Father's Day

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For the first time since my husband’s death, I’m struggling with father’s day.

Today it smacked me square in the face “Your husband will never be a father because he’s DEAD.”

My brain is full of trickery and really pisses me off.

I haven’t struggled with father’s day in the past because Seth wasn't a father and we never had children. It’s the one holiday I don’t struggle with. Until today.

Today my mind went back to his first suicide attempt (I wrote about it here)

We had been trying to get pregnant for a couple of months. Not trying - trying, but not using any kind of contraceptive and we just decided if it happens it happens. If it doesn't then it doesn't.

All signs pointed to that I was pregnant. Possibly a couple months along. But all the pregnancy tests kept saying no.

Then my world fell apart. My husband tried to kill himself, he was sitting in a psychiatric ward.

I’ll never forget getting the call that my husband was in intensive care due to a failed suicide attempt. I hung up the phone, and all I could think of is “Holy shit, what if I am pregnant??”

Being pregnant, with my husband sitting in a physic ward, wasn't the dream I had envisioned.

Three days into my husband’s hospital stay, I started my cycle. After three months of not having one. After three months of thinking the tests were wrong, because my cycle had always been like clockwork. I have never gone three months without it making its lovely presence. 

I assume I had a miscarriage. A miscarriage due to stress, or that the baby was never alive.. or that for some unknown reason, my body just stopped for three months leading me to think I was pregnant.

While Seth was still in the hospital, I went and had a 10 year contraceptive put in my body. I didn't talk to him about it. I didn't ask his thoughts. I just did it.

I wasn't willing to bring a child into what I was going through. I knew if I did have a baby, I would be a single parent.. but I thought it would be due to me divorcing Seth because of his suicide attempts, not that I would actually be a single widowed parent. I think my brain knew far more than I did of what was coming up for us.

Seth was mad at me until the day he died for having the contraceptive put in. I think he honestly thought having a child would fix everything and I didn't know what road he was heading down when I agreed that we could start trying to a baby.

As I look at father’s day today, I realized that I could have a 5 year child at this point.. and would be explaining to my child why his daddy isn't here. In a way, it was a blessing that I wasn't pregnant. I don’t know how I would take care of a child when most days I can’t take care of myself. I don’t know how I would ever explain to my child that daddy killed himself. 

But in another way, it reminds me that Seth might have been a father. And I might have been a mother.

Bipolar took my husband away. It also took away a lot of things that Seth could have experienced.. such as being a father.

So today I am thinking of all you widowed parents. Who play both mom and dad. Please give yourself a huge pat on the back, it’s a huge task, and you deserve a huge hug.

Today I will wallow in what could have been. I am saddened that Seth never got to experience being a father. I am saddened by the things that will never happen. 

Suicide Note

I have struggled off and on with the fact that my husband did not leave me a suicide note.

I am once again struggling with this. I have been for weeks now.

Through talking to other suicide widows, I know that the suicide note doesn't always bring comfort. It often times places blame, doesn't make any sense, or just flat out, doesn't bring ENOUGH love and affection to such a horrible situation.

But there are times like now, that I wish I could pull out the note, and read it. Maybe to be reminded of what a dire state my husband was in. That death was his only option. Or just to see “I love you” one more time.

While I have been battling with this for weeks, it dawned on me that I did in fact get a suicide note. 

However it wasn't the suicide attempt that ended his life. It was his first suicide attempt (I wrote about it here).

For some reason I forgot about this note. I couldn't remember what it said. I forgot where it even was. Did I even keep it?

Through sheer fear that I didn't keep it, I opened the old steamer trunk I keep most of his belongings in. It’s one of those things I rarely open, let alone dig through. It sits at the end of my bed, looking pretty, but hidden inside is a life lost to suicide. A lifetime, a marriage, a friendship and companionship that is lost.

My hidden treasure.

When I opened the trunk, I bent down.. and lost it. I just sat and cried. I sat and breathed in the smell of the trunk. I carefully looked through some items. Carefully as I didn't want to damage anything inside, but also being cautious as I knew I was walking into a land mine that could take me weeks to recover from.

Carefully guarding my heart, I searched. There hidden away is pictures, cards, things that were in his pockets when his body was found (still in the sealed bio-hazard bags).

