His Burden is Now My Challenge

The reports say an estimated 22 vets a day are dying by suicide. There are only 24 hours in a day. That's nearly a Vet every hour of every single day. My husband took his life at exactly 11:19pm Sunday September 15th 2013. I know the exact time because the entire incident was recorded with 911 from three different phones in my home. The shot rang out at precisely this time.  Although his death certificate reads September 16th, I know otherwise. That's just when the Medical Examiner pronounced him deceased.

It was after midnight when the SWAT team made entry in our home. It was more like 3AM. They were advised that he was a newly retired Marine. Retired only 135 Days officially. He shot expert with a rifle. The weapon he used that night. They took extra care and precaution because of this. I knew he was gone the moment I heard the shot. There was a hollow pop. And nothing. No echo, no cries of pain, no ricochet. Silence. My sister kept telling me he had shot the couch or the wall, not himself. He'd be fine. I knew it was untrue. I knew he was gone. Forever. I felt it in my soul. With every part of me I just knew. He wouldn't shoot unless he knew his target. He wouldn't miss. Or risk harming others with a stray bullet. It's part of his training.

I didn't witness the actual shooting with my eyes only my ears and imagination from the opposite side of an interior garage door. At around 11 that night I was in the bathroom washing my face, preparing for work the next morning. I was actually up much later than usual as I get up for work at around 5am. He had been acting really strange that night. I stayed close to my sister and brother in law to avoid confrontation. He just wasn't himself. Or even the self he'd gradually become over the past few years. The truth is...he hadn't been himself in a very long time. But I digress...

He walked into the bathroom as I washed my face and said "I want you and the kids to have a beautiful life." I was thrown off by the comment. I told him I wanted him to have the same. He looked at me for a moment and walked across the hall to our bedroom and closed the door. What an odd thing to say, I thought. So I followed him to ask what that was all about. I had my hand on the door, ready to push it open when I heard him rack the rifle. Instinctively I did not rush in to confront him...rather I pushed my sister in the bathroom told her to lock the door and that he had a loaded gun. I stood there in front of the bathroom guarding my sister as he walked right past me as if nothing were out of the ordinary. He didn't even make eye contact.

I dialed 911 before he even got to the first step on our staircase. By the time he got to the landing of our split level home he became aware that I called the police. He looked up at me so empty, so hollow and made another comment I will probably never understand. "You called the fuckin' cops?!"  I said of course I did.

He was walking around the house with a loaded rifle. He was a highly trained Marine. In the 20 years I'd known him he'd never been so careless with a weapon. TREAT NEVER KEEP KEEP. He was breaking all the rules. I was stunned....until I realized he was walking in the same direction as my two youngest and nephew lie sleeping peacefully in their beds. Something about that moment erased all my fear and I switched into protection mode. He wasn't going near my kids with that gun. I couldn't stop him from firing but I could block it with my own body, prevent them harm, or witnessing such traumatic events.

I took off after him. I trailed close step for step to the bottom floor of the house. If he turned right he'd be in my children's rooms. If he turned left he'd be in the garage. I somehow made it down the steps before him and stood silently but most assuredly in front of the entry to my babies rooms. My sister and brother in law had followed, blocking the passage back up the steps. I forced him in the garage. I put my whole body on that door and pushed with all my might. Telling him to put the rifle down, quietly and calmly so I didn't wake the kids 10 feet away. My biggest concern at that moment was my family. If he was going to shoot through the door he would hit me not my kids. HIS KIDS. I didn't try to take the gun, I didn't struggle with him. That would have been useless. He was a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier. My instinct was just to protect our kids.

I stood there pushing on that door begging and pleading for him to stop. OMG he began pushing back. I thought there was no way I could keep him out. He had the handle turned so the door would not lock. I braced myself for the worst. I closed my eyes. I told him we loved him, he was scaring me and please don't do this.

Suddenly the resistance on the other side of the door ceased. It was so quiet. Had I been shot? Am I dead? I wasn't sure of anything at that moment.

Then I heard that pop. My mental clarity returned. I screamed he just fired! Omg! I heard a voice that said grab your kids and run immediately. Get as far away from that house as you can. It wasn't my conscience. I realized through all that just happened I still had 911 on the phone. It was the voice of the 911 operator.

My sister and brother in law said I looked at them and screamed "KIDS!" They knew that meant to grab them and we ran.  We ran to the closest neighbors house who didn't also have small children. We banged on the door it opened and she let us in. I exhaled...but only for a split second.

I began to think what if he's still in there? What if he's headed to us? I've already put my sister brother in law and nephew at risk...now did I just doom the kind neighbor who let us in? I'd become accustomed to taking the blame for him. I look back now and realize I was not responsible for his actions and behavior but in that moment I feared we'd all die.

I stood by the window keeping guard praying the police got there before he did. It felt like an eternity. Then a police officer approached. At least someone with a weapon was on our side of the street. That relief was as brief as the last. I then thought "oh God, please...if he's alive still don't let them shoot him. No suicide by cop" it was irrational. I didn't want him to die but I didn't want him to hurt our kids either.

The truth is, I knew if he hadn't shot us in the street as we ran...he wasn't alive. But my brain changed. I thought of all the possibilities and how I could protect them in the event that any scenario occurred. My mind raced. It was like an unused part of my brain became active. I had this awareness, this clarity....this overwhelming drive to defend and protect.

That new door had swung wide open. That mindset which suddenly appeared didn't cease after we got to safety. The key was taken with my husband. I am still using that space in my brain two years after his passing.

That response I have to anything that puts my kids at risk is as sharp as ever. It's not just the natural instinct a mom has to shelter her young. It's so much more. I have PTSD now too.

We don't even need to be in harms way. When I am out with my kids I mentally assess all escape routes, I scan faces and body language for threats. It happens without conscious thought.  It's always running in my head. A mental security check. I've learned to manage it, to acknowledge and treat it. The doctors say it may never go away but it can be quieted. I work daily on it.

Unlike my husband I don't deny what happening in my head. I am all my kids have now and I will fight for them...for us.

I have PTSD and I'm OK with it. I am not ashamed of it. I am not crazy. My body and mind simple react differently now. It's part of me but it does not define who I am.