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.
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2 comments:
I know it's not much comfort, but as one who's been suicidally depressed I can tell you that one of the things I lost was the feeling that what happened to me mattered to people. There was a fog or a wall between me and them. I retained just enough concern for my mother to try to arrange a car-pedestrian accident. But I had lost my feeling of how devastated people would be. It is part of the illness, like losing the feeling in your fingers before they drop off. When I began to recover I felt that I had dodged a very dangerous condition.
Thanks Monado. I know these things intellectually, but hard to accept in my heart. That said, it does help when someone like you points it out again. So, thank you.
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