bridge she said, "They found him.  He killed himself."

There were no other words said.  We just hung up.

My Mom was the first person I called.  She answered on the first ring with a hopeful, "Did they find him?"

I was still in the car.  The kids were still being silly in the back seat.

"Yes."

"Is he okay??"

"No."

"Did he...?"

"Yes."

"Oh, God!  Oh, God!"

And I knew at that moment that there was no way I could tell these happy, silly children what had happened and then send them off to bed.  They needed one last night of being children.  One last night of restful sleep.

I felt like I was going to puke.

I told the kids "Mommy isn't feeling well and needs you both to do exactly what I say when we get home and go straight to bed."

Somehow I found it within me to maintain some semblance of a normal demeanor as I supervised PJ's and read stories.

And then I went downstairs and cried and cried for them.

And then I switched into the mode I've had to maintain for this year.  Taking care of the kids.

I called the Counselor at the kids school.  She already knew.  She was crying for your kids, too.

We knew your suicide would be prominent in the newspaper.  You were well known in the cycling community.  We talked about a strategy for letting the L's classmates know that you had lost your father and help them know how to help you when you returned to school.

And then I waited.

Goddammit, Shawn!

I waited up the whole night!

I waited for morning so I could wake your children and tell them that you were gone.

Fuck you!

No one should have to do this.

It made me old!!

It changed me!

I didn't sleep.  I didn't cry.

I sat on the floor with my head on the bed.

And I waited.

At some point I thought I felt your presence and I was filled with rage.

"Go AWAY!" I commanded you. 

You had no right to be there.

I didn't need you.  You had done this and it was me, on my own, who was waiting.

It was sunny and quiet and calm when I called L. into his sister's bedroom.  They had just woken up but I couldn't wait any longer.  It had to be done.

I think I handled it well.

I let them know I had something very difficult to tell them and then I said it.

"Your Daddy died last night."

Their wails slammed up against me like a brick wall.

"How?  What happened??"

Shawn, I learned after the fact that you had asked in your angry, blaming suicide note that the kids NOT be told how you died.

You don't get to make choices like that when you commit suicide.

I told them.  It was the right thing to do.

"He took his life."

They would find out someday.  Why grieve twice - once for the loss and again when they find out how?  And would they trust me to tell them the truth if lied about this?  And would I send the message that your choice was the shame of others?

Shawn, my Birthday is approaching quickly.  I want you to know we are doing okay.  The kids miss you.  I am still angry at times.  I still miss the young man I fell in love with.  I am sad that you didn't find a way to ease the pain after so many years.  It wasn't the right choice.

Jennifer

Examining Emotions

I have been working on a technique where I allow myself to fully experience all the emotions that flow through me without judging them but without allowing them to affect my overall experience. It has been suggested to me, that a person can examine their emotions as if they were a rock - turning them over and over and observing them in a detached manner.

It has been interesting to me how many different emotions a person may experience in a given day (or at least I do). Some of them are very similar - to the point that they could easily be confused for another if one were not examining them like a rock. Also, some of them are so subtle that a person might not realize they are happening until things start to get filtered through that lens. A few I have examined this week...

Anger (over a letter from an attorney) - Physical Experience: Feeling of vision disturbance, Tight in chest/shoulders, increased heart rate; Mental Experience: Very judgmental and tendency to be argumentative about topics that I actually know I am wrong about.

Jealousy (over custom kitchen cabinets of all things!! I was working on a document for a company I am doing some marketing for and a builder had written about the custom cabinets in their homes and I had a, "When will I ever get to have something nice like this?" thought). This was one of those FLASH emotions that I might have either classified as "sad" or not even known went through my mind but could have led to filtering things negatively - Physical Experience: Felt it in the chest/heart area; Mental Experience - Whiny voice in head and then, interestingly, a judgmental voice telling myself, "These things don't matter. Why do you buy into the American materialism? Are you like all those people?"


Grief (I think this was brought on by a dream that I don't remember - I was in the shower and I had this flash of grief for my kids having to be the "kids whose parents got a divorce". The kids who have to shuffle back and forth between their parents house. Grief for the loss of the life I had envisioned in my head) - Physical Experience: An instant urge to drop to my knees and sob; Mental Experience: Mind wildly running a reel with all my perceived failures and questioning whether I did everything I could (intellectually, of course, I know that I did everything I could and more) and then moving directly into...

