Friday, January 21, 2011

New Year No Tears

Sometimes I feel like I embody many different people. There is the girl who feels paralyzed in her grief. Unable to function or focus, who just mourns her husband and can’t believe he is dead. Then there is the other girl who tries very heard to push past the pain and sorrow and live in the world, raise her children and cherish her blessings. It is exhausting to be both these people. Sometimes they seem to coexist on a certain level and some days there is clearly a winner. Regardless then there is a third smaller version of me who never goes away. She is the mother and she is always present, always active - battling the other two beings for fear that she will totally screw up her children’s lives. I’m tired just trying to explain myself to myself sometimes.

It is a new year. Everyone has big plans and dreams and are focused on what lies ahead. Me, I am just trying to get through today. Being it is a new year I have a confession to make. I put myself on drugs. I feel torn about making this decision, but after dealing with my feelings for fifteen months I just can’t take it anymore. I can’t take how quickly I fly off the handle with my children. I can’t take the sorrow and sadness that follows me everywhere I go. So now I am just another grieving widow on drugs – just great.

I went to my doctor who now writes me scripts for Ambien without a second glance. I told him my concerns about my mood swings. Then he asked me if I was back on the market. I am so used to the crazy things people say to me – sometimes I just answer the crazy without question. No, I’m not ready, I replied. Well he said, you know you can’t sit around and be sad forever. Actually I was thinking that is exactly what I plan on doing I thought. He said to me, if you started dating someone you would have some help with the children, some help financially and you may have a better outlook on life. Instead of strangling him with his stethoscope, I told him once again – I’m not ready. Ok he said, I understand, how about you try Paxil instead. Great I said, and left his office wondering if anyone else has a doctor as crazy as mine.

I don’t feel that different. The only way I can even tell the drug is working is that I can’t cry. I just cannot cry. This feels so unbelievably wrong to me. I have always been a crier – when I’m sad, angry, happy – my emotions are expressed with tears. I have cried every single day since my husband has died without fail, until now. I feel incomplete. I feel off kilter. I feel not like myself, but then I wonder if that is the point to being on this drug to begin with. Still it disturbs me to not be able to cry. I wonder if it means I am becoming inhuman, unfeeling and cold. If I can’t feel emotion enough to make me cry, maybe my heart is not only broken it is iced over. I feel lost without my tears. They are such a huge part of my world that without the release of crying, I don’t know what else to do.

I told my neighbor about my inability to cry. She said when the time is right the tears will come. Your mind is protecting itself from all the pain – maybe a break from crying is just what you need right now. So I wait – wait until something breaks through. I can tear up here and there if I really try, but the sobbing – lost, gone vanished.

I read your suicide note sometimes to try and see if I am any closer to understanding your actions. I think about how you thought the children and I would be fine and better off without you. I wish you could see that on some level we are surviving. I wish you could understand it feels like living with my head chopped off. You could not possibly comprehend what your actions have done to the children and I. The very idea that you thought we would be fine sometimes makes me laugh uncontrollably. It is just ridiculous that this was your final thought. I wish I could walk right up into heaven and show you how not fine I am and how much I grieve and suffer.

I went to the cemetery today. My first visit this year. I trudged through massive amounts of snow, weaving in between rows of graves to find you. I stood there this morning in the freezing cold, snow falling everywhere and all of a sudden I started stomping on top of all the snow over your grave. I stomped and stomped and kicked the chunks of ice as far as I could. I just went berserk. I screamed at the world and kicked and screamed some more.

When it was all over, I was horrified with myself. How could I treat your grave this way kicking and stomping. But sometimes I just have no release – sometimes everything just piles on top of me, over and over again and I get to the breaking point where the only way to release some of whatever is inside of me is to go crazy. I unleash enough madness on my children – sometimes kicking snow at your headstone helps get some of the pain out.

