I’m acutely aware of our mortality. That’s not to say that I thought anyone lived forever. Lord knows I haven’t led the easiest of lives up until this point, either.
There’s still something about losing a loved one so suddenly and brutally; it messes with you.
One day you have him. The next day, he’s long gone. He’s physically in the car, but all that remains is sadness and pain and loss. One gun, one bullet, and your life is completely destroyed. What used to be is no longer here. The steadiness, the predictability of life is gone as well.
My husband flipped our world upside down when he took his life. My children are different than what they would have been otherwise. I don’t know if it’s a huge difference or a subtle one, but I know they aren’t the same.
I also feel the lingering effects of his loss. I feel the weight of mortality. I am much more anxious about losing another person I care about, though maybe not in the same way. I wonder if one day I’ll get a phone call and hear I’ve lost a child or find a similar scene somewhere down the line.
My children also worry of future loss. Our youngest child constantly tells me he hates that we age, that we all eventually have to die. He does not want to ever have to bury me. Even when I promise to live to 100, praying to the universe that it not make me a liar, he’s not appeased. He worries of his own mortality. Our oldest worries of illnesses and other such things.
Suicide, loss, this giant grief that weighs heavily on us, continues to take its toll. I wish I could have an answer of when it’ll stop.