Happy 42nd Birthday, Mike
I didn't give up. I promised to love him in sickness and health. It just so happened that toward the end it was sickness. But it wasn't a visible terminal illness. Not from the outside looking in. He didn't lose his hair or become frail. There were no immediate indications he was nearing death. The condition he had was absolutely toxic though. His skewed perception infected all of us. At the end he made the kids feel they were just bad and I was incapable of raising them and being a wife. I think that's is one of the reasons it was so hard after he died. He was gone but the damage his illness caused to the children and myself still existed.
I share this because it was absolutely unnoticed by other people while he was still living. That means it could be happening to someone you know and love right now and you would not have a clue.
He wasn't a bad person.
He was an amazing man.
I have said it so many times before: untreated PTSD is like a cancer to your soul. It eats away at all the beautiful characteristics a person possesses. It takes everything you've ever stood for and lived by and shakes it up violently until you don't recognize yourself. That's what killed my husband.
When he first died, his mom begged me not to tell his dad which gun he used to take his life. It was the Savage rifle, flat black in color. His dad bought it for him that year for Father's Day. The ammunition he used was also from his dad. Some people have asked through the years if I was angry with him. Because if it weren't for him, Mike wouldn't have had a way to kill himself. I have NEVER once been angry with him about that. I knew how far gone he was in his illness. He was so proud to have had that experience with his dad at the gun show and it felt like a bond was beginning in a very tattered relationship. I was nervous but happy. I thought maybe it would help brighten his mood. I would tell his dad, if we still spoke that it was not his fault. He was sick. If he didn't use the gun he would still find a way. He didn't know how sick his son was and his son intentionally kept it from him. I don't think Mike knew how far gone he was then. I can't say I fully recognized it.
Before PTSD Mike was hilarious. He made me laugh. I was always funnier. We argued all the time on this. He said he was funnier but nah, totally me.
He was obsessed with the Lion King. He loved the song "I've got a lovely bunch of coconut" he knew all the words to the entire movie. He was like a giant child when it was on.
He loved his mustang. He got it for graduation from high school and it had been stored in his parents garage his entire 20 year Marine Corps career. He had s binder of all the modifications and part numbers he intended to have installed after retiring and settling in our hometown. His plan was to work on it with Mason, our son so that he also knew the pride of owning this classic car. He hoped to have it completed and pass it to Mas when he graduated just as his parents had for him. It was the one thing he consistently spoke of through his life. He'd gotten really close to realizing that dream too. I'm not even sure what became of the car after his death. I hope it still sits in that garage for Mason should he ever ask. I hope we are given an option should they decide to junk it. That car was his legacy for his boy.
He loved Metallica. Nothing Else Matters was our song. I once thought he had the Black CD stuck in his car CD player because we drove 2000 miles from California to MISSOURI without changing the CD. He didn't have it stuck. He just really loved the entire record. I can personally noe sing every word to every song too. Lol
He was so talented with woodwork. Like amazingly gifted. We worked on so many projects together. I asked him to put something together aND he would outdo himself every single time. The squadron he once worked for asked him to make centerpieces for their MC Ball. They still use them. A decade later.
He went nuts for Halloween and Fourth of July. Those were his top two holidays of the year. He was over the top with decorations and celebrations.
He spoke Japanese. Tried to teach me but that didn't go well. Except I know Hashiriya mean chopsticks. Well that's what he told me. Lol it could mean anything!
He wanted to open his own custom car repair and design to restore classics. We were both into all things vintage.
He was told while married to his first wife that he could not have children. He had always been sad about that. I made peace with it and decided I loved him regardless. Imagine both our surprise when not one but two children came from our union. It was unexpected and he was elated. He had done the "impossible". (His former wife went on to remarry also and never did have children so it probably wasn't his body preventing that)
He cried during our wedding vows. And again with the birth of both out children. He was so happy in those moments. He was a very sensitive man. Most people don't know that. I know that those moments were some of the highlights of his life. He loved our kids. Our son is the Blum family name sake. He will carry on his father's legacy proudly. With any luck one day he will have a son to do the same.
There are so many wonderful memories we share of him. Much of our time is spent explaining the symptoms of his illness and how he died because we feel it's important to aid in awareness and prevention but make no mistake, he was not defined by PTSD or Suicide. Those things happened TO him but they weren't HIM. He was my husband and childhood sweetheart. He was their dad. He was a Damn good Marine, a brother, a son, an uncle and a friend.
Today we celebrate it all.
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