Having lost my wife to suicide 18 months ago, and being the only person who could have physically saved her, it shouldn't ever be assumed that suicidal people feel isolated or that they will behave extremely abnormally. My regret (understatement) is that whilst I was fully aware of my wife's fragile mental state/anxiousness, she was also, right up to her death, a fully functioning adult, we had skied together the day before, we had a nice meal out in the evening, at no point did we argue and she knew (because we told her every day and I was always with her) both I and her families would be there for her no matter what.
Indeed, every day I think how much my wife would be devastated at what her passing has done to myself and our families, which in itself is gut-wrenching because now I want my wife to be at peace, and I talk to her all the time about how much we all love her and that we know it was a demon that took her from us.
Suffice to say the circumstances of my wife's death (leaving me to break down a bathroom door to find her, in a hotel room on the other side of the world, and all the associated administrative hurdles and expense of bringing her back to her home country) were totally out of keeping with the vivacious, loving and considerate girl that we all knew and loved. But, on reflection and putting myself in her shoes, and conscious of how much she would worry about trivialities, I can see how, whilst in the main appearing to be a fully functioning adult, in those final minutes a demon had taken control of all rational thought and convinced her that taking her own life was the best solution for her, me and our families.
And everyday all I wish is that she had ever said something alarming to me, or that it would have dawned on me that suicide was genuinely a possibility, so that I could have sat her down and had a rational conversation about the implications of that. Perhaps it would have made no difference, but it is the never knowing that only makes it worse when you lose someone like this.
What I would urge is for friends and families to share concerns. It transpired that my wife had texted a friend a week before she died in which she said that she was mentally and physically destroyed, and asked that friend to pray for her. It also transpired that just before sending that text, she'd sent another text to a professional which was full of positivity and enthusiasm for the holiday we were about to set off on. And whilst I was in no doubt as to my wife's fragility, and we discussed it loads during the holiday, to the extent that I had contacted the same professionals during our holiday to express my concerns, had I known that my wife had sent such a message to a friend (with that message being so out of character for her) perhaps I would have faced up to the possibility of suicide head-on, and had that conversation with her.
For what it's worth dealing with the aftermath of suicide all depends on the individual. I continue to have grief counselling once a week but my wife's death has reduced me to nothing more than an existence, I want nothing other than the rest of our lives together, I want the unique and special world that her and I shared, I don't long for anyone or anything else. The only thing that keeps me alive is because I am aware that my own passing would only double the tragedy, and that potentially people might then 'blame' my wife for my own passing. So I muddle through some kind of pathetic existence, much of which is driven by trying to ensure my wife's legacy is a positive one, and a series of endless daily rituals which are all about making sure my wife knows just how much we all love her. But to be this way at 47 years old is horrific.
So I'd always urge people to try to listen to their loved ones and, even if it seems ridiculous, to be upfront about the possibility of suicide and to try to convey the reality of the absolutely horrible consequences of suicide for those who are left behind, which might just help keep any demon at bay.
Indeed, every day I think how much my wife would be devastated at what her passing has done to myself and our families, which in itself is gut-wrenching because now I want my wife to be at peace, and I talk to her all the time about how much we all love her and that we know it was a demon that took her from us.
Suffice to say the circumstances of my wife's death (leaving me to break down a bathroom door to find her, in a hotel room on the other side of the world, and all the associated administrative hurdles and expense of bringing her back to her home country) were totally out of keeping with the vivacious, loving and considerate girl that we all knew and loved. But, on reflection and putting myself in her shoes, and conscious of how much she would worry about trivialities, I can see how, whilst in the main appearing to be a fully functioning adult, in those final minutes a demon had taken control of all rational thought and convinced her that taking her own life was the best solution for her, me and our families.
And everyday all I wish is that she had ever said something alarming to me, or that it would have dawned on me that suicide was genuinely a possibility, so that I could have sat her down and had a rational conversation about the implications of that. Perhaps it would have made no difference, but it is the never knowing that only makes it worse when you lose someone like this.
What I would urge is for friends and families to share concerns. It transpired that my wife had texted a friend a week before she died in which she said that she was mentally and physically destroyed, and asked that friend to pray for her. It also transpired that just before sending that text, she'd sent another text to a professional which was full of positivity and enthusiasm for the holiday we were about to set off on. And whilst I was in no doubt as to my wife's fragility, and we discussed it loads during the holiday, to the extent that I had contacted the same professionals during our holiday to express my concerns, had I known that my wife had sent such a message to a friend (with that message being so out of character for her) perhaps I would have faced up to the possibility of suicide head-on, and had that conversation with her.
For what it's worth dealing with the aftermath of suicide all depends on the individual. I continue to have grief counselling once a week but my wife's death has reduced me to nothing more than an existence, I want nothing other than the rest of our lives together, I want the unique and special world that her and I shared, I don't long for anyone or anything else. The only thing that keeps me alive is because I am aware that my own passing would only double the tragedy, and that potentially people might then 'blame' my wife for my own passing. So I muddle through some kind of pathetic existence, much of which is driven by trying to ensure my wife's legacy is a positive one, and a series of endless daily rituals which are all about making sure my wife knows just how much we all love her. But to be this way at 47 years old is horrific.
So I'd always urge people to try to listen to their loved ones and, even if it seems ridiculous, to be upfront about the possibility of suicide and to try to convey the reality of the absolutely horrible consequences of suicide for those who are left behind, which might just help keep any demon at bay.
Pacha, an attorney with a degree and post graduate studies in psychology, public speaks about prevention and grief through her nonprofit, Nick's Network of Hope. She lost her teen son, Nick, and holds nothing back to help others.
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