Note from Real Imprints: Suicide can be a difficult topic to hear about and understand. We encourage parental guidance for this story.
He Filled My Hunger, He Fed My Soul
My story of finding happiness in life after suicide
PREFACE
It’s been five years since my first husband; Josh made the decision to follow through with his years of threats to end his life. Before I go into anything, I want to express, that even after experiencing something as traumatic as suicide and all that came trailing as a result, that in five years, I have also found a happiness and contentment that I had yet to experience in this life, a happiness beyond measure and that I truly didn’t know existed. A happiness that took this refining process for me to uncover, understand and appreciate… Releasing the depths of my story to the world is not something I ever intended. Its seems much safer to keep it locked up within my heart and mind… But with that gentle nudge of the still small voice, I knew it was the next step, and I knew I could no longer be so selfish as to keep these experiences of my life contained. It has also been an avenue of healing. Even after five years, I am still working through and still healing. With that said…
BEFORE THE INCIDENT
He had expressed the desire and had even shown me “where,” while we were dating. I couldn’t comprehend what would bring a person to think about that, but I was certain after we got married, we would live, “Happily Ever After.” He had expressed in so many words that his teen and pre-teen years were unbearable for various reasons. He had no confidence in himself and felt no self worth. At any rate, I was still convinced if we got married, and moved away from what seemed to be the source, those thoughts would stop and he could put that part of his life to rest. This had been a private and completely silent plot of his life, up until he met me; nobody else knew. Soon after we got married, my hopes were shattered when I experienced this threat first hand. I still remember how traumatic it was for my ears to hear, and watching him storm out of the house with a gun. I was tugging on him, just trying to keep him from leaving. Was he really going to do it? I didn’t dare even look. Unfortunately, this was just the start of a recurring cycle throughout our entire marriage. From the outside looking in, one would think he had a lot to live for… eternal family, parenthood finally, new home out in the country, we just finished the basement, our yard was coming together, brand new salt water fish tank beautifully placed in the wall, etc., our dreams were finally coming true. After 7 years, 9 months and 4 days into our marriage, countless threats, and an 8-month-old daughter later, his demise came to fruition.
Visiting our baby boy’s grave for Memorial Day (a week before the incident)
THE INCIDENT
That day was awful, a very dark day physically and my entire being felt darker than the day. There was a constant drizzle of rain and gloomy clouds that covered the valley for even weeks after. He had just lost his job for decisions that were in his control… All of his hopes for his future completely plummeted to the point of feeling no hope, no return. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I had just arrived at work on Tuesday morning, June 2, 2009, a couple days after he broke the news to me about his job. He was home with our 8-month-old daughter, Preslee, our only living child, (we had just lost our infant son, Ryken, Preslee’s twin brother shortly after birth, 8 months prior) when suddenly I received a call from him stating he was done, that he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror anymore, that I needed to come home to get Preslee cause he was leaving, right then. I knew what he was alluding to, he had done this so much. I was always home before and could usually grab hold of him as he was walking out the door, and sometimes, I would just let him go cause I was tired of the fight. Well there was no convincing him over the phone. I even told him I was going into a meeting and couldn’t get there, and that didn’t stop him which was strange cause he was entirely protective, might I add, overly protective of our sweet little addition. She had him wrapped around her little finger, a daddy’s girl to the fullest extent. It was as if I was fighting with Satan. Not that he was Satan, but that Satan had such a strong pull on him that day… He would not let him go. I left work in a panic and headed home as quickly as I could. Sure enough, he had left Preslee in the crib and thankfully, she was fast asleep without any signs of distress.
I was on and off the phone with him for a couple hours that morning just pleading with him. “What if you just get hurt and it doesn’t actually kill you and we can’t find you, how am I supposed to support and provide for me and Preslee, why can’t we talk at home, TURN THE TRUCK AROUND “ etc. etc. It was an intense battle of Tug O War with Satan; me having tight hold of one hand, while Satan having the other. The minute I would tug and knock some sort of sense into him, and he turned that truck around, Satan would then pull at him on the other end, flooding him with a bazillion more reasons why he couldn’t go on in this life… and he would therefore, turn the truck back around. He kept hanging up on me… I would call-call-call and when he finally answered, it was the same game of Tug o War, feeling a little hope as I got him to turn back, immediately followed by an entire loss of hope as Satan would win each time. He was on his way out to “the spot,” that apparently he had picked out well before this moment, just as he had when he was younger, where he lived before. Once he arrived, it was in and out of the truck, I could hear the ding-ding-ding of that Ford pickup each time he would get back in and then that same ding-ding-ding as Satan would pull him back out. I could feel him drifting away; I was realizing at that point, it was beyond anything I could ever say to him or do, I felt entirely hopeless. Our last conversation I somehow still had a bit of logic in my midst of panic and pleading and thought to ask him “WHERE ARE YOU?” There was a street sign just down from where he was, and he recited that to me. I had no clue where he even was.
In the interim, I had called my mom to come over and help me with Preslee. I explained a little of what was going on, but it was all so very foreign to her. I hadn’t told anybody either… We promised to keep the troubles of our marriage within the walls of our home and not share them with others. After that last call, my spirit knew it was over.
I then called my dad and asked him if he could please go find him, a decision that to this day I wrestle myself with. It wasn’t fair to put him in that awful situation. All I could think about was headlines all over the news, and I wanted to avoid that and keep it as private as possible. Thankfully, after some time that street sign he gave me was just enough. My dad approached the truck and looked through the window for any signs of life. The truck was locked, and on the middle console, he noticed “the note.” He started calling out for him, convinced as my mom was, that he had to be somewhere, still alive… After his repeated attempts and still no response in return and just the stillness of the day in return, an intense amount of anguish overcame him as he realized the outcome would likely not be good. At that point, we decided it was time to contact the police and let them handle the rest. Within a half hour after the police began the search, sure enough, they discovered his body and confirmed one of my worst nightmares. It turns out my dad had done a complete circle around him, without actually seeing him; what a blessing it was that he didn’t actually find him. My dad and mom were both with me in my home when they broke the news to me. Though deep within, I already knew the verdict, it was still hard to hear the truth. All in a matter of four hours, all was said and done. It wasn’t until after his death that I found that it was very likely he was suffering from a mental illness. All these years, I thought it is was just his way of expressing frustration, but unfortunately, after it was too late, I found a much deeper meaning and understanding of what he was actually dealing with and fighting from deep inside his soul.
CLICK HERE to read Part 2 “THE IMMEDIATE AFTERMATH”
Story written by: KayCee
This story appeared first on Real Imprints.