Those last two words....

There exists, in all 50 states, a Survivors of Suicide (SOS) group for those of us traumatized by suicide.  Arizona has six chapters, with as little as eight or as many as twenty people in attendance.  We sit in folding chairs that have been positioned into what the facilitator calls a “Healing Circle”; a safe place to share and cry.   A tray filled with several tealight candles sits on top of a small wooden box within the center of our circle along with a book of matches.  Some light a candle in memory of their loved one. I didn’t - the thought of extinguishing the flame at the conclusion of the meeting made me sad.

Everyone in the room looked normal - I could find myself standing in line with any one of them at Sprouts.  But a woman in her early 50’s caught my attention.  She was dressed in a business suit, her I.D card tucked into the plastic sleeve attached to a black silk lanyard still around her neck; her brown hair was neatly pulled back and her accessories well thought out.  She exuded confidence.  I sat across from her in shredded jean shorts, a Harley Davidson shirt, flips and a baseball cap.  We appear different but our grief is the same.  When she spoke, her voice cracked, her lip and chin quivered...”My husband....he....committed suicide three months ago....”   I leaned forward in my seat, resting my forearms on my thighs, my hands coming together, my fingers interlocking and my head lowered, my gaze upon the ground right underneath my feet...I couldn't look her; her emotion was too penetrating.

“....he left a note...”.  

My upper body and head jolted upwards and I stared intently at the woman.  Simultaneously, I saw that my furtive movement caused some people in the room to quickly glance in my direction.  I didn’t break my stare.

She found a note.   What did it say?  What did that note say?  Tell me what the note....

“...I mean, I knew he was depressed but...since then it has been really difficult.  Our kids live out of state....”

Wait, what?  Go back....what did the note say?  

“...I found a piece of jewelry that I know his daughter would have wanted...”

She made no further mention of the note.  No one else in the room spoke about finding notes, either.  I’d learn through my own research, that a mere 32% of people who commit suicide leave notes.  

I get I was there when it happened.  I get that a note doesn’t make what occurred any more obvious.  

But, I still want a note.

The end result is the same whether I saw it happen or found him seconds after hearing the gun go off.  Regardless, some people get notes.  I'm not "some people".  His mom, dad, brother and best friend - they're also not "some people." We didn't get a note.

I still ache for his explanation.  I want to know what he would have written in a note.  I want to be able to read the words “I love you” whenever I want.  I don’t have anything physical to hold in my hands.  A note would have been the "goodbye" that I never received.

Yet, logically I know a note could have left me with more questions than answers.  And, nothing that Aaron wrote would have been justification enough to end his own life.  

But my stubborness and non-acceptance wants a damn note.  Instead, all I'm left with are the last two words he spoke prior to the gun going off...

Those last two words...which weren't "good bye".  

To My Friends....Thank you.

I wonder who my friends are?

Do you ever wonder that?  Do you ever ponder who would be there if you needed them?  I used to ask myself that a lot.  Being single the majority of the time tends to raise that question.  So does having parents who are out of the picture and zero siblings to boot.  When I ran through this exercise, I thought of many friends but crossed them all off the list due to my self-imposed criteria; he lives too far, she has kids to care for, that friend is already going through something, I’m too independent to be an imposition...the list went on.   Once the majority of my friends were crossed off, I was left with a handful of people I felt I could call.  Maybe three.  Actually...just one.  

This exercise always left me feeling alone and vulnerable yet I still couldn’t help but wonder who my real friends were.

Until one day God showed me.

To my motorcycle friends who filled my Face Book feed by changing your profile and cover photos to pictures of us together...you all brought a smile to my face during a time when I thought my smile was broken.  Thank you.

To my friends who immediately took me under your wing and gave me a place to stay for as long as I needed....and when I’d transition back to my house and you'd not allow 24 hours to pass without checking in on me...Thank you.

To my friend who boarded my dogs that fateful morning and took my shirts to the dry cleaners after noticing that my closet door was opened slightly when the incident occurred...thank you.  When you and another friend gave my room a makeover so I could sleep more peacefully at night...I was eternally grateful.

