Acceptance

I've come to accept my reality. I have made peace with Mike's death. After nearly three years though, I constantly relive the night he died. I go over every detail leading up to his death. I wonder if there was something I overlooked. Could I have stopped the events from unfolding? Had my choices that night been different would he be here today? I remind myself that it was God's will and Mike's, I had little control.
When he said "you called the fucking cops?!" Did he feel I  gave him no other option? Did he feel I backed him into a corner? Had I not called 911 would he still be alive? Would he have unloaded the rifle and put it away? Did my gut instinct to protect the family push him past the point of no return? I beat myself up daily, in my mind. Mulling these things over and I always come to the same conclusion....

That night, for the first time in 20 years I didn't care what he did to me or himself but I was not going to let him harm our family. My kids, my sister, my nephew and brother in law were all just feet away. My instinct was to protect them. I didn't know what he intended to do. I didn't know he had another loaded weapon waiting in our bedroom. I knew the only thing I could do was to call for help and put myself between the bullet and my babies. I had to remain calm and quiet as the slept. Inside I was screaming. I'm not sure how I managed to avoid waking them.

Ultimately, whether he took his life that night or lived another day I've learned that someone who is suicidal, who is really determined to follow through...will. We can delay the inevitable but we can't magically fix them. It's an illness. One that requires treatment and care. It doesn't matter how much we love them, need them, want them...if they don't accept the offer of help they cannot understand the gravity of their own illness. They somehow feel they are doing us a favor by completing the suicide.

The detective told me that night that I saved my family in my quick thinking and actions. I try to take comfort in that. It's hard because I know that I lost my soul mate in that event. The event that plays on a loop in my brain daily. I feel like I had to make a choice that night but I'm still not sure what the alternate option was. I feel like I did the only thing I could in that moment. Knowing this, being ultimately satisfied with my choices I still relive it.

That's the trauma. That's the PTSD. It doesn't always make sense. I've had therapy, education and growth. Otherwise I am in a great place with my life. outwardly I have it all together. You can't see in my mind. You can't imagine the terror in my thoughts and memories.

Ptsd is a silent terrorist. Sometimes you have no physical symptoms. People can't look at you and know you're injured. There's no cast or bandaid, no crutch or wheel chair. It's just as debilitating some days.

Dont assume because a person looks fine that they are. Be kind and patient with others. You never really know what's going on in their heads and hearts. Be a bright spot in their day. It's what I do. I know my smile and warm exchange can comfort them. Even when I'm having a particularly hard day I know how relieved I am to see a smile.

I can not change my past. I am fully aware of this. It doesn't stop my wheels from turning. I'm not uneducated about my condition. The rational part of my brain knows better. My heart still wanders to the dark places. It's okay. I remember to be patient and forgiving in myself. I'm human. You're human. It's a struggle.

I understand.