"Life Would Be Better For Them If I'm Dead"

Every suicidal person I have spoken to or loved one of someone contemplating suicide has repeated this phrase. My husband included. It's a very common yet illogical thought running through their minds.

No. Life is not better with you gone. I will share with you why right now.

My husband struggled with PTSD for nearly a decade, in denial until the end. He became a person I didn't recognize because he refused to accept treatment and the illness took hold of him. I begged and pleaded for him to get help. He was too proud, as Marines sometimes...hell most of the time are.

I had known him for over 20 years. We grew up together. I saw him go from a cocky confident motivated Marine into a hollow shell of a man who's biggest enemy in life was his own thoughts.

It all came to an end September 15 2013 at 11:17pm. He came into the bathroom where I was washing my face and said "I hope you and the kids have a beautiful life." I stood confused for a moment and walked into the hall toward our room. I heard him rack his rifle behind the bedroom door.  He walked out of our room and toward the lower level of our split level home, where our 6 and 8 year old as well as my seven year old nephew slept silently. I quickly followed him on instinct to get between him and the kids. I managed to push him out into the garage and use my body weight to keep him out. After a few minutes he stopped pushing on the door. I tried to lock it but for whatever reason it would not lock that night. I kept all of my body against the door thinking if he was going to shoot through the door he would hit me and not our kids. If I was hit my body would block him from entering at least temporarily to give my sister and brother in law (who were home that night and witnessed it as well) enough time to get our kids and run. 

The whole time this went on both my sister and I had 911 operators on the line. Although I did not speak to the operator she heard the entire incident. Shortly after he stopped struggling with the doors heals my breath and waited to be shot. I prayed to God to keep my kids safe.  I heard an enormous POP! Then complete silence. I am not sure if the shot caused me to lose hearing temporarily or if shock hit. I wasn't hit. I was not bleeding. I was fine. I told the operator I heard a shot. She told me to grab the kids and run away from the house as fast as I could. Don't stop. Don't look back. So we did.

The entire time I was running away from the house I kept the kids in front of me with my back and body in the direction of the house. Again, if he was going to shoot, he would hit me and not hurt them. 

When we finally got to the neighbors house a brief sense of relief came over me but it was overshadowed by the realization that I have now put my neighbor and her family in danger. I noticed I still through all of that, had my phone in my hand. The operator said help was on the way. Because of my husbands rifle training and experience they could not handle it as a normal case. Swat was involved. Snipers were in the windows of all the homes around ours. 

After three hours of strategizing they made entry into our garage. He was found dead with a gunshot wound to the head.  When they told me I fell to my knees and puked in the street with all my neighbors looking on. 

Was my life better? No. Not for a second. 

We were finally able to leave at the break of dawn. We went to my brothers house. The shock wore off and I slept the entire day. When I woke up it was quiet. My sister and brothers were gone. I asked my mom where everyone went. She told me they went to my house to clean up the mess from Mikes death. I was mortified. I told them before I fell asleep NOT to do that. I hurried home. It was mostly cleaned up. Unfortunately high velocity spray off left brain matter on the walls and ceiling for a month while I cleaned it up. It ended in the strangest places. 

Now not just my life was effected. My brother has nightmares about scooping up teeth and skull fragments. My sister had an aneurism from the stress. I now have PTSD from the experience.

That's not the end of it though....

Rumors started around town that I killed my husband. My own mother in law accused me of it.

I didn't get out of bed for about a month. My sister basically took over all the chores, funeral arrangements and caring for my kids. I was hospitalized the month after he died. Both my sister and I thought I had officially lost my mind. It turns out I was not crazy but grieving and formally diagnosed with PTSD. 

How is that a better life? 

I had to live in the same house he killed himself in for 8 months after he died. The bloodstain from him lying on the garage floor would not go away despite all methods of cleaning. I saw it every time I walked into the garage. 

The wrong funeral home took my husbands body. He was lost for 24 hours. I had -17.00 in the bank when he died. I could not afford his funeral service. 

We were not awarded life insurance because it was only effective 120 days after retirement. He died on the 136th day. We did not recieve DIC because the VA found his suicide to be NOT service connected because he refused treatment for his PTSD. 

His birthday was exactly a week after he died. 

I could no longer afford to pay our bills. I was fired from my job two months after he died. My boss said my PTSD was not conducive to the high stress position I held. 

I went on a field trip with my son a few months later and part of the experiment involved a balloon filling with gas and then popping. I was not prepared for it. Fight or flight kicked in and I ran out of the auditorium and puked in the parking lot in from of 60 third graders, four teachers, a handful of volunteer parents and the staff working there. I was so embarrassed. No, that's not a beautiful life.

I tried to transfer my husbands post 911 education benefits so I could possibly get a better education to support my kids. The VA denied that. They said he wasn't alive to consent for it so it was not possible.

I hate being in crowds or in a situation where I am not in complete control of my surroundings or the safety of my kids. It makes life hard when you can't leave the house.

We now live off of social security death benefits and $975.00 a month from his retirement. My kids don't understand why we can't do most of the things we did once. My youngest child still doesn't quite understand the reality. My middle son has taken on his fathers bullying behavior and not tends to pick on his sister. My eldest son will hardly speak to me.

I recently stopped having the night sweats and dreams. So that's a bonus. I don't cry every single day as I have the past year.

The pain never goes away, you just get used to it being there. Losing him changed our entire lives and effected so many people. It's not better with him gone. We lost our identity, we lost everything. 

If you think for one second life for them would be easier without you, you're wrong. You'll need to pick a different excuse for considering suicide. I'm a single mom struggling just to feed and house three kids who lost their daddy forever. He won't be here to see them graduate, or get married, or see their babies. 

His pain stopped the moment our began. We must live with this fact for the rest of our lives.

Get help. Choose life. All of us struggle but at least were together. 

I would also like to add that children of parental suicide are three times more likely to also commit suicide. They are more likely to develop substance abuse disorders, eating disorders and become involved in domestic abuse as an adult. Now I have to worry which one of these afflictions may my three children take on. There is nothing beautiful in knowing his fatal choice put my kids at risk for their entire lives.