As I stood there berating myself for my actions, fingers frozen and shivering with cold the tears rolled down my face. Then the sorrow just washed over me as I thought about where I was and where you are and the sobbing came. I fell to my knees in a mountain of snow and put my hands to the earth and cried and cried like I haven’t done in weeks. I sobbed so loud and so long it just wouldn’t end.

I realized the truth of the matter. When the pain is so real and so raw and so awful, not even a little yellow pill can keep my tears away.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Year Two

I have stayed away too long. It was never my intention to stop writing this blog. Some nights I was just too tired, or too busy or had writer’s block. Some nights I had so much to say, but it all felt so repetitive, I couldn’t find the strength to put the words down. The New Year approaches and a part of me just wants to try and say something – anything - before more time passes.

I remember when my husband was dead maybe six months; a few people in my bereavement group spoke of how the second year is much worse than the first. I scoffed at them in my mind. Really – how could anything be worse than what I am going through right now? As I am now well into my second year, I only wish I had listened to the wisdom of those ahead of me in grief. The second year is not only worse – it is much much much worse.

Why is that I wonder? I lay in bed at night trying to figure out the mystery of the agony that lies within my heart.

Upon reflection of year one I believe only a small part of me was really conscious of what I was dealing with. There is only so much pain and sorrow your brain can process. For a majority of the year I was just doing the bare minimum of feeling anything. I was merely struggling to just get through each and every day. I spent so much time the first year reflecting back a year – I lived in the past. Everyday I looked back at where my husband and I were a year ago. It was painful to think about, but easier than facing the day I was actually in.

There is a huge part of me that just counted the seconds of the first year trying to somehow make it through each special day my husband missed. Trying to somehow deal with the children and their loss; focusing all my attention to making sure they were eating, playing and not sinking into the miserable abyss that I lived in.

The first year was tough and awful and miserable and everything you can imagine. My first year of his death was the biggest challenge I had ever faced in ways you will never know – but year two – just wow.

I have watched over the past fourteen months as my family and friend’s lives have moved on. They are all back in their normal life. I realize that the world around me is changing and growing and people around me are taking steps forward – I however am not. I feel like I stand here stuck since the moment of your death, not moving, not changing, and not caring. I am still stuck in the grief that occurred the day you died and I have not moved an inch since you left.

Time marches in a different way for me. Year one was spent living in the past, feeling like a mere shadow of my former self. I no longer have that shield of armor. There are no more ‘remember when’ for me. I am forced to live each day entirely on my own. I expected to feel crushed by the weight of my husband’s death throughout the first year. The fact that this sorrow and loss has come with me into year two – makes me realize a large part of this pain is really never ever going to go away. The loss and sadness that were once slightly shielded by my memories are now free to recklessly invade me mind, body and spirit.

I sit some nights right on my kitchen floor staring at nothing and wonder if this is all real. I can’t believe you are dead, that we had your funeral and that I will never see you again. There are some moments where nothing about my entire life feels real.

Year two and the rest of the world looks at me as if I should be moving on. As if I should be ready and willing to throw myself into the world and start dating. As if I am ready to be the person I once was. But it’s not the same – not me, not anything. Sure I could go on a date. What would be the point? I would stare in disbelief at the person sitting across from me and think – where is my husband? What am I doing here? What is going on? I am not ready to look at the world with new eyes. Not when I close my eyes and only see his face.

I miss my husband more now than I ever did the first year. I pushed away missing him for so long because the pain was just too great. I think I spent so much time in year one trying to get through the pain, I never had a chance to just miss him. I lived in the past – feeding off memories. I am not sure if I am even making any sense anymore – I don’t care.

I miss his voice and his laughter. I miss his company. I wish I could tell him everything I am thinking and feeling these days, but I can’t. I wish I could share with him all the utterly ridiculous things people say to me in the second year. I wish he knew how awful his choice was and how utterly devastated he has left the children and I.