I looked at his wallet. Still full of pictures of us, his credit cards, drivers license, and money. Money I refuse to spend no matter how bad things get. I looked at his glasses, and remembered how handsome he always looked in them. Looked at the only piece of his clothing that I kept, his favorite red hoodie (All his other clothes were made into a quilt, matching pillows, and a couple of throws). I was a little shocked that the smell of cedar from the trunk, now reminds me of my husband. How can the smell of an old steamer trunk, now remind me of my husband? I haven’t opened the trunk in probably a year. 

I can’t even remember what all is in there. I didn't stay in the moment long enough to go through and remember what is inside.

I however did find the suicide note he sent me.

I remember getting the post card. My husband was in a physic ward after spending some time in intensive care. I opened the mail box, and my heart shattered. There on top of all the junk mail and bills, was a picture of Delicate Arch in Arches national park. The same park my husband was found in after his attempt.

I thought reaching into the mailbox and pulling out the post card was going to kill me.

This post card has long been forgotten. Shoved into the trunk with the rest of his life.

Finding this (and realizing it wasn't lost forever) brought me some comfort. There in his own writing, a small glimpse of his pain and “Love you with all my heart.” Signed - Husband. The nickname I called him for years.

In case you can't read it, it says - I don't know what else to say but how sorry I am for your pain. No one has any idea how it is to be me. Love you with all my heart. Love you, Husband

It was a reminder of how much pain he was in. Brought back memories of his suicide attempts and memories of his last attempt. His final attempt.  I think the post card was a way for me to find his body. A not so obvious map, so I could have lead detectives in the right direction.

But more than anything, it was also a reminder that in his last moments he thought of me. Loved me.  And was sorry for the pain he was about to put me through.

I don’t think I ever spoke to Seth about the post card. I remember hiding it away in a file in my office shortly after I got it. At some point I must have moved it to the old steamer trunk. 

Now that I remember I did in fact get a suicide note, and my husband did in fact say one last “I love you” I think I can finally put this struggle behind me.

And put the post card back in the trunk, where it will always be.. just in case I need to be reminded again. 

His story is coming to a end, I promise!

After my husband's suicide attempt, my husband was scared.
The experience he had with his attempt, shock him to his core.
His attempt really scared him.
And made him really take a hard look at his mental state.

He started trying really hard to get a handle on his bipolar.
He tried a lot of medications.
Did personal counseling.

For the first time, he took it seriously.

But it didn't last.
The medication were always a short term fixed.
Then they stopped working.

A month later, May 2009, Seth tried to take his life again.

Below is Seth's writings about his experience.
   I was out of the hospital for a while and working when I just totally lost it again. I was up in the air about 28 feet working on a phone/cable line and started crying and wrapped my safety harness around my neck then hung myself for about 5 minutes. The problem with hanging is it takes too long. I decided to come down from the telephone pole and called Melinda and told her I needed to go back to the hospital. I did a self commitment to the mental ward at Uof U and stayed there 2 weeks this time. 

I promise, I am almost to the end of Seth's story.
Then my widow story begins.
Stay tuned!

A pocket full of cash

My favorite picture of Seth. This was on our wedding day.
I look at his face, and he looks so happy, and completely lost in love.
August 12th, 2005

When I got home from work and saw all the prescription bottles were gone...

I just knew.
My deep, dark, fear, was becoming my reality.

I felt like from August 12th, 2008 to April 1st, 2009, was just a waiting game.

I knew deep down in my heart, that one day, the love of my life was going to try (or succeed) to kill himself.

I never wanted to admit to myself that I knew this and how much fear I had bottled up inside my heart and soul.

When Seth didn't come home that night, I knew he was somewhere...
Trying to take his own life.

I didn't sleep at all that night. Every noise, I would be up, looking out the window, hoping the noise I heard was my husband pulling in the driveway.

He never did.

The next day, I had a email from my bank. My account had been overdrawn.

I checked my account online, and found $1,200.00 had been withdrawn.
I had $300.00 in NSF fees within only a 12 hour period.

I called the bank, and they confirmed, that Seth had withdrawn the money.

Now my husband is missing, I'm not even sure if he is alive, and I don't have a penny to my name.
I couldn't pay the mortgage.
I couldn't even buy food or put gas in my car.

