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Sunday, August 26, 2012

What the Autopsy Told Me

So, the question on everyone's mind is...

"Was it a good idea for me to look at Shawn's autopsy report?".

My answer is, "I don't think I had any choice".

Does that make sense?

Knowing it was out there and that it could answer some of the questions that have kept me up at night made it a given, in my mind, that I would eventually have to read it.

And, yes, it did give answers to many things.

Some of the information I had heard third hand.  Amber told her Mother, who told my Mother, who told me.  Interestingly, Lily told me a couple of things recently that Amber had shared with her.  And many of the final details were filled in yesterday.

On August 23, 2011 Shawn sent an email to friends, family and customers notifying them of the closing of the bicycle shop that had been his dream and his passion for 13 years.

On August 27th Shawn started his new job at a large outdoor retailer.  He went from being a business owner to a new employee that day.

In the late afternoon of August 28th, Shawn initiated an argument with Amber.  He threatened to leave her, said the kids were the most important thing in the world to him, and then stormed out of the house with the final words, "I'm outta here".  He then drove 23 miles up the Buckhorn Canyon - his favorite outdoor spot - to Forest Service Road 100.

From here we have to make some guesses as to what happened based on what I know of Shawn, the "dress rehearsal" he did at least twice during our marriage, and the evidence that was left.

We can deduce that he stopped enroute and purchased a large bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey.  No one told me this but I know it couldn't have been anything other than Jack Daniels.  His B.A.C. was .221 at the time of his death. 

This level of intoxication was pretty standard Shawn levels every single night of our marriage however he had not had a sip of alcohol in 4 years.  Knowing Shawn as well as I did I can guarantee that he was very calculated with how how much he drank and that he made sure he didn't drink so much that he passed out before doing what he had come to do.  He always was that type of alcoholic - very regimented.

Maybe he sat in his truck for awhile staring at the bottle of whiskey.  He had told me after he got sober in 2007 that he would "rather die than drink again".

He must have sat in his truck drinking and, most likely, listening to music for a few hours.  I doubt he cried.  He was stoic like that. 

He wrote "pages of suicide notes"  - filled with anger and vitriol - which he left on the front seat.

He also "wrote several goodbye text messages to his friends and wife".  (My understanding is that no one received these text messages until after they had already learned of his death.  When his body was recovered and he and his phone were brought out of the mountains and into cell phone range they automatically went through to people's phones).

"At some point he left his vehicle and walked two miles to the White Pine saddleback wilderness area, sat on a log and shot himself".  The date of death was "the early morning hours of August 29, 2011".

The autopsy report describes a man who was physically healthy in every way other than the bullet that passed from his right temple all the way through his left temple.

The death certificate, which I had seen just a few days after the funeral, stated the time from "onset to death" was "minutes". 

I had spent a lot of time dwelling on these so-called "minutes" and had envisioned him laying there on the ground with some sort of consciousness of what he had done.  I was never sure whether it was good or bad if there had been the awareness of "I just shot myself in the head" - I just felt the need to know.

After reading the details from the autopsy, I can now be sure that his death was instant.

And here are some new or surprising things I learned:
  • There was no marijuana in his system.  I had never known a Shawn who did not smoke marijuana.  He smoked from the moment he woke up until the moment he went to bed the entire time I knew him.  I had heard that Amber had insisted he quit smoking pot but I, honestly, never believed he had done that or would do that - especially after having to give up alcohol.
  • The only drug in his system other than alcohol was an epilepsy drug that is commonly used to treat individuals with Bi-Polar Disorder.  He was trying to get better. 
So now I am left with new things to consider and puzzle over.

There is not a single part of me that believes he was Bi-Polar. He had Major Depressive Disorder coupled with Naricissistic Personality Disorder as well as years of damage to his brain from nightly black-out drinking and marijuana consumption.  Maybe there was a medication that could have helped.  Maybe ECT could have helped.

I have spent many hours angry at him for NOT getting help, not admitting he needed help, and for being too egotistical to admit anything.

It is hard to realize that he was trying to get help.  He did want to get better.

Friday, August 24, 2012

Apologies

I just finished a very difficult post that is sitting in my "Draft" folder.

I've been doing quite a bit of thinking about how reading so much pain and darkness may be affecting my friends who are reading this.

I worry that in my efforts to process my grief that I am taking you to depths where you don't deserve or need to go.

Therapists get paid good money to listen to this sort of thing and have training for how to deal with the emotions they might have related to hearing terrible things.

I started writing again because I had a therapist who couldn't seem to listen to my pain without judging me.

It suddenly seems unfair to me to have put you all in this situation.

I will keep writing but I think maybe some of the more difficult things should sit in the "Draft" folder.

