Yes, this is my life

I've been home from Boston for a week now but I'm still collecting my thoughts and processing all I've learned before I dish on the experience as a whole. There is one weird thing I have to share because it's been bugging me. It's not anything major, I guess. It's just that while I was in individual therapy going over the day and aftermath of Mike's suicide I began remembering small details of that night. Conversations that occurred after the gun shot. The feelings and confusion I had immediately after we ran but before I was told he was dead. It took a really long time for SWAT to get set up and to make entry into out homethat night. I remember begging and pleading with the officers to just let me go in to put pressure on his wound. If he shot himself he'd bleed out while they were getting into whatever "formation" planned. I grabbedon officer's arm and desperately begged. I had no fear for my own safety. Regardless of the struggle th

Sundays have always been special in my family. It's the one day each week when we all consciously set aside our personal lives and schedules to gather. It's tradition in my family. One that I held on to since my grandma was living. My mom followed and then myself. We gather. We cook and we laugh. We also prepare for the week ahead. We give thanks. In therapy I realized that I'm still angry with Michael for ruining this day. He took his life on a Sunday night. If you happen to look at my Facebook posts from that exact day you will see I posted a photo of a Fall wreath I'd made for out front door that morning. I sat right in the living room floor and put it together. Mike was sitting on the couch behind me helping Mason with a school report on the mountain lion. Later that afternoon I posted a photo, the one I have here. It was a snap of my stuffed roasting hens in the oven. I said "I'm so domestic today!" It was a good day. Later I have a photo of m