No one wants to read about my sorrow. No one wants to read about how the second year is worse. Do I laugh out loud and appreciate my children? Yes. Do I appreciate my family and friends? Yep. I wake up each day with renewed hope that today is going to be a better day. But for better or worse – the day doesn’t change the deep sorrow I feel in my heart.

The pain of loss that changes a person forever – this has not gone away with the passing of the first year. The realization that life is never going to be the same for my children and I – this is truly why year two is that much harder.

Sunday, October 31, 2010


I can’t complain. It has been a relatively good week. I woke up last Monday morning with an almost different outlook on life. I made it through a year. Everyday that I live now has been one I have already done without you. I can do this. I just kept reminding myself this over and over again. I can do this.

But this whole week has still been about you somehow. I kept reliving moments of sitting Shiva and wondering how this all came about. Last year this week was a blur. A moment in time I barely remember. It was a whirlwind of people and food and crying. I remember how I finally ripped the phone out of the wall as it just wouldn’t stop ringing. How the texts and emails and cell phone were all just too much. I am officially a year behind returning some phone calls – oh well.

Then there is today. My daughter’s fifth birthday. This is now the second birthday her father has missed – it just feels weird. Yesterday I had a small party in our park for her. There was a moment when I lit the candles and we started singing that I felt exactly like I did last year. I remember feeling so unbelievably sad. I felt the loss of my husband so heavily last year and this year is no different. How he wasn’t there standing next to us with big smiles watching our baby blow out the candles – how he just isn’t here for this special moment for her. It just feels so terrible. Every time I must live a magical moment for the children without you – it just feels like you die again and again - over and over for me.

If there is one thing I learned this year, it is how to put on my mask. My game face if you will. I can walk outside into the world and smile at you, make small talk and even pretend to be a human being. I am getting really good at making everyone in the world think that I am doing just fine. But truthfully I am not just fine. I am sad and lonely and even down right miserable at times. I am easily frustrated with my children and family. I don’t want to do anything extra special. I just want to somehow trudge through my life and get through each day.

I am sorry to reveal this information, but time doesn’t fix everything. Yes I am no longer a puddle of tears and emotions. But I am not fixed, not healed, not better and I never will be. I am changed and different and can’t go back to who I once was.

I struggle everyday within myself. I want so much for my children to be happy and have a full wonderful life. Sometimes I want for them another person in our lives to help make their life more special. But then I think about what that would entail. Me date – it is almost funny. I think about who I am and where I am going and it doesn’t feel possible. Most days I am perfectly content to live the rest of my life alone. This makes me sad for my children, but not for me. The world doesn’t understand what it is like to be me. They will never get the demons that I live with. The loss, sadness, anger and guilt; the emotions I feel that can’t even be put into words. I put every ounce of my being into my children and getting through my day. I don’t have any room for someone else - anywhere.

My children and I went trick or treating tonight. My second time without you. But last year – last year I remember ducking into corners and calling your cell phone a millions times. I would call and call just to hear your voice saying to leave a message. I seriously must have called your number over and over every chance I got. Sometimes I left you messages - like how could you be dead and not here with us. Sometimes I really thought by some miracle you would just pick up your phone. I was completely insane last year. I wandered the streets with the kids with my stunned zombie face and every single person who saw me looked upset for me.

Tonight I painted my face so you couldn’t see how I feel. We weaved through the crowds of people and no one this year gave me a second glance. I am not upset by my lack of attention. I just want our lives to go back to as normal as is possible. The kids had a great time, but I made them make one last stop before we headed home.

We went to the old house. As we walked up the path my son said – can I tell them we used to live here. I said of course. I walked right up to them and said - Hi we used to live here. We had some wonderful memories here and hope you enjoy your new house. They smiled and said thank you. I made sure the kids got double treats from them.

Alas, little did they know I am completely torn up about egging the place. Obviously I won’t. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to.

