SUNDAYS ARE SACRED

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 me in a clay mask. My sister and I were doing facials and laughing so hard we cracked the masks on our faces. It was while I was in the bathroom washing off the mask that the "situation" began. The kids had long since been asleep. The Sunday had gone off without a hitch. The food was great, the dishes were done. Their clothes and back packs all laid out in preparation for the following day.

But somehow in the middle of this great family day he decided to alter life forever. Ending his, threatening ours and changing every aspect of life as we know it. Why on Sunday? The one beautiful family day we all shared. I decided I will never know if he intentionally picked our family funday/Sunday but regardless I am upset. I'm upset about many things caused by his suicide like, why in our home? Why with our children that close, why he ever thought killing us all would be "beautiful"? Did he think heaven would be like our Sundays with the laughter and joy? I then remembered he was sick and maybe there was no symbolism. Maybe it meant nothing to him. Who knows? But I do know it was a very long time before I could do a Sunday Funday again. I don't think it was even conscious. It was three years before I could even eat at the table with the kids again.

I am hoping by acknowledging my feelings about this will help me face it and work though it the same as I've done with other isues since. It is just one of the small but profound effects a suicide loss can have. It meant little to him likely but it changed everything for us.

Next month is Suicide Awareness Month, it is also the 4 year mark since my husband's suicide. He would have turned 43 a week later. As you can see from my experience that day, a suicide can come without warning. In the middle of a seemingly great or even ordinary day, tragedy can strike. And if it does it will change everything you thought you knew about yourself and the world around you.  The irony in the otherwise festive hours leading up to his death is surreal. Both funny and sad. I stopped cooking meals for two years after he died. He was the only one who appreciated my food. My kids could live happily on Ramen and canned Ravioli. Sundays were just painful. And the 15th of every month, and every September, every 4th of July and Halloween, the Marine Corps Birthday and the kids birthdays, Christmas....

His suicide made so many days, weeks months and years practically unbearable.

I have since returned to our family Sundays but never put together why I avoided it for so long until last week. I wish I had noticed earlier but now I'm mindful and that's a start. Sundays mean something again. That's beautiful.

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