Five Years On
Five years ago my life looked so much different than it does today. So much in fact that people who don't know us well may never believe exactly what we've been through. I can't lie, some of that is by my choosing. The only part or my story that remains the same is the players. Well, most of them. The kids and myself. Everything else is new to my story.
Five years ago my kids were 6, 8 and 13. Kira was just beginning first grade. Mason was starting 3rd and TJ was a sophomore in high school. I was married then. My husband was 38, had just officially retired from the Marines and we had finally settled in our hometown. In a two story split level home with a pink tree in the front yard. I remember this detail specifically because Kira desperately wanted a house with a pink tree in the yard. I felt it must be destiny because I found her such a home.
My husband and I had been married over a decade and we'd spent that whole time imagining what our life would look like after the Marines. We were sure that the hard part of our life was behind us. No more deployments, no more war, no more saying goodbye. I was no longer a single parent to our kids while he sacrificed his time and effort in a war zone. We were told if we could make it through active duty married...we could survive anything. We believed it. I believed it. I guess I can only speak for myself.
It seems as though we no sooner got our TMO delivery and began to set up home and life showed us we were no where near being settled. This time five years ago I was stressed, sad, scared and unsure of everything. I remember feeling like I was waiting for the next crisis to emerge. I knew something was going to change but I never expected exactly what would come next.
Mike, my husband had changed. Not for the better. I hardly recognized him. I hardly recognized myself. In all that breath holding while supporting him and his dreams I lost myself. We remained 2000 miles from home for so long. I was isolated and conditioned to his unusual behavior I didn't see just how much it had changed me. It wasn't until we returned to Missouri from Camp Pendleton that final time and I finally exhaled and looked at myself in the mirror I realized I didn't know the woman staring back at me. I was jumpy, frazzled, constantly attempting to anticipate how external situations may effect Mike and putting out fires as they came. It had become a full time job. Mike had PTSD but at the time I didn't analyze it. I hadn't taken a minute to accept what it really was I was just keeping my head above water. Treading. Just trying to make it through the day. It was mentally, emotionally exhausting. But that had become the new normal. The reality was it was so far from normal GPS couldn't have located it.
I knew something was wrong. But he'd become so irratic, so unpredictable that I couldn't even guess his next move. His drinking became daily. Just because. I told him after he began to become explosive and abusive to... not just me but also the kids...he HAD to get help. The only ultimatum I ever gave him was my last. I didn't want to give it. I just had to protect the kids. So I was firm. At the beginning of September 2013 I laid it out. He MUST get help within 30 days or he was going to have to move in with his parents. I could no longer make excuses for his rage and irratic behavior. It was no longer something I could explain away. And now that the kids were being physically affected my hands were tied. I would not put them in harms way. The expense was too great.
Two weeks went past and he'd not made much of an effort. I began to accept that this might be the end of our marriage. I was correct but what came was not at all the parting I prepared myself for. Who could have known?
I was surprised later that week (it was Thursday September 11, 2013) when I came home from work to hear him say he'd contacted a civilian therapist about making an appointment. However, he advised me that he could not be seen for another 3 weeks. The light at the end of the tunnel was officially extinguished. I don't know if he thought that would be enough. It wasnt. I had spent the last decade waiting for him to do "xyz". He clearly wasn't honest with the receptionist as to him being a threat to himself or others. If he had they would have never made him wait. But I couldn't force him into the hospital. He had to want to do it himself. I still don't know to this day if he KNEW how sick he was. I will never know.
Four days later he was dead. September 15, 2013. The circumstances of that night will haunt me for life. No amount of therapy will ever give me peace about it. It just "is". The police officer I spoke with that night looked at me with all seriousness and said "your actions tonight saved your family." Mike made me choose between him and my kids and I clearly remember thinking "I don't care what you do with that rifle and yourself but you are not getting near my kids. Over my dead body" I didn't care if he shot himself in that moment but he was literally going to have to shoot through my body to harm them. I spoke in whispers to him. The kids slept in their bunkbeds just feet behind me. I had the sense in that moment to try not to wake them. I guess up up until then I thought I could diffuse the problem and they'd be none the wiser. I didn't have much time to think. Only act. I was able to get him on the other side of that garage door there was relief but that was short lived because he began pushing back into the house and I knew I could not overpower him. Not only that but when I did get it closed I could not lock it. I believe he must have had the handle turned keeping the mechanism from engaging. Just as I began to really panic, the resistance ceased. He walked away from the door. I held my breath, sure the shots were coming. And one did. But I looked down and it had not come through me. One shot. Hollow. No echo. No crash. No breaking glass. Not even a thump. Not another noise came from the other side of that door. Did I mention while all this is playing out I have the 911 operator on my cell phone and in my hand? The entire nightmare from start to finish had been recorded. My sister who was also present was two steps behind me and was also on the phone with another 911 operator. I've often been curious about hearing those calls from that night but haven't found a good enough reason to subject myself to replaying it live. I did all of this without waking our sleeping kids. They did not wake until after that shot rang out and the 911 operator told me to grab them and run. Run as far and fast as I could. And we did.