To everyone who texted, messaged or called...thank you. To this day, the outpouring of love and support still brings me to tears.  

To my friend who came over to hold me while I laid on the floor crying so hard I couldn’t breathe....thank you.  And, thank you for the kindness you showed when you took that large stack of papers from the top of my file box in my closet and meticulously examined each page, one by one.  Thank you for using a scissors to remove teeny pieces of affected paper and throwing the pieces in the garbage where I’d never have to see them again.  I am indebted to you.

To my friend who unconditionally flew out from Chicago to attend Aaron’s service....thank you.  Your visit that one evening was a Godsend.   To the numerous other friends who attended the service in support of me, his family and his friends....thank you.  Your presence meant more to me than I can explain with words.

To the friend who gifted me with a free massage and adjustment, to my friend who sang beautifully and played guitar at Aaron’s service; to everyone who prayed for me, sent sympathy cards, gifted me with books, flowers, trinkets or pieces of jewelry, all from the heart...thank you.  Thank you to those who held me up in church and to those who continue to check in on me. And to my spiritual teachers/friends...thank you for clearing your calendars when I need to come visit.  

I know that's not all; I'm forgetting so many other wonderful ways my friends showed me love during this time.  The end of June is a blur.  July is, too.  God, who am I forgetting?

Prior to any of this happening, I question whether or not I would have shown up for my friends they way they have for me.  I'll never know the answer to that question.  But, I thank God for His amazing display of what that really looks like. I thank Him for revealing the sheer number of friends that poured love into me from the tiniest of gestures to the grandest.  I know one thing for sure...should any of my friends need me in their time of need, I now know exactly what to do. For my friends didn't just serve the role of healers or supporters, they became my teachers.  And, for that and so much more, I am grateful.  

To think I used to wonder who my friends were....

I surrender.

My hand is outstretched high above my head, my palm wrapped around the solid wood handle fully aware of its weight; the flag gently waving in the breeze feels top-heavy and the white, square shaped material appears brilliant against the blue sky.  

I surrender.

I throw up the white flag.  My life has been cancelled until further notice.

I have always been a planner and prior to June 23rd, I had big plans.   In July, I would attend two separate fitness competition events.  Attaining my dream physique has been a goal of mine for years and what better motivation is there than being held accountable in a bikini on stage?  My training began January 25th and every month I lost body fat and gained lean muscle.  The sacrifices I made were paying off.  By June, I looked and felt amazing.  The competition was so close I could taste it.  

In August, my company’s flagship event (Celebration) would take place in Vegas.  My $200 ticket was purchased months ago. I couldn’t wait to once again dance in the aisles with my friends and watch as Mario Lopez hosted our formal Gala event.  Even Maroon 5 would be there as our very own private after party entertainment!  Our company goes big. It was sure to be epic.

Sounds great right?  

It was.  But, only against the backdrop of my perfect, happy life.  When Aaron’s heart stopped, so too did my life.

Yet, I still clung to a false sense of normalcy.  When my dogs were boarded on the morning of June 23rd,  I was adamant I’d pick them up “in just a few days”; the expression on everyone’s faces in the room telling me otherwise.  Despite spending the night at other houses the first week after Aaron passed, I always returned back to my house in the day time, as if trying to reclaim my territory.  The minute my therapist gave me the "ok" to return home at night,  I did so without hesitation.  When I turned the lights off those first few nights, restlessness and panic set in yet I held onto being home.  I gripped my room so tightly, not wanting to lose it into some abyss.

For the days that followed, I found myself clinging more and more to the life I had with Aaron.  I got myself back into the gym where the weights were symbolic of how heavy my heart felt. But, I was proud to be seen.  Look at me!  I’m kind of a bad ass!  Sure, I missed my July show but come September, it's a go!   I’m okay.

But, I wasn’t okay and I’m still not okay.  Instead, I’m grieving and in mourning. And, I just need to accept that.

Little by little I’ve started to let go.  After much thought, I made the bitter sweet decision to cancel my plans to attend Celebration.  It’s a fun event but not when all I feel is pain and loss. The enormous crowds that brought energy and excitement in 2015 will ubdoubtedly prove overwhelming this time around.  Through the tears, I got on Face Book and made a post that my ticket was up for grabs.  On social media, I see the excitement of my team members posting about Celebration.  In those moments, I want to throw my computer out the window of a moving vehicle.

