Earlier in my grieving process, I found myself asking, "Why?" It's a question typical of grief, but even more typical of suicide grief.
I have stopped asking why.
I will never know why. I will never fully understand why. I may be able to tick off on my fingers the reasons Rick may have felt. I may be able to guess. I may be able to assume. I will always miss him. I will always wonder. I will never completely know.
So like I said, I have stopped asking why.
I hope, if you're reading this, that you will stop asking me "why?" too. For the most part, the folks who read this blog make statements of comfort or offer consolation, friendship, and love. They do not ask questions. But I can tell you that even now, 5 months since the death of my husband, people ask me why.
"But I don't understand. Why did he do it?"
I DO NOT KNOW any more than you do. Please, I beg you, stop asking me.
I can reply that he was in excruciating physical and emotional pain. I can reply that he was depressed. I can reply that he felt he was out of options. I can reply that he felt he was doing me a favor. I can say all those things or nothing at all, but I don't really know WHY. Please, please, stop asking me. I have asked myself over and over again. I do not have the answers.
I know it is shocking, even heartbreaking, to hear of my husband's death. I realize that people who know me, or who have followed me on the web for a period of years, who have heard me speak or read my writing feel surprise and sadness when they learn of Rick's death. I understand that they feel for me. That they just can't imagine how Rick could leave me.
I have no malice, no meanness, no scolding to offer. I get it. I can barely wrap my head around it myself. It's almost crazy to hear that my husband took his own life and left me alone. I get it.
But it hurts me more than you can know to hear the questions. It confuses me. It upsets me. It catches me off guard. It makes me tell the story. It makes me go back. It puts the responsibility on me.
I have so many questions floating around in my head. So many pressing upon my heart. And finally, I have stopped asking why. There is no benefit to asking and re-asking such a question. Not for me. Not for you. I have not come up with a comforting answer in all the minutes, hours, days, weeks, and months I have asked myself why. I have stopped asking why. If I'm speaking sadly in the dark of night, or upset and crying, I prefer to tell Rick I love him rather than asking why. I prefer to tell Rick a funny story rather than asking why. I prefer to explain what's on my heart rather than asking why.
There is no more why. There is only now.