I made sure the kids were in front of my body as we ran from the house. I knew the type of ammo he was using and knew it would slice straight through me into them. I could only hope if he did shoot my body would at least slow the bullet down and their injuries would be less severe. All I wanted was to make it through this and get them somewhere safe.
No further shots came. There was nothing but eerie silence coming from the direction of our split level home with a pink tree in the front yard. What I didn't know was that first shot ended his life. He sat down in the garage, put the rifle in his mouth and pulled the trigger. He was never getting back up. In fact it took so long for SWAT to gain entry that the blood he lost created a perfect outline of his body as it fell. That outline remained until the day I moved the kids out of that house and back to California. I could not remove it so I stacked boxes over it while we had to live there. It was the longest 9 months of my life. Pure torture every time I had to go into that garage.
I was broken. How can you survive such trauma? Not a random act of violence. Not random at all. The act committed by your spouse and in your home. It changes everything you think you know about the world and the people in it. I did survive because just like that night...my drive to protect my kids superceded any other instinct. I have to get better not just for myself. But them. If it were just me I'd likely never have pulled through. My kids make me strong. They make me fight harder. My only real goal in this life is to usher them safely into adulthood. There are still moments now, five years later where I feel like I'm just waking up from a very long hibernation. Glimmers of me start returning. But I'm not kidding myself into thinking who I was five years ago was really who I was meant to be anyway. I doubt I'll recognize myself when I'm finally who I was made to be as that never comes. We are constantly evolving, growing and learning. I try to remember to have realistic expectations. He did not steal my light. He forced it to shine brighter to lead the way for my kids. His kids.
My kids are now 11, 13 and 19. They are healthy, happy and thriving. They still smile. After losing their dad to suicide, their mom to grief, their home and the life they knew they still laugh. As long as they do, so will I. We live in Southern California again. Not far from Pendleton. Two miles in fact. My youngest takes horse riding lessons, the middle is taking honors classes and is two grades ahead in Math. My eldest is a graduate and training in Jujitsu. They are just like average kids in every way. They are not lacking a father figure as I am engaged to a lovely man who treats them as his own. We have a two story stucco home and two dogs.
They may never truly know how much I love them and will fight for them. But what kid really does?
Five years...
Five years ago my kids were 6, 8 and 13. Kira was just beginning first grade. Mason was starting 3rd and TJ was a sophomore in high school. I was married then. My husband was 38, had just officially retired from the Marines and we had finally settled in our hometown. In a two story split level home with a pink tree in the front yard. I remember this detail specifically because Kira desperately wanted a house with a pink tree in the yard. I felt it must be destiny because I found her such a home.
My husband and I had been married over a decade and we'd spent that whole time imagining what our life would look like after the Marines. We were sure that the hard part of our life was behind us. No more deployments, no more war, no more saying goodbye. I was no longer a single parent to our kids while he sacrificed his time and effort in a war zone. We were told if we could make it through active duty married...we could survive anything. We believed it. I believed it. I guess I can only speak for myself.
It seems as though we no sooner got our TMO delivery and began to set up home and life showed us we were no where near being settled. This time five years ago I was stressed, sad, scared and unsure of everything. I remember feeling like I was waiting for the next crisis to emerge. I knew something was going to change but I never expected exactly what would come next.
Mike, my husband had changed. Not for the better. I hardly recognized him. I hardly recognized myself. In all that breath holding while supporting him and his dreams I lost myself. We remained 2000 miles from home for so long. I was isolated and conditioned to his unusual behavior I didn't see just how much it had changed me. It wasn't until we returned to Missouri from Camp Pendleton that final time and I finally exhaled and looked at myself in the mirror I realized I didn't know the woman staring back at me. I was jumpy, frazzled, constantly attempting to anticipate how external situations may effect Mike and putting out fires as they came. It had become a full time job. Mike had PTSD but at the time I didn't analyze it. I hadn't taken a minute to accept what it really was I was just keeping my head above water. Treading. Just trying to make it through the day. It was mentally, emotionally exhausting. But that had become the new normal. The reality was it was so far from normal GPS couldn't have located it.
I knew something was wrong. But he'd become so irratic, so unpredictable that I couldn't even guess his next move. His drinking became daily. Just because. I told him after he began to become explosive and abusive to... not just me but also the kids...he HAD to get help. The only ultimatum I ever gave him was my last. I didn't want to give it. I just had to protect the kids. So I was firm. At the beginning of September 2013 I laid it out. He MUST get help within 30 days or he was going to have to move in with his parents. I could no longer make excuses for his rage and irratic behavior. It was no longer something I could explain away. And now that the kids were being physically affected my hands were tied. I would not put them in harms way. The expense was too great.