Sunday, October 24, 2010


Time is such a strange thing. This year has felt like forever and yet part of me feels like you died only today. Today I don’t feel the same pain that consumed me when I found your body – the overwhelming sensation that I am forever changed. The rawness of it – the shock, the nonsense of what happened – that has little by little seeped out of me over the last 365 days.

This morning I stood in front of a mirror, trying to figure out who I am and where I am going. I walked away without any answers. All I could focus on was today you are dead a year. You have missed so much in one little year, it is utterly astounding. More importantly, what you will continue to miss pains me even more.

You have missed teaching your son to tie his shoes and how to throw a football. You have missed your daughter entering kindergarten and learning how to read. You have missed your oldest son excel to great heights in his career. You have missed birthdays, soccer games, report cards and skinned knees. You have missed major temper tantrums and truly lovely peaceful moments. You have missed watching your children smile, hearing their laughter and feeling their kisses.

You have missed 365 nights of spending time with me.

I have officially survived a year of firsts. I have celebrated every holiday, birthday, anniversary and day without you here by my side. I have gotten out of bed every morning without you. I have somehow gotten our children through the first year of your death. There is an odd sense of relief knowing that this year is over. But then I think back and just can’t believe I have survived this year without going insane. I really do not know how I got through it. How I got up each and every morning, got my children out of the house and started our day. I really absolutely have no idea how I did it. The only thought that continually comes to mind is that I did it for them. I have lived every day this year trying to act normal for my children. I did everything and still do everything just for my babies.

This morning the children and I along with a few friends went to the cemetery. The kids made you birthday cards and put them at the foot of your stone covered with bright shinny rocks. I thought I was going to be fine. I didn’t think I would cry. I thought I could be strong. I was very wrong. I looked at the children placing the cards just right, I looked at my friends and then I looked at your name. The weight of the world crashed onto me for a moment and I just went hysterical. The finality of it all. The end of the end. How you have been gone for a year is just madness to try and comprehend.

Your headstone is covered in rocks – a reminder to me of how many times I have visited you over the year. I stood there today just taking in the whole year – feeling everything I have gone through almost at the same time. It is strange – strange to think you will be there forever. So unbelievably difficult to imagine I really will never ever see you again.

Parts of me have spent this past year on an emotional roller coaster. I have spent the last year loving you, missing you, hating you and feeling guilty about you. Some days I only feel one of these emotions. Sometimes I feel them all in a matter of seconds. I don’t feel closure today. I don’t know what I feel.

What I do realize today is that I am always going to love you, miss you, hate you and feel some guilt towards your death. These feeling don’t go away just because the first year is over. In fact, I think in a way I will always and forever feel this way. Maybe some of my feelings will lessen over the years. Maybe someday I will actually have to sit and close my eyes to picture the day you died. Maybe the haunting of the garage will someday fade away. But the deep feelings I have for you will always be with me forever and forever.

In some ways the scariest part of you being gone lies ahead. As the truth of my life unfolds before me, I am left realizing that yes, you are really dead. You are never coming back. My children have a dead father and I am really all alone. I think back to ten years ago when we were engaged. The world was open to so may amazing possibilities. The road we were going to travel down together was filled with so many plans, dreams and wonderful things waiting for us.

Now I sit here alone, writing about death and suicide and the next ten years terrify me. I am forced to take a path in life I never intended. I am walking this new route with two small children in tow. I am not sure what the future holds and only know that at the end of the day, there are two perfect beings who need me always.

I hope that I can make a wonderful life for them despite this major pitfall. I hope that I can make you proud of us and live our life filled with love and happiness. I hope you know that no matter what happens to us – you are always here with us. Always in our hearts and we will never stop loving you.

There are two things that I have been dreading for some time. Dealing with your year anniversary was a big one. Turning the corner of my street and seeing a moving truck was another. The house has been empty for six months. I have felt your loss and the loss of the house as if they were one in the same. Really it was the loss of my old life that I have been missing.

