Life Was Perfect Before He Died

I hear that a lot from survivors. "Life was perfect before he died." I just don't agree with that. I cannot identify. I'm not sure if my husband's symptoms were more obvious or they have a romantic fantasy made up in their heads to help them cope with the tragedy. Maybe it's because some don't wish to speak "ill" of the dead....but that's the thing that gets me...I'm being completely honest. With you and myself. He was ill. He was not well in the days, weeks, months, years leading up to his death. As a matter of fact I didn't recognize the person who slept next to me at the end of his life. I don't say that to demean him in any way. I say that because I know now that different decisions made back then could mean the difference between him being here or not. It could mean you being here or your loved one being here. We just didn't have the tools or the awareness of how deep we were into the disease.

Life wasn't easy when he was alive. In some ways it's easier now than when he was living. For a few reasons. First, it's been almost a year and a half since he passed and my kids are in therapy...not for coping with his death but for helping to change the behaviors created while he was living. They think every time they get in trouble they will be hit, or that I will throw their toys in the garbage or that Sean and I will fly into a rage screaming, cussing and spitting. This is all they knew when their dad was living. Although he was caring and affectionate at times if he snapped everyone was in for it. He could be mad for days over something trivial and expected of children. That breaks my heart. I was powerless to protect them. At the end of his life I did my best to stay quiet and out of the way. I never challenges his authority. That is another reason we are in family therapy...I lost my authority when he was with us. The kids would say " You're not the boss. Daddy is the boss."  The mentality didn't end when he disappeared.

We all walked on eggshells. We didn't try our best because we knew it was the right thing to do...we did it because if Mike should find it subpar he could do one of two things 1) give us the silent treatment for days or 2)flip out. Both options made us feel like dirt and as a result we did everything we could to please him. We fought for his affection and to stay on his good side. We loved him. It's only now, looking back that I see we were sick too. We enabled his behavior and became to know it as "business as usual".

He started blaming his fear of leaving the house and being in crowds on the kids. "Their behavior is so bad I don't want to take them in public!" Which was just a huge lie because he didn't want to feel the lack of control outside the home. Under his roof he controlled every part of his environment. It was a terrible deal for the kids. They we're just normal kids doing normal kid things. Their daddy's words cut them. I saw it in their eyes.

Just before he got home from his last deployment I bought an annual family pass to the San Diego Zoo. We didn't go not even one time. There was always an excuse. The kids somehow "ruined it" according to him.  And, of course I never spoke up. The kids told me he hit them but I was never around. He said they we're  exaggerating.  I blew it off. That is something I must work through.

He was sexually abusive to me and emotionally abusive to us all but I couldn't fathom physical abuse. Never. Child Protective Services were called on him three times in two different states and still I was in such denial. Was I afraid to be honest? Was I "protecting" him? I can't say. I would never believe he hit them... Until I saw it with my own eyes.

Two weeks before he took his life both me and my sister saw him physically harm my kids. On two separate occasions. My sister didn't just roll over and ignore it. Even though he stood nearly six as a half feet she got right up in his face and told him it was not okay to hurt her nephews. She was their hero. Their champion that day. They had a shouting match. He stayed in the garage giving everyone the silent treatment for days. He knew he'd done wrong and someone finally called him on it.

Three days later I walked into the bedroom and witnessed a similar situation. I finally told him, after nearly a decade of this behavior he had to get treatment or get out. He had 30 days to either enter some type of program or he had to move out. I could no longer subject my kids to this abuse. He may be in denial but he can go deny alone. If he get into treatment and follows through we will support him 100% but if he chooses to do nothing he's out.

I had the emotional backing of my sister and I was serious. He knew it. He could not deny what was seen with our own eyes. I could not deny it either.  I couldn't believe the man I had loved for 20 years became this person.

It wasn't until we moved back to our hometown and my sister began living with us that I truly realized what had become of us. When we were in San Diego alone he isolated us and could convince me he was not sick, it was everyone else. When we were back home in MO others noticed his drastic personality change. My sister told me she thought my personality changed too. She said I was NEVER the type of person to be talked to the way he talked to me and I just kept quiet and allowed it. She said it was shocking. The first time she mentioned it I excused him. I explained that the move cross country and transition was stressful and he would be ok. I guess I wanted to believe that most of all. It wasn't the case.

I was no longer able to ignore or dismiss things. For the last month of his life the tension in the house was palpable. You could cut it with a knife. I prayed a lot. I prayed he'd realize his illness and reach out. I prayed the Mike I knew since age 14 would come back to me. It never happened. He was too far gone.

So, life wasn't perfect before he died. I make no fantasy it was. Life is incredibly difficult when you unconditionally love someone who is suffering mental illness. As much as I loved and still love him now, I love my kids most. I am responsible for keeping them safe. We weren't safe in our own home. It's heartbreaking and I'm learning to forgive myself for not being a better mom sooner. I honestly had no clue how messed up we were until it was too late.

I know now. Life was never perfect. Life will never really be perfect, but my kids will be safe and secure with a roof over their heads, clothes on their back, food in their belly, knowing their mom puts them first. Always.