The One Left Behind *Trigger Warning*

Twenty five years ago, my husband and soul mate, father of my 2 and 3 year old, step dad to my 11 year old killed himself using police assisted suicide. As  the one left behind, I had to explain mental illness to my kids in a way that would leave no scars, offer them hope for a future without a dad, and help them recover from shock of it. At 2-3 the toddlers just missed daddy, but the 11 year old, he suffered for it. I know my husband would never do anything to intentionally hurt us, but it did. His suicide devastated our family and caused irreparable harm. The adolescent was hospitalized shortly after for depression later self medicated and eventually went to prison. The toddlers grew up with the notion that he didn’t love them enough to stay. They expressed that to me so often, despite my many stories of their father detailing how much he loves them. The one left behind has to pick up the pieces of a shattered life, a shattered family. It is hard. The one left behind has to live with the what if’s, the wish I would have’s, and the why didn’t I’s. The one left behind is alone to question their own actions and blames themselves. The one left behind is now carrying the pain for the one who left. The pain never leaves with suicide, it just is transferred to those left behind. It took me fifteen years to recover from his suicide. My children still are working on it. I know if Mark would have known how much his choice would hurt us, he wouldn’t have done it. He just wanted to end his own pain. He didn’t realize by ending it for himself, he was leaving it to us.