I know you all will question whether reading the autopsy report was a good thing for me.  All I can tell you is that I felt as if I had no choice.  Knowing it was available and that it contained some of the answers I sought meant it had to happen.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

A Riddle

So here's a riddle for you...

I received the requested copy of Shawn's autopsy from the coroner today.  I had decided it was TIME.

I have spent many sleepless nights with vivid images in my head....trying to understand.  What was Shawn doing in the final hours?  Was he crying?  Was he numb?  Was he standing up when he did it?  Did he kneel down?  Was he sitting?  Did he sit there and think about it for a long time or did he do it without hesitation?  What did the wound look like?  Did he die instantly or was there a moment of awareness that he had pulled the trigger?

It's been terrible but, I've learned, something that is quite common for someone who has lost a loved one to suicide.  Why it matters, I can't tell you.  But it seems to.

So, here's the riddle...

Why is it, after reading the autopsy report, that it disgusts me to read what I wrote in the last posting?

It's not a feeling of anger.  It's disgust.  I want to look away when I see that posting on my screen.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

The Good

Dear Shawn,

I can't believe I'm writing to you.  I've been so angry at you.  Does this mean I am starting to forgive you?  There is still a part of me that doesn't want to forgive you.  What you did was a really terrible thing.  And really, Shawn, your suicide was just the culmination of a lot of pretty terrible things you had done.

Do you deserve to have me remember the happy times we had?

Intellectually I know others would tell me this is a gift I give myself.

And I guess maybe I owe myself a nice birthday present after last year's doozy.

Shawn, when I think of our happy memories together they are always outside.  With the dogs.  In "the bus".

I remember how badly you wanted that VW when you saw it. 

We had only been living together a few months.  These were happy times when you were introducing me to so many new things in life - new genres of music, new foods, new books and the joy of hiking.

You came home and told me about how we could go camping in a bus like this one. 

We had already gone on one camping adventure.  Even though I had thought I would croak as we rode our bikes out to the Reservoir you encouraged me and we had a great time.

You told me about how we would have great camping adventures and I knew you were right.

As poor as we were, we found a way to buy that orange hippie bus!  You were so excited.  You went and bought an excellent stereo with the insurance money we got after the old lady scraped the side while you were test driving it and...coolest of all...you built a platform bed in the back that was just tall enough to store 5 gallon buckets of camping gear underneath.

We learned a lot on that first camping trip to Palisades.  Arriving at dark and trying to set up camp is difficult and cold, having a little whisk broom to sweep out leaves from your sleeping area is important and, most importantly, we learned that we made a great team in the outdoors.

This was the start of the years of adventure in the VW.

The next few years are a happy blur of memories of you, me and the doggies in the bus.

Push starting the bus all the way to Florida in December (remember how we had to look for gas stations with a hill so you had some help from gravity while you pushed?).

Camping all over the Midwest.

Packing up all our belongings and moving to Arizona with $1,000 to our name.  A couple of small-town kids showing up in a big city with no friends, no jobs and no place to live.  And we made it - it was no big deal because the hard things didn't seem to faze us.

Our biggest adventure - 3 months of camping where we visited every state west of the Mississippi looking for a place to start a business and a family.  Did we even have a disagreement that summer?  I don't remember a single one.

And then once again packing up all our belongings, three dogs and a cat to move to Fort Collins where we had no friends, no jobs and no place to live.  And again we made it!  It wasn't even hard because we were a team.

Just a year later starting the bike shop together.  We took a big risk on your dream and made it into something special over the next 10 years.

And then one last - and most important - adventure.  Our decision to have our beautiful children!

Wow, Shawn!  We built a pretty amazing life together.

The funny thing is that at some point you decided to quit living your life.

First it was just emotional.  You were gone.  I couldn't find the connection and I couldn't find you.

What was left was just a hollow, bitter, angry man.

And a year ago next week you decided to quit living your life physically.

You gave up on being outdoors.  You gave up on music.  You gave up on reading.  You gave up on savoring good food.  You gave up on your career.  You gave up on your kids.

And now you are gone.

You really are gone.

I'm sorry, Shawn.  It's still so hard to believe.

You were so young.

Jennifer

Still Stuck

The fact that I've been pondering for 2+ weeks where to begin answering the question, "When did it all start?" has really highlighted for me how big and complicated this really is for me and how hung up on it I have been - probably even for years before Shawn's suicide.

Do I start with the happy memories?

Do I begin with the very first time I went to bed crying because of Shawn's drinking?

Or do I start with the times when things got really dark?

Surprisingly (at least to me) I find I want to explore the happy memories right now.