Today as I returned home from the cemetery there was a moving truck parked outside my old house. Today of all days my dead house is being inhabited. I cried for you and over the house today. But I don’t believe in coincidences. I feel very strongly that somehow G-d was closing all the doors of my old life today.

I pray that whatever door opens next is filled with a peace my children and I have not known for a long long time.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Final Days

This month is speeding past me and I am finding it difficult to catch my breath. In one instance I want to get to the end so I am past October – on the other hand I am trying to cling to every day this month – reliving the memories I have left of you. This week I am living our final days together.

I bounce in between trying to remember you fondly and all the special times we spent together; as well, I am analyzing your every move, every word you spoke, to see if somehow you were trying to hint to me what you were planning and I just missed it.

Yesterday morning after I dropped the children off to school I went to walk home and suddenly found myself standing outside the garage. I don’t know how I got there. All I know is that I looked up and there I was; stuck in the place where your life ended and my life, as I knew it, did too. I was trying so hard to figure out how you drove your car inside, kept the motor running, walked over to the metal garage door and locked it. Knowing full well you would never walk out – and knowing even more so, that I would find your body.

I suppose in a way I am just torturing myself when I go physically and mentally to this place. I can’t help it. I can’t help but feel the need to punish myself at times over and over for the mere fact that you are dead and I am not.

I ran an errand and on my way home bumped into my neighbor who also lost her husband to suicide. She smiled at me and asked how I was. I smiled back and said fine. Did you ever have an inkling that he was planning on doing what he did, she asked me. I wasn’t even taken aback by her question. Maybe once upon a time I would have – but these questions don’t affect me at all. I don’t feel anything anymore - it was as if she asked me what day of the week it is.

I told her no, I didn’t have a clue. She sighed and said no, her either. She then went on and on to tell me how ten years after her husband’s death she still can’t believe he is gone. He didn’t have to die, she said. He could have talked to me, gotten help. He had so much to live for and didn’t have to kill himself. I don’t say anything and just let her vent. I keep my poker face on and nod my head, pretty much agreeing with everything she said.

I went home after listening to her for a while and realized how sad she made me feel. How terribly horrible I felt walking away from her. I was upset for her situation, but also felt like I am looking into my future when I see this woman. She is ten years into her suicide situation and has still found zero peace with her husband or herself.

I realize that I will never forget what my husband did. I know that I will miss him forever and that I will always wonder where I went wrong. It makes the future seem almost bleak at times. Even though I have two beautiful young children who I will watch grow and learn and change. I will never be able to rid myself of these memories and these feeling that cause utter turmoil in my heart. Knowing that I will live with this terrible tragedy for the rest of my life - well it just makes me feel broken.

Part of me thinks it is impossible to think anything other than I really am going to be sad forever. I may have almost gotten to the year, but at times I still feel like I am standing over your body watching your life slip away. I know I am supposed to cherish my life and my children and all my blessing and I do. But sometimes I also just wonder how you could have left me and your three beautiful children; left us behind to feel empty, destroyed and broken beyond repair.

This week I am really struggling with my memories of you. I think about how disconnected you were towards me the month before you died. I think about all the bad things I discovered after your death. I think about the man who I fell in love with and had two children with. I have all these emotions and thoughts coursing through my brain everyday. Sometimes I don’t know which ones to keep and which ones to try and rid myself of. Happy memories remind me why I loved you and married you and make me miss you so much it hurts. Unhappy thoughts make me feel terrible and angry and full of guilt. I am torn between the good and the bad. I guess deep down I know the answer. I love you and always will no matter what. So I will probably always suffer too.

I keep getting asked what I am going to do on Sunday. I don’t know - cry and mope and act miserable. Take my children to the cemetery and then the park where I will act like it is just another day. In a way, it is just another day that I must suffer through without your presence. Without hearing you crack a bad joke or tell me something sweet. It is just another day your children and I must live life without you.

