November 07. I am in Afghanistan as a contractor. I try to call my wife, but get no answer so I leave a message. And then another one. And then another one the next day. I receive an email from family. Short - Cyndie is gone. I call, find out she killed herself. I fly home. I am in shock, I stay in shock. I do not kill myself only because I do not want to hurt the children any more, hers (ours in my mind) and mine.
Third year on. I am remarried to a wonderful person. My life has had quite a few rocks, health issues, etc., but they are treatable or things I can accept.
Still feel the shock and the anger of betrayal, both literally and figuratively of the suicide. It still hurts, it still raises anger. Time does not heal the wound, but it does help turn the scab into a scar.
Suicide is the ultimate betrayal and the ultimate cowardice. I do not mean a medical suicide with family consent. I mean abandoning love, spouse, children. Cowardice. Yeah, it still hurts.