Friday, August 17, 2012

The Start

The questions I've been pondering for weeks are...

When did it start?
When did it go bad?
When did Shawn get sick?
Was he always sick?

Of course this has brought up many memories - good and bad.

Which is another struggle.  Where does one file the good memories?  How can they exist alongside the bad?  What compartment in your brain does each go - because they surely can't co-mingle.

Of course I've been accused of "black or white thinking" a few times in my life so maybe it is quite possible that they do exist in the same space.

It's just that it does seem that "it" was good mixed with a bit of bad for a long time.  And then "it" was bad mixed with very little good.

Stick with me here because we may be about to take some dark turns on the next few postings. 

But I also think the end is in sight.  My grief, compared to a month ago, has taken on a much less tormented feel and I know it is because I have taken the time to write my thoughts.

Monday, August 13, 2012

The story of Lily

This is the totally 100% true story of my daughter, Lily Elaine Brooks.

It was July 2002.

Shawn and I had been married for 9 years.  We had owned a business together for 5 years.  Our son was 10 months.  And Shawn had been white-knuckling sobriety for 3 months.
 
We knew we wanted to have a second child.  We thought about 2 years apart would be just perfect.  It had taken us about 7 months to get pregnant the first time and so we assumed it would be about the same the second time.

Three weeks after we started "trying" and one week after closing on a house up the street from where we were currently living I was struck with the thought, "I'm pregnant with a girl"  Add in the fact that my right eye had started to twitch - just as it did my entire first pregnancy - and I became firm in my statements to Shawn, "I think I'm pregnant and it is a girl".  So strong in this belief was I that I avoided all the chemicals being used to paint and make changes in the new house, much to Shawn's annoyance.  And yet I was adamant in my thought of, "NO.  The time is not right.  It is too soon.  We are just moving.  Our lives are too unsettled."

The night we settled into our new home I put Lennon to bed and we decided to go walk around the 1/2 acre backyard of which we had just become the proud owners.  It was the mid-summer of what I recall as a wet year and the flowers were in full bloom.  As we strolled and inspected I stopped at the rose bushes and decided to pluck a petal for each person in our family to press in a book and remember our joy in the new home for years to come.

I carefully plucked the three petals and cupped them in my hand as we finished our walk.

When we got back on the deck I opened up my hand to find...

Four Rose Petals.

Not the three petals I had plucked.  But a 4th smaller petal laying there in my hand.

I shook my head and thought again, "NO!  It is too soon - the time is not right".

I kissed the petal and blew it off my hand with a wish for a little girl LATER - when the time was right.

And at that moment there was a sudden breeze from where there had been none.

And the petal came back and hit me in the stomach.

And then I knew.  I really am pregnant.

And yet it would be several more weeks before I could take the pregnancy test to confirm what I had known, quite possibly, from the moment of her conception.

Our reaction, and that of our family the morning we had confirmation was, "Oh MY God!"

It was so soon.  Lennon was just 11 months old.  What about the "guest room" that we never got to use?

Despite the panic - we were both excited.  Shawn gave me a hug goodbye and set out for a long bike ride.

Lennon and I were sitting on the floor in a sunny patch of the new bedroom while I folded clothes.  I was smiling and thought, "I wonder what we should name this little girl."

The answer that immediately came to me was...Lily...
Lily...
Lily...Elaine
Yes, Lily Elaine Brooks.  I like that.

Shawn returned home a few hours later and sought me out immediately.

He said, "While I was riding I suddenly thought of a name I like if the baby is a girl."

I told him, "So did I - what is the name you thought of?"

His reply...

Lily Elaine

I kid you not!

This was not a name we had discussed when I was pregnant with Lennon (my votes had been for Paisley, Caliope or Cadence).  And this well before the name Lily became as a common as, well, Jennifer.  We did know of anyone with a child named Lily, had never had a friend, aquaintance or co-worker with the name Lily.  As far as I know, the name had never been uttered in our home.

To be fair, Elaine is my Mom's first name and Lennon's middle name is Shawn's Mom's maiden name so there was some precedence for having a family name as the middle name but again...Elaine had never been previously discussed as a possible middle name for a Brooks child.

And yet, somehow, Shawn and I independently came up with the same first and middle name of a child that I had sensed within me from very shortly after she was conceived.

And a very special child she is, my Sweet Lily Elaine.  She loves for me to tell this story.  I swear I am not embellishing a single word of it, it all happened exactly as I described.

I am not a religious in the traditional sense.  I am not a person who believes in psychic abilities.  And yet here lies evidence that my daughter was known to me, by name, from the start.

I love her dearly.  I feel closer to her every day as I watch her mature and understand the world.  I have no doubts she will go far and do amazing things in this world.