The fitness competition is also off the table.  I was physically present in the gym but my mind and heart were elsewhere.  Since Aaron died, I haven’t been able to follow my meal plan.  Eating chicken every day feels much like trying to force cockroaches down my throat.  I’m always sad and I'm pretty sure chicken makes me sadder.  I’m not saying a huge tub of mashed potatoes would cheer me up; I certainly don’t want to backslide but if I’m craving a Greek yogurt, I want to be able to enjoy one without feeling like a failure.  Training and prepping for a competition was challenging even when I was healthy in mind, body and soul.  Training while being broken...well, if anyone figures out how to do that, let me know.  I’m all ears.

Clinging to my previous life was evidence that I wasn’t honoring the cold hard fact that everything has changed.  I was trying to move on as a symbol of strength and perseverance.  But, real strength lies in acknowledging and accepting that life is different right now. And, that requires pause.  It begs for some breathing space.  I need time to grieve, mourn and eventually heal and reinvent myself.  So, with that, I'm surrendering my old life and giving it to God.  That doesn’t mean I’ll stop experiencing or living life.  It just means I’m taking a sabbatical; I’m creating some breathing room.  The weeds have to go to make room for flowers to bloom. Like my friend Jill said “Sometimes putting things off is okay.  Sometimes God needs you to focus on other things like yourself.”   And, my friend Debbie from the gym reminded me that dreams don’t have expiration dates.  She’s right.  They don't.  

So for now, I just surrender and allow God to restore me in a way that only He can.  I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel like quitter.  I so badly want to continue to run my Isagenix business and go to Celebration and all the other mini-events that I've been missing.  I so badly want to prove myself on a fitness competition stage.  But that's all ego and non-acceptance of my current state.  Times like these require that I listen to my higher self - that small, soft whisper that implores me to just sit with the winds of change. Sit with the sadness, the loneliness and with with void that demands my attention at every waking moment.  It's time to pause.  It's time grieve.  That's where the healing lives.

Matthew 16:24-25 ~ Then Jesus said to His disciples, "If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me. "For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.

Piece for Peace

I feel like my heart has been ripped into tiny pieces of emotion, each piece baring its own label:  Denial.  Sadness.  Depression.  Despair.  Betrayal.  Anger.  

It's that last piece - Anger - that I hate the most.  It feels like an unwanted guest.  I'm okay sitting with sadness...that makes sense.  And, give me more moments where I just don't believe Aaron's gone; denial being the 1 or 2 minute vacation I take daily when I spray his cologne and could swear he's in the next room.  Depression, while not my favorite, is my new normal.  And, yes, I sometimes feel betrayal over the way Aaron left me, but sadness and depression win the emotional war so often that I forget betrayal even exists.

But that feeling of anger that washes over me and causes me to purse my lips and shake my head in disgust...

I don't like it.  That can emotional piece can go straight to hell.

I do not want to be angry at the man I loved the most in the world.   I just want to feel love, compassion and empathy toward him. 

But, I do feel angry more than I care to admit.  I feel my hands tightening over the steering wheel as I drive away from my post office with mail addressed to Aaron; mail I'll eventually give to his dad and it breaks my heart every single time.  His dad doesn't want his son's mail.  He wants his son.    

I feel angry when I remember the promises Aaron made to me that will never be fulfilled; promises to take me back to the Grand Canyon, to ride our bikes to Zion National Park, and to be married someday.  He said he would never leave me and promised to love me forever.

I'm angry that my cabin, the place to which I'd escape to rest, recharge and center myself now feels like a black hole containing a void so large that I'm almost positive it can never be filled.

I'm angry when I see his mom cry over the loss of her son.  I'm angry Aaron didn't ask for help; like he was some puzzle we were just supposed to piece together and now it's like it just sits on a table unfinished....all of us feeling like failures because we didn't get it right.

But, I still can't stay angry at him for long.  