Two weeks went past and he'd not made much of an effort. I began to accept that this might be the end of our marriage. I was correct but what came was not at all the parting I prepared myself for. Who could have known?
I was surprised later that week (it was Thursday September 11, 2013) when I came home from work to hear him say he'd contacted a civilian therapist about making an appointment. However, he advised me that he could not be seen for another 3 weeks. The light at the end of the tunnel was officially extinguished. I don't know if he thought that would be enough. It wasnt. I had spent the last decade waiting for him to do "xyz". He clearly wasn't honest with the receptionist as to him being a threat to himself or others. If he had they would have never made him wait. But I couldn't force him into the hospital. He had to want to do it himself. I still don't know to this day if he KNEW how sick he was. I will never know.
Four days later he was dead. September 15, 2013. The circumstances of that night will haunt me for life. No amount of therapy will ever give me peace about it. It just "is". The police officer I spoke with that night looked at me with all seriousness and said "your actions tonight saved your family." Mike made me choose between him and my kids and I clearly remember thinking "I don't care what you do with that rifle and yourself but you are not getting near my kids. Over my dead body" I didn't care if he shot himself in that moment but he was literally going to have to shoot through my body to harm them. I spoke in whispers to him. The kids slept in their bunkbeds just feet behind me. I had the sense in that moment to try not to wake them. I guess up up until then I thought I could diffuse the problem and they'd be none the wiser. I didn't have much time to think. Only act. I was able to get him on the other side of that garage door there was relief but that was short lived because he began pushing back into the house and I knew I could not overpower him. Not only that but when I did get it closed I could not lock it. I believe he must have had the handle turned keeping the mechanism from engaging. Just as I began to really panic, the resistance ceased. He walked away from the door. I held my breath, sure the shots were coming. And one did. But I looked down and it had not come through me. One shot. Hollow. No echo. No crash. No breaking glass. Not even a thump. Not another noise came from the other side of that door. Did I mention while all this is playing out I have the 911 operator on my cell phone and in my hand? The entire nightmare from start to finish had been recorded. My sister who was also present was two steps behind me and was also on the phone with another 911 operator. I've often been curious about hearing those calls from that night but haven't found a good enough reason to subject myself to replaying it live. I did all of this without waking our sleeping kids. They did not wake until after that shot rang out and the 911 operator told me to grab them and run. Run as far and fast as I could. And we did.
I made sure the kids were in front of my body as we ran from the house. I knew the type of ammo he was using and knew it would slice straight through me into them. I could only hope if he did shoot my body would at least slow the bullet down and their injuries would be less severe. All I wanted was to make it through this and get them somewhere safe.
No further shots came. There was nothing but eerie silence coming from the direction of our split level home with a pink tree in the front yard. What I didn't know was that first shot ended his life. He sat down in the garage, put the rifle in his mouth and pulled the trigger. He was never getting back up. In fact it took so long for SWAT to gain entry that the blood he lost created a perfect outline of his body as it fell. That outline remained until the day I moved the kids out of that house and back to California. I could not remove it so I stacked boxes over it while we had to live there. It was the longest 9 months of my life. Pure torture every time I had to go into that garage.
I was broken. How can you survive such trauma? Not a random act of violence. Not random at all. The act committed by your spouse and in your home. It changes everything you think you know about the world and the people in it. I did survive because just like that night...my drive to protect my kids superceded any other instinct. I have to get better not just for myself. But them. If it were just me I'd likely never have pulled through. My kids make me strong. They make me fight harder. My only real goal in this life is to usher them safely into adulthood. There are still moments now, five years later where I feel like I'm just waking up from a very long hibernation. Glimmers of me start returning. But I'm not kidding myself into thinking who I was five years ago was really who I was meant to be anyway. I doubt I'll recognize myself when I'm finally who I was made to be as that never comes. We are constantly evolving, growing and learning. I try to remember to have realistic expectations. He did not steal my light. He forced it to shine brighter to lead the way for my kids. His kids.
My kids are now 11, 13 and 19. They are healthy, happy and thriving. They still smile. After losing their dad to suicide, their mom to grief, their home and the life they knew they still laugh. As long as they do, so will I. We live in Southern California again. Not far from Pendleton. Two miles in fact. My youngest takes horse riding lessons, the middle is taking honors classes and is two grades ahead in Math. My eldest is a graduate and training in Jujitsu. They are just like average kids in every way. They are not lacking a father figure as I am engaged to a lovely man who treats them as his own. We have a two story stucco home and two dogs.
They may never truly know how much I love them and will fight for them. But what kid really does?
Five years...
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