Nothing is going to change on Sunday. Your final days with me are zooming by and I am trying to hold on for this horrible terrible ride. When I wake up Monday morning how am I going to feel then? When every memory I have of you will be older than a year is truly when the hard part starts. This is the question no one thinks to ask

When the year of firsts is gone, how will I feel the day after?

Thursday, October 14, 2010


I have spent the last two weeks completely disconnected from reality. I feel like I have been floating in between worlds. I am taking care of the children, going to work, doing what has to be done – but all the while feeling like it has been someone else living my life. I have felt completely removed from the month of October.

Part of it is my way of protecting myself. I have been dreading this month and the weeks to follow with such passion and intensity; I think I am just afraid of feeling anything at all.

The children and I had therapy Tuesday night and then I had my own group last night. To say that I have had therapy overload is an understatement. I sat in both groups talking and going through the motions, but without feeling anything at all. I was almost worried about myself. Like my heart has turned to stone and maybe I will never feel anything again.

Then I woke up this morning. Every thought and feeling I have had these past few weeks and pushed away came crashing upon me with such force, I just couldn’t breathe. Today I feel like I am plugged into every emotion on the planet and it is drowning me.

Today is your birthday. Today, based on the Hebrew calendar is the one year anniversary of the day you died. Today is six months since we moved from our house. Today is just insane.

I have had some really horrible mornings with the children lately. I hate the rushing, the yelling and the non-stop crazy that begins every single day. There are always tears and tantrums and then I must drop my babies off to school with a quick kiss and leave them for the day. I hate the mornings.

Today was no different. The children looked up into the sky and wished you a happy birthday. I tried to put on a smile but misery was on my face and I didn’t know where to put it. As I dropped my daughter off to school I hugged her with such ferocity that I just started sobbing. Thankfully I had sunglasses on and she didn’t notice. I ran home as the sobs just consumed me. I haven’t cried in public like this for months and doing so just destroys me more.

I ran to my car and drove straight to the cemetery. I didn’t even think about where I was going. The car just takes me there now without any prompting. I sat at your grave for quite some time just looking at your name and the date and taking it all in. Today, yesterday, the entire past year – it all seems like just a quick moment has passed and yet it feels like an eternity.

I sat down on the wet grass and wished you a happy birthday. I told you I was sorry I wasn’t making you meatloaf and mashed potatoes tonight – like I did on your birthday last year. I cried and cried and then I just stopped. I sat with you for a long time and felt so empty inside.

Each time I go to your grave I somehow expect you to appear. I expect you to walk out of the shadows and answer me when I talk to you. I expect to somehow feel your presence when I am there and yet I never do. I never ever feel you near me and it feels horrible. I am slowly losing you. I find it harder and harder to feel my connection to you. It feels like as the first year comes to a close my memories are fading. This is confusing. I feel horrified by this disconnection and yet I wonder if this is just how my heart is mending itself.

I sat at the grave thinking about how my emotions are so two faced. I love you with every ounce of my being. I hate you with a passion that courses through my veins. I gave you my heart and devoted my life to you and our children. I wonder how you could say you love me and then kill yourself. This is such a contradiction to me. How you seemed to willingly die and left me to fend for myself and be alone. I don’t know how you could have done this to me.

Sometimes I wonder what you want me to do with the rest of my life. If you want me to move on and live my life to great potential or if you want me to forever be mourning you and stay stuck. I wish somehow you could tell me what I am supposed to do – because I just don’t know. I have spent the last year thinking about the past. About all my mistakes and shortcomings and what I should have done. I realize that the past will always be there. Nothing will change it. When I sit at your grave and look up into the beautiful perfect blue sky I realize that it is the future which now terrifies me to no end. What to do now? Many nights I lie in bed and pray to G-d to send me an angel. I ask G-d for someone to help me with the children and to make me feel whole again. Sometimes I feel guilty asking for anything.

