Dark Anniversary
posted: Jun 13, 01:34 AM
11 years ago this weekend a very good friend of mine took his life. The true trauma was to his wife and two young children, but I still look back on that night as one of the worst experiences in my life. I think the only comparable pain was the news my father had died.
I’m not going to share the details, they are not mine to share. What I can share is I was the first person his wife came to when she found his body. I was the person to call 911 and tell them what had happened. I was the one who had to look at three little faces not understanding, but understanding all to well, that innocence and safety are not commodities children can count on having in their lives.
I can’t write this without crying. I still hear his wife’s voice at my back door, and wonder how one even begins to incorporate such intense pain into some kind of manageable form.
Their 6 year old son and 8 year old daughter were with me, and my 4 year old daughter. I had insisted she leave her children with me when it became evident there was something wrong.
The three children were like cousins, playing together daily and having sleepovers whenever they wanted. I was always Auntie Gemini to the kids and love that my honorary niece still refers to me as her auntie, even though she is all “grown up” now.
I remember countless police cars outside both our homes. I remember having to tell and retell, to different officers, the same information over and over. I remember my home becoming the spot where my friend and her children sat with other police officers and a grief counselor, while we sat in the back garden and gave them room to begin to process their loss.
I still remember the sense of violation I felt having those countless police officers in their bullet proof vests go in and out of my house. It wasn’t their fault, but they brought violence into my home.
I remember suggesting to the grief counselor that the children might be comforted by their favorite cuddlies. He hadn’t thought of this…I wondered how often he supported children through trauma…I volunteered to go over and get the cuddlies as I knew where they were and what they looked like. I remember being afraid to go into the house and the looks the officers there gave me. It turned out they thought it was my home and I had blocked out what had happened. Their relief when they realized I was the neighbor was almost tangible.
All these years later I grieve for what we all lost that night. My heart hurts for his wife and children possibly more now than it did then. Time allows this to be possible.
I am angry he voluntarily left his family. I am angry at the pain he caused to his family and to us, for caring about him. I am angry that life is so complicated and hard, that he could be in such pain and none of us knew how bad it was for him.
I am angry with myself for not realizing his mental health was so fragile. I am angry my daughter had to learn about death in such an intense and traumatic manner. I hurt for his children and their ongoing journey.
I know anger isn’t the actual emotion I feel. It’s probably a combination of anger, sadness, confusion, guilt, and more sadness. I understand he wasn’t well and only took his life because he believed he had no alternative. I wish I didn’t have this story to tell. I wish my friend was still here and two wonderful children still had their father.