Truths

I have written a lot about the personal pain of losing a spouse to suicide. I've written of the unending questions, the why's, the what's ifs, the I wish I had's.  I've written how impossible it is to comprehend this tragedy even as I walked through it. Even as I continue to walk through it. 

I read other stories of suicide loss. All are traumatic events.  None of us ever thought we'd have to navigate an experience like this. Some stories look so much more horrifying in terms of the death itself. Some look less complicated if makes any sense. The unbelievable loss is still there, the experience involved in it is different.

While I often speak of the pain of it, I have never spoken the truth of it. The truth is mental illness changed the man I married into a completely different person. Looking back, I believe he suffered from mental illness for years. It manifested in many ways including the inability to retain employment, relationship issues, depression, anger outbursts, procrastination, road rage, a sense of entitlement, a negative attitude, bitterness. In the later part of our marriage the disease brought out passive-aggressive behavior and emotional abuse. 

Most people never saw this side of him. Some saw small glimpses but not the full picture. For a long time I never saw the full picture. In between he was active, involved, entertaining, loving, had friends he cared deeply for, children and grandchildren he adored, was interested in local and world events, was able to BS with anyone and never missed an opportunity to do so.

Very few knew, and in many ways I never owned or shared the truth of it. Like mental illness, the reality of living with someone suffering from it, is rarely spoken of. Sometimes it takes years to put the pieces together and realize what you're dealing with. In the meantime act as if everything is okay, don't speak of the bad parts and carry on. 

I am choosing not to hold the silence. In retrospect I can see the downward spiral. I can see the changes mental illness made in him. The pieces which seemed random and out of place over the years, tell a story now. It cost us our marriage, and it cost him his life. His story ended brutally and tragically. He chose to end his pain, and take it out on me. 

We can't change something unless we own it. I am owning it, and sharing because my story isn't over. I am sharing it for those who hold on to the facade that all is well when things are far from well. For those afraid to own that their spouse, or a friend, parent or child is not okay. I am sharing for the people suffering in the hopes they reach out for help. There are lifelines available. Some come in the form of medication and treatment. Some come in the form of truths like mine. 

Walking Faith Forward

I am not sure which takes more strength. Holding on or letting go. I will say it is mentally and physically exhausting. Of late, exhaustion is the name of the road I've been on.

Now I could define lately as the last 6 months, the last 3 years, or even longer. I have been in flux for a long time. My health has suffered for it, and depression has weighed heavy. Sneaky thing about depression, when you are in the midst of it you can't tell you are in the midst of it. There is no shame in owning your battle. There is relief in opening it to the light. There is hope and joy on the road ahead.

I am pretty sure I've been simultaneously holding on and trying to let go. At best it has been counter productive. I've been fighting the process rather than embracing the process. I have been looking back instead of looking forward. Let me tell you looking forward is scary.

Looking back does offer some insights. It is a chance to count past blessings, see how grace unfolded in ways you couldn't have imagined. It allows you to rejoice in the good things, and to grieve the losses. Life is hard. Not exactly a news bulletin right? 

Today we moved the last of my belongings from the country to the city. Now, I will always be a country girl at heart. This country girl owns way too much garden stuff. If that is humanly possible. Take that as a rhetorical question. I'm trying to find my place in this life of mine. It involves letting go, cherishing the memories and healing deep sorrows. It involves walking faith forward so I can embrace what is. 

Growth is hard journey. Grueling and sometimes lonely. But only as lonely as we let it be. Struggling to feel and be healthy has made it even more difficult. But, and there is always a but, it is necessary, possible and grace filled. May I say, it's okay to not be okay and owning it helps heal it. I am giving myself permission to lay down the weight of both holding on and letting go. You can to.