World Suicide Prevention Day: A Widow's Experience

Life seems to move so fast anymore, but there are still those creeping moments where everything comes to a standstill, and you get to just be present. The seasons keep changing, my son keeps growing, the work-week flows, and the weekends fly by, and I have found myself, more and more, looking up to the sky and wondering where Keith is and if he's looking back at me. 

I believe he's in heaven, my faith tells me he is there, but my mind knows that I don't definitely know what I hope. I wish I could know for sure, but I just have to keep my faith that it is true. 

Being a widow at a young age, which is all I know, comes with a multitude of issues. There's the general just after period when you are calling everyone who was ever connected to them, sorting through tax forms, medical insurance, pensions, and, if you're prepared, life-insurance policies. Then there's that middle ground of silence. No one really knows what to say; the phone calls stop, and the awkward exchange of words is over. You just utter the exact phrase to end those conversations, because you don't have enough energy, and all you have left to say is, "I'm fine."

But, I was not fine. 

My sweet Keith passed in the middle of October 2023. We were unprepared; we thought this was just going to be another fight against the leukemia. Little did we know that our days together were limited. Then there was the "mourning period", letting the horror soak in, planning the funeral, making arrangements, calling relatives, etc. In those early days, I kept my son home from school for the week; I just couldn't send him off into the world. We'd retreat each morning to my parents' house, where my sister and my parents were there to help me make decisions and keep me from losing it. It seemed that each evening someone would show up with a meal for all of us to eat. My brother's family would come over, and I welcomed the distraction. At the end of the day, we'd retreat home and sleep before repeating our process over again. 

Naturally, my worst critic at the time was me. I kept telling myself, "You can get through this." And I kept marching on, breaking down occasionally, but putting unrealistic timelines on my emotions. People kept telling me I was doing so well, but I was not. By the time we got through the Holidays, I was exhausted. Then came my birthday. I don't know why, but that just drove me into a deep depression. I wanted more than anything to have Keith by my side to celebrate my birthday, and despite the bitter reality that he could not be there, it crushed me that he was not there. I started to spiral. 

At the beginning of February 2024, things took a turn for the worse. I started craving to be with Keith in a way I can only describe as an addict wanting a drink or a hit. For the most part, I knew I could not leave my son; he had been through too much. But the voice in my head was hell-bent on waking up next to Keith, and I lied to myself. I told myself that no one would care, that my son would be better off, that life would go on without me, and I'd be free of this grief. 

These suicidal thoughts crept up on me and took down all my guards before I could really rally any strength to resist. By the 12th, I was deep in it. That night, I made a decision, without saying a word to anyone. I went to the bathroom and took 10 pills, naturally having looked up the toxicity required first on the internet, and I lay back in bed. I lay there for about ten minutes, when a feeling of nausea rolled over me and I thought, "Oh my God, what have I done?!" I jumped out of bed and ran to the toilet, stuck my finger down my throat and choked out 10 little white pills into the bowl below. 

I texted my best friend and told her what had happened. She was nothing but compassionate and told me to reach out if I needed anything else. Over the next two days, we were in constant communication. On February 13, 2024, I was working, and the urge to take more pills came on very strongly. I didn't know what else to do, so I texted my best friend. I don't remember what was said, but she rushed to my house and took me to the hospital, because I was not safe. I spent a week on the psych ward of a mental health hospital, I learned about my peers in there, I learned methods to calm myself, and I started a new regimen of medication. I came out of there feeling shaken and exposed. But I was safe. And safety is all that matters in those moments. 

I have struggled with Depression and Anxiety for most of my life. This was a combination of one cruel twist of life and my inability to cope, and for that matter, completely understandable. My mistakes were not utilizing the resources I had before me, not reaching out sooner, and trying to handle everything on my own while I plowed ahead in life despite the heartbreaking loss that was still so fresh. I am still moving through the grief process. It gets easier to hold your grief with time, the love is just as strong as ever, and I have my faith that I will see Keith again. But more than anything else, I have decided to live, and that decision is mine.

Please, if you have thoughts of self-harm or suicide, reach out, call 988, text your best friend, or go to the Emergency Room. Just keep going! I promise you, it gets better, one day at a time. There is no shame in surviving.