After my husband shot himself, I was left with three beautiful children. The responsibility to get them through this was immense. More than I thought I had in me at the time. People would tell me that I needed to think about my kids. Inside my head a little scared voice would say, "What about me? Who is going to take care of me for a change?"

I was tired to the point of collapse with the guilt of being unable stop my husband, the rage at being abandoned, the sickening feeling of dread for a future so dreary and unlike what I had imagined. Thinking of my children only made it worse. I wanted to be dead, and to know what he now knew. People couldn't see how I felt. They wouldn't understand. After a while, they stopped watching my kids because they felt I might do "something" if left alone. I sneered at them mentally while making plans for my death. If I had the selfishness to kill myself, what difference would it make to me if my babies were there? They could not save me and they might be better off with someone else. I made plans for my suicide and these were a comfort to me. It was like a little secret that kept me going while waiting for the right moment.

But I guess what I wasn't prepared for was the waiting. Each day brought a little more light to my black thoughts. My children were doing okay. I was mourning, but the world kept moving on and carrying me with it. I had to go get groceries and saw that my pain wasn't visible to strangers. I wanted it to be. Something about blending into the general public bothered me. It actually was a little bit of reverse psychology. I wanted to stand out in my anguish-- and scream that I hurt. I realized that a thousand voices would come back at me saying, "So have we!" It occured to me over a period of time that being dead would just make me another corpse for people to eventually forget and hold on to only their old perceptions of me. But I was constantly changing. I wasn't done yet. I certainly couldn't do much growing and learning from six feet under. So here I am..still having ups and downs, but learning and growing as much as I can.

Yes, my husband committed suicide. Countless times when relating the story to others I would slip and say "When my husband killed me..." He did take a part of me with him, but I kept a part of him here with me also. I love him dearly and pity his decision, only because I know that he could have gone on and on with his life. Many people judge him for what he did. They say he is in Hell, or hate him for abandoning his wife and children in pure selfishness. I don't hate him, and if anyone has the right, it should be me and mine. I don't feel as sorry for me and my kids as I do for him...but it does him no good now. We have him in our hearts as we go on with our lives.

I am not going to lecture about why a person shouldn't take their own life. It is theirs to take as far as I am concerned. But whatever they are trying to gain--be it attention or escape, those things will happen while they are alive. Only an individual can make the decision to go on for themselves. Making your mark on the world is best done while living.