Fear - (this is where the mind went from Grief which I'll bet happens to people ALL the time because they can't deal with the emotion of grief. This is when I started worrying about my son taking his first ride on a school bus that day on freshly icy roads) Physical Experience: Eyebrows raised, but other than that little facial expression. Sinking feeling in stomach; Mental Experience: Like a snowball rolling. Thinking about all the other things that could happen and mentally searching for a way to stop these "bad" things from happening.

Indignation: (Over a summons to talk to my Supervisor about some of my "extended appointments") This was actually one of the hardest ones for me to examine objectively. Physical Experience: Similar to anger - tightness high in chest, tension in shoulders/neck; Mental Experience: I guess indignant sums it up best. Again, very similar to anger but the mind is racing thinking of justifications and evidence that the other person is "out of line" in their belief. Very, very defensive mentally. Also a very strong element of flight/wanting to flee with a sense of urgency. Inner dialogue of, "Well, the person does have a point. But they should consider this and this and this and what about this and this and this??"

Just a Ring

Someone I trusted stood in this room and looked me blankly in the eyes.

I told him how crushed I was when he asked me to put my ring back on when nothing had changed.

And there was no connection. Just blankness.

I trusted him.

I thought he loved me.

And he loved me as much as an alcoholic can when they are approaching the end stage of their disease.

I can feel him here right now. Looking at me. The way he did that day.

And the way he looks at me now.

I do get scared.

I was very scared with him.

How did I let myself get in that spot?

How did I not see it coming?

He told me he loved me.

He told me he hated me.

He told me we had nothing in common.

And that we should have realized it years ago.

And that he regrets having children with me.

That is hate.

Despising.

How do you live with someone who despises you?

Who can find nothing redeeming in you?

Release the grief.

The pain and sadness of being hated.

And now what?

The Truth is in the Middle

A very close friend recently said to me, "You've had a lot of bad things happen to you."

Yes, I have.

I have also had a lot of good things happen to me. They are happening right now.

Sometimes with such great joy comes the opposite - fear.

Is it the fear of the worst happening? That life can't really be as good as it seems? Prepare myself for the worst - then I won't get hurt.

How about preparing myself for the best?

Think of the best. Think of the worst. The truth lies somewhere in between.

And no one knows what will happen. No one knows.

Carpe Diem!

Ghosts, Witches & Mice

I was convinced that our house was haunted and this was reinforced by my Father.

A Victorian farmhouse is built of a collection of creaks, pops, and the sound of creatures inhabiting all corners.

Our Victorian farmhouse also had a small door into the crawl space of the house. It was about 3 feet square and was located in the wall at the foot of my bed. When my Father saw me peering around their shoulders the first time they opened the door (the same day I fell down the stairs) he turned to me and said, "That's where the witches live."

Whether he also planted the idea that the witches were going to open the door while I laid in my bed at night, pull me into the crawl space by my feet, and no one would know where to find me I can't say for sure. All I know was that I lived in mortal terror of the witches and practiced laying myself as flat as possible in my bed, feet turned completely in, head to the side so that it wouldn't look like anyone was under the covers.

Also in my large, but long and skinny, bedroom were the only "closets" in the entire house. I put the word in quotations because all they were was the frame of a closet - a wooden skeleton and two long rods interrupted only by a narrow passage to a narrow window. All of my parents clothing and coats hung from the one directly across from my bed. At night they became ghosts all lined up and watching me. Women and men all in a row mutely watching me.

I was afraid to get out of my bed. I would hallucinate that my Mom was standing in the doorway of my room and I would hoarsely whisper, "Mommy, I'm scared." but then I would look and she wasn't there.

My Father found these fears, along with my phobia of the mice that ran the house (despite my Father's best efforts to capture them in live traps and release them into the new housing subdivision where the rich folks lived) to be absolutely hilarious. He fed into them with his jokes, his sharing of my fears with friends and family as if it were a big joke.

How one could do this to a child? One of the hardest things for me as a parent is to see my children frightened of things that are either not real or can't possibly hurt them. It pains me because I know there are REAL things to be afraid of in this world and I can't decide if it is better to tell them about these other things now or let them find out the