Absolutely makes sense.
To this day, I have no idea if my husband
committed suicide. I was 23 years old, and
I thought we had our whole life ahead
of us-there was no hurry. Our last words left much to be desired, and it was me
being a cold fish. His last night alive were discussions of me and my son-with his
mother. We were not together and he was in great pain because of this. He went drinking and drugging with his brother, and pulled over to the side of a isolated road. They began fist-fighting, and a truck was coming down the road-60 miles a hour. He stepped out in front of it and was hit
head on. He died minutes later, but not
without telling his brother to take care
of us. There is so much more M.G., bear
with me.
I planned on reconciling with my husband,
but I was in a dilemna. My dreams were
children and the white picket fence also-
what a rude awakening. I kept going to
the funeral home and checking every inch
of his body. Talking about my husbands
death has been a taboo subject-and his
family and I have never dicussed it. I
know they blamed me, but they were good
people and would never hurt me. We were the
walking wounded. There is so much more,
but I will stop for now. A life change
from innocence to insanity.
I think I'm off topic here.
Hugs,