I remember his green eyes that lit up with his smile, the way he would look at me when I told him I loved him and all the times he would act goofy to make me smile.  

And, I remember that all I ever wanted for him was for him to be happy.

No, I don't sit with anger very long.  I just love him too much.  That piece of my heart that wants to surge with anger is always quickly replaced with compassion and love.  It's a tradeoff that I easily make every single time.  My anger piece for his emotional peace.  

Love wins every time.  

June 23, 2016

The 23rd is represented as a tiny square among 29 other squares in my day planner for the month of June.  I know in 2016, few people use day planners.  But I do.  And, I find myself staring at the June 22nd square as if trying to find some indication of the tragic event that would reveal itself the following day.  Yet the contents of that square only serve as a reminder for the Isagenix Headquarters tour ~ an event I was excited about for weeks prior. I had wished Aaron could join me but I knew he would be working his pool route.  That evening, though, I remember telling him in great detail about the tour; what a state-of-the-art building it is and about the Harley Davidson motorcycle that is on display in the lobby, literally smack dab in the middle of a water feature, its two tires and kickstand precariously placed on individual small cement pillars that elevate the entire motorcycle above the water.

The June 23rd square in my calendar is blank.  I clearly remember Aaron asking me that morning what my plans were for the day.  "I have training at 11 at Joe's.  I want to run by the post office and check the mail, and I need to go to the Vet to get a copy of Cinnamon's vaccination records...".  I continued explaining that the place I board the dogs didn't have her current records and we'd need those for when we boarded the dogs for the Tucson trip we had scheduled for July 9th and 10th.  I was seated on the couch drinking my coffee; he was standing in the living room directly in front of me.  All seemed normal.

I wish I would have asked him what his plans were for that day.  I assumed I already knew what they were - he'd go to work and return home to me.  But that's not what happened.   And, little did I know that my plans would be nothing like what I explained to Aaron that very morning.  No. Not only did my plans change for that day but I changed.  I knew I would never be the same person I was...for all the remaining squares on every day planner I'd ever own, I would be forever changed.

Aside from the detectives who interviewed me on Thursday morning, only my therapist and two other people know in grave detail what transpired on the 23rd.  I knew I needed to talk about it.  Lord knows my brain wouldn't stop playing the events over and over and over again in my minds eye.  I hoped saying it aloud might quiet the movie-loop that was playing in my head.  And, I was selective about who would be on the receiving end of such graphic detail.  I sought out friends who are stoic and strong enough in character to allow me to say what I needed to say.  And they listened intently, their eyes welling up with tears as my story drew to an end.

Yes, looking back, Aaron seemed a bit more agitated than usual that morning.  Aaron woke up like he did every morning but indeed he grew more agitated as the minutes passed.

But, I still never saw that coming.

Aaron woke up at 5:00 a.m, right on time like always.  He popped right out of bed like a champ and began his normal routine of getting dressed, loading up the truck with his pool equipment and supplies, downing his bowl of oatmeal and enjoying the cup of coffee I made him that morning.  By 6:15 he should have left the house to meet his dad.  By 6:41 Aaron took his own life.  I was standing right next to him.  He never said goodbye.  I never got a chance to tell him goodbye.  And, all those who love Aaron would never get that chance either.

I know Aaron is at peace and free from the bondage that caused him so much pain. But, knowing this doesn't at all diminish the sheer pain and grief that I feel at every waking moment.  My darkest days which lasted for the good part of two weeks, I believe, are finally behind me.   Now it's just a matter of choosing to breathe when I feel like I can't.  Pretending to be whole in this life while being shattered into a million pieces.  Trying to negotiate the days in spite of my heart having been ripped out of my chest.  So you can imagine what the darkest days were like...

I grieve.  I cry.  I mourn.  I'm in disbelief.  My emotions are a roller coaster.  And, from where I sit now, I don't know how I'll ever feel better.  It doesn't seem possible.  Yet I know it is.  But, I have to choose healing over and over again.  I have to choose to fight for it.  I have to choose to overcome, and I have to choose the light over the darkness.  And, I do.  I choose life.

John 8:12  ~ When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”