The police didn't pay much attention to my cries for help. "He's an adult, he doesn't have to come home if he doesn't want to." "We don't consider it a missing person case until 72 hours has passed".

I begged and pleaded with them. I told them I knew he was going to try to kill himself.

I knew he was in trouble.

They took my information, but did not issue a missing person report.

I went to work that morning. Knowing I couldn't sit home and hope he pulled into the drive way.

Around noon, I got a call from a doctor in a hospital that was 5 hours away from me.

Seth was in the ICU.
He took all the pills he had.

The following is Seth's writing about his attempt. It is the exact writings he did about this. 

- Warning - This might be too graphic for some readers.

I have bipolar disorder and went into a depression and got some professional help. They put me on a drug called Lamictal. It helped a little but I still thought about suicide daily. I took the pills for a few months and then one day decided I did not want to live any more. So I planned trip in week to go kill myself. When the day came I had just refilled my prescription and had a shit load of pills. I grabbed the pills emptied my bank account and took off to Zion’s National park to kill myself. Somehow I ended up at Arches National park instead, but that didn’t really matter. I found a back dirt round that was rarely traveled. I had 11,000 milligrams of lamictal on me so I crushed it up and drank it with a drink. Then I waited to die at peace in the front seat of my truck in the middle of no ware. Then all of sudden I started vomiting like there was no end. My vision started to flicker like an old tv and then I went blind. I panicked and started my truck and drove it right into a sand dune. I continued to throw up nonstop all night. I tried to get out of my truck to dig it out of the sand but found I was paralyzed from the waist down. I crawled across the desert floor on my elbows until I reached my tires. I still couldn’t see my vision was flickering very fast and I can’t really explain that part. I got to the tire and tried to dig my truck out of the sand. After digging for a while I crawled back to the door of my truck. I still could not move my legs. I also noticed at this point that I no longer had control of my fingers. I tried to open the truck door but it seemed impossible without the use of my fingers. I finally got it open and pulled myself back into the truck. All I remember from this point on is vision going yellow but I could see. And I kept vomiting and coming in and out of consciousness. I must have passed out with my foot on the gas because I blew my engine.

When morning came around I just remember wakening to the sound of a jeep. It was a National Park Volunteer. I wondered over to her and asked her to call me an ambulance. I park ranger showed up first and confiscated my hand gun and just kept me conscious until the ambulance got there. The ambulance just gave me a hydration IV, nothing special needed. I had vomited all the Lamitical I took out of my body already.

When I got the hospital the nurse was really nice to me but the doctor was a jerk. I do not think he likes suicide attempts. 

Even though I was completely shattered that my husband had just tried to kill himself, I was so relieved to know he was alive. What happened, we could get through.

The doctor said Seth didn't want to talk to me, he wasn't ready. That he wanted me to know he was ok.

 I was then handcuffed and driven to the Mental Hospital at the U of U by a sheriff. He made me were shackles and cuffs the entire way. He was a really nice guy. All my clothes were covered in throw up and I stunk real badly, but he didn’t care. When I got to the U of U they committed me to 5 West Mental Ward. 

Seth was in the psychiatric ward for two days before he called me. With psychiatric wards, you have to have a password to call the patient or go see them. If you didn't have the password, the hospital would tell you they didn't have a patient under that name. I had to wait for him to call me before I could go see him.

One nice thing about the ward, was that with the password, not just anyone could call or go see him. He didn't want me to go see him. And he defiantly didn't want his family there.

When he gave me the password, he asked me not to give it to his family, that if he wanted to see them or talk to them, he would call them. 

When his family asked me about going to see him, I told them that he asked me not to give the password out, and that he would call when he was ready.

His family didn't believe me. They called the psychiatric ward asking to speak to him, and (because they didn't have the password) they were told they didn't have a patient there under that name.

I was angry. I felt like his family didn't believe me or trust me. That I was trying to keep their son and brother away from them. When really I was respecting his wishes.

I knew Seth was there to get treatment, and if he didn't want people there, that was his decision. 

When I went and saw Seth for the first time, he was medicated to the point that he would slur his speech. He would forget what we were talking about mid sentence. 

He was distraught. He would sit and cry, and ask me if I was going to divorce him.

During that time, I never once thought about leaving my husband.

I loved him, he was alive, and that's all that mattered.

At least in the psychiatric ward, he was safe.