The Initial Shock:
When You Receive The News

It was 10:00 Saturday morning, January 14, 1995. When my husband, Troy, left that morning, it was with the understanding that we were separating. Several years earlier when our marital problems became obvious he told me he had almost killed himself. I looked at him in total disbelief and asked, "Even if you hated me, how could you do that to the kids?" He responded, "Why do you think I'm still here?" From the minute he made that comment, I felt pretty confident that even though he might contemplate suicide, he would never actually go through with it.

After he left that morning, my kids and I packed our bags to stay with my sister for the weekend, but Jon and Natasha wanted to play a board game before we left. I'm not sure why I agreed to play, because I was rather anxious to get out of town, but I did. It was fortunate that we played that game, because otherwise we would have been on the road to my sister's. As it turned out, we had just finished the game and were putting things away so we could leave when the doorbell rang. As I walked toward the door I saw a police officer with the owner of the business where my husband worked. A feeling of numbness passed through every inch of my body, as I knew something was terribly wrong.

Linda, the wife of my husband's employer, came with the officer to tell me the news. She nicely asked Jon and Natasha to go upstairs to their rooms to play for a little while. Once they were out of ear's range, the police officer proceeded to tell me that my husband, Troy, had been found earlier that morning with a single gunshot wound to the head, apparently self-inflicted. I dropped down on the couch, my body as lifeless as a rag doll. I do not remember what the officer said after that. I couldn't hear him over my sobbing, "No, no, no!" And at that point I did not care what else he had to say. My heart felt like it had swelled to ten times its' normal size, and my throat as if it could explode at any minute as I wrapped my arms tightly around myself while I cried.

Then suddenly I had a feeling of urgency. Reality had not set in yet. I thought to myself, "I know First Aid and CPR... if I hurry, I can save him". The officer had not actually said that the gunshot wound had killed him. Surely, I thought, he must still be alive. You see, somehow, this HAD to be reversible!

I couldn't believe it when they told me he was gone. Just a few short hours earlier he was talking to his kids, and now he was dead... it was over. There was no reversing this one.

Once I realized it was too late, that he was definitely gone, I began sobbing again. I felt responsible for his death. Yes, we were having marital problems that I could no longer deal with, and yes, I had told him so that morning, but the last thing in the world I wanted was for him to die because of it. Even though I no longer loved him the way a wife loves a husband, as I had told him before he died, I will always love him as the good person that he was.

"Love is when you take away the feeling, the passion, the romance and you find out you still love the person."
- Author Unknown

The police officer didn't stay long. He just told me the news, and then left. I thank God to this day that he sent Linda with the police officer. She comforted and consoled me, and then helped me gain my composure enough to be able to explain this to my children, Jon who was eight years old at the time, and Natasha who was six.

I had not yet moved from the spot on the couch I had fell onto when the police officer told me the news. I wiped the tears from my eyes and face, and took several very deep breaths. I was as ready as anyone could ever be ready to tell their children that their Daddy was dead. Linda brought Jon to me, and kept Natasha busy while I sat Jon on the couch and talked to him. Then she kept Jon busy while I talked to Natasha. I explained to each of them individually that Daddy was now in heaven with Grandpa, and that he would be the best Guardian Angel for us that anyone could ever have. I never actually told them Daddy had died, which may not have been the best approach. I should have probably told them he was dead so there would be no confusion about that fact, but I just could not bear to say those words yet. I knew I would break down and start crying again if I said "died" or "dead", and I wanted to be strong for the kids. I was also trying to soften the blow and make it a little easier for them. Natasha cried only briefly, as she did not really understand what had happened. Jon cried a little more, but he did not fully understand either. They both probably cried more because they saw how upset I was than because they understood what was happening.

After a short while, another police officer came to my house. He said he had to ask me some routine questions about what happened. He started by asking if I knew why Troy might do something like this. When I told him we had been having marital problems, he began poking and prodding with numerous questions about it until I fought back. "It feels like you are accusing me of killing him," I said. "I'm sorry," he responded, "I have to do this". He again told me that it was all just routine. My emotions quickly went from sadness and devastation to anger and defensiveness as I explained the facts to the officer.

I'm sure the officer was just doing his job, but I could not believe the questions he was asking me. I know he needed to make sure that I had not pulled the trigger and set it up to look like a suicide, but I hadn't even had time to grieve yet, and here I was, feeling like I was on trial for my husband's death. I had visions of defending myself in court even before I had a chance to think about planning a funeral! Finally, he was satisfied with the answers, and he left.

Even though I had the facts about what had happened, it was difficult to believe it was actually true. I wanted to know when we could see him. The mortician said it wouldn't be a good idea until they had fully prepared him. So we scheduled a time on Sunday, the day after Troy died, for the family to meet at the mortuary to make the funeral arrangements. Sunday was also Troy's Mom's birthday, and I remember thinking, "What a way to spend your birthday, making funeral arrangements for your 31-year-old son." After the questions had been answered concerning flowers, the casket, obituary, cemetery, and many others, I again asked if we could see Troy, but they said he still wasn't ready. The mortician told me if we saw him before he was fully prepared, it would be a "stark" sight. So again, we waited.

It wasn't until Monday that we were allowed to view the body. This seemed like the longest two days of my life. Until we saw him, it didn't seem real. It felt like this was all just a very bad dream, and that any minute I would wake up to find out it wasn't really happening. Once we could see him with our own eyes it became real... he was gone.

At times during those first few days I felt like I was living in a vacuum. The world was moving around me, but I didn't feel like I was moving with it. Conversations were muffled like I was under water, and even though I could hear them, it sounded as though the people talking were miles away when they were right next to me. I was in another world. I felt guilty attending the services as Troy's grieving wife, knowing I had prompted his suicide because of the separation that he did not want, but I did.