There is a huge part of me that wants my children to have a father again. I want them to feel part of a family and not just the broken mess I am trying to keep together. But I don’t want another husband. I don’t want to pretend like I am ever going to be in another relationship, when I am destroyed by the one I had with you. I am forever changed and it would truly take an angel to accept the person I am now. I don’t really know what I want anymore. I am lost and confused and this is just another inner struggle I have and maybe will have forever.

In ten days I will take the children to the cemetery. It will be one year. It will be the day you tried to live and failed. It will be the hardest day of the year to face. When I finally get to the year I will no longer be able to look back and remember where we were a year ago today. I will have lost you for good.

And then it will all be over . . .

Thursday, October 7, 2010


October – here we go.

The month I have been dreading since you died. This month is filled with more anxiety and emotional stress than any other time of the year. October. It feels like everyday there is something to reflect back on – everyday there is something to worry about and fear.

There are more firsts in this month then any other in the entire year – and soon it will all be over. I will have reached your one year anniversary and have nothing of you left.

I can’t tell you anything about this past year – nothing at all. I got through this year simply dazed and confused – a walking zombie with a fake smile. But I could tell you every single day about the month of October 2009. I remember the last month I spent with my husband as if I were reliving it now. This is a difficult time for me to say the least.

There are so many birthdays this month and so many people I love died this month it seems my brain and heart are working over time just to get through each and every day.

Next week my children have therapy, I have therapy and then it is your birthday and the Hebrew anniversary of your death. That all happens in just three days next week – the whole month is like this for me. A swirling of happy times and sad times and I won’t sleep till November.

I can tell the year is closing in as my family is starting to get angry with me. Apparently I was getting a slight break over the past year – but now I am no longer admonished from my actions. Well at least some things are back to normal. My mother actually yelled at me yesterday and told me to start thinking about someone other than myself for a change. I almost laughed. I don’t think I have been thinking of myself at all this year. I am thinking about death and children. Just death and children as I haven’t a clue how to think about me - not even close.

My brother is annoyed with me because I never blog about him. I tried to explain why our mom gets top billing – I fight with her more than anyone else in the world. I use this blog to get rid of my anger and to tell her how I feel without speaking on the phone. Regardless, he made me think about the fact that maybe I am doing some other important family members an injustice by not mentioning them. That I am taking my family for granted as I never acknowledge how much they do for me or how much I rely on them. I guess I thank my friends more publicly because they choose to help me – my family has no choice – they are just stuck with me.

My siblings are extraordinary and even when I ignore their calls or their invites to visit, I hope they know not to take it personally and realize how much I love them. My step-father has been my rock since I can remember and I don’t think I have ever mentioned him once in this blog. He is the first person I call whenever a crisis strikes me and I feel very bad about this. I never call him when there is good news - only when I am backed up against a wall, crying and worried. He always talks me off the ledge of anxiety and fixes everything. I guess I take for granted that he is always going to be there for me. Sorry B – I love you more than words can say and would be lost without you. You have done more for me than anyone else since I am 15. Thank you.

Last night I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed exhausted but sleep would just not come. So instead of trying to close my eyes and relax I started to read my blog from the beginning. Trying to see how far from that sad girl I have become since a year has almost past. But after reading for a while I realized that I am not different at all. I haven’t changed much in eleven and a half months. Maybe I am no longer in shock and maybe I am not waiting for you to walk through the door. But I still miss you everyday and still wake up and wonder how it is possible that you are dead.

I am still two very distinct and different people. I am the person who the world sees. The mom who goes to work and picks her children up from school and goes to the park and does whatever a mom should. Then I am the person who found her husband’s dead body after he killed himself. I am the person who is forever changed and will never be who I once was. I am forever different and no amount of therapy and talking it out is going to change the fact that I am different inside. I just am.

Maybe I am being melodramatic about the month of October. Maybe when Halloween finally comes I will breathe a sigh of relief. All I know is that this is the hardest month I have had to face and there is no turning back.