Ten Years is a Long Time

Ten years is a long time. Ten years ago today, the unthinkable happened, and our world was shaken to its foundation. I've written about my father-in-law's suicide many times over the intervening years. I've recalled the pain, the shock, and the direct impact that one decision made on our lives. I've tried to make peace with how Les came to that decision. I've worked through forgiving him for the hurt he caused those whom I love dearly – and me. I've looked back and remembered all the endearing qualities and frustrating traits that made him who he was. I've grieved, and I've walked beside those I love in their grief. I've made more mistakes than I can count. I've learned that leaning on friends and family is not a sign of weakness but rather an essential tool for survival.

When Les didn't show up at the hospital to visit Barb on their anniversary back in 2014, we knew something was not right. Once we learned just how wrong it was, all we could do was put one foot in front of the other and keep doing the next thing: share the devastating news with family, break the heart of his wife of 53 years, plan a funeral, figure out the best next steps for Barb's health care, manage Barb's everything, and love each other. The purpose of every day in those first few months was to take care of Barb's physical and emotional health. Most mornings, I woke up feeling like I had been kicked in the gut.

Those first few months were extremely difficult. It felt like we were breaking Barb's heart over and over again. R.J. and I were continually the bearers of bad news. The state of her physical health meant she couldn’t return to her home and live on her own. Her memory lapses and diminished strength meant that couldn’t drive, either. She lost so much independence and felt helpless about so many elements of her life. R.J. and I visited every weekend, and I would often drive over to Austin a couple more times during the week as well. She also relied on phone conversations with her sons in Alabama to keep her going. Barb’s mental condition slowly improved. She stopped bluntly relaying the information about Les's suicide to friends in the Walmart aisles. ("Where's Les?" "Oh, he shot himself. On our anniversary….Don’t cry, honey. It was his choice.") Some of her confusion cleared, so she would remember what she had in her grocery cart and not be upset about it at check-out. ("Who put THAT in here?") Her grief expressed itself. ("No point in saving old anniversary cards. He didn't mean it when he said he would love me forever.") She worked her way through blaming herself for Les's death. ("Do you think he worried that he couldn’t take care of me?") Her loss was tremendous. She had married Les at 16 years old and often felt lost without him by her side. She had to hold her own hand as she struggled to regain physical and emotional strength.

Barb lived until December of 2016. She recovered significantly over the course of those next two and a half years but still had many physical and emotional needs. R.J. was her advocate, in charge of managing her finances and keeping things safe and stable for her. I had a flexible schedule and was able to spend a lot of time with her, meaning I got to know her a lot better than I had before the suicide. I took her to the doctor, shopped with her, ate lunch with her, chatted with her about her family, and even filled her insulin syringes (when she broke her arm). Barb needed me, and I became an expert on her medical needs, which were many. She had type 2 diabetes that she had a hard time managing well. She had COPD and needed 4 liters of oxygen around the clock. She had heart disease and a history of heart attacks. Even so, her death took me by surprise. I missed the mother-in-law who had grown to be my friend. I felt a bit lost. I had lots of extra time on my hands, and I had a specific field of expertise that was no longer relevant. In some ways, I had completed a quest, but there was no treasure at the end – only Barb's empty apartment with a few of her remaining possessions (and lots of empty Pringles cans).

After living an upside-down life for two and a half years, things changed again. Life settled into a new rhythm. All these years later, I am still undone by Les's suicide when I think about it, but it isn't my first thought in the morning anymore - and I don't think about it every day. Time has removed some of the shock, if not the pain. While I don't think about Les's death as much anymore, I do think about all the joyful moments of life that he is missing. He would be 83 years old now. He'd probably be mad, too, because he wasn't crazy about turning 70. Aging is hard. The Les in my imagination would have rocked being a great grandpa. He would have loved watching his Laura-Loo being a mom. He poured so much love into his grandkids when they were little (and as they grew up, too). I just know he would have done the same for the next generation. I can imagine his joy in seeing how happy Bob (R.J.), Brian, Mike, and Chris are. He would have been so proud of the recent graduates, would have been amazed at the brilliance of his grandkids, would have smiled watching Bob and Mike being grandpas. He is missing a lot, and we are missing experiencing his reactions to all of the wonderful goings-on in our Traff family. That part is still hard. But "Imagination Les" doesn't struggle with physical or emotional ailments. In reality, if Les had lived, his life would have been filled with challenges, and living that life would have been hard work. But oh – how I wish we would have had the chance to help with that hard work.

There's no going back, no changing what happened. Imagining how different life would be without that one decision ten years ago has no substance and can't last.

Ten years is a long time. I miss you, Les, and I love you. (And I miss you and love you, too, Barb.)

July 8, 1961 - Wedding Day

Traff family, late 1960s

Traff family, 1985

35th anniversary, in 1996

Les & Barb with their grandchildren, 2008

Around July 8, 2011 - 50th anniversary

December 30, 2013

July, 2014 - Les, at the hospital in his final days

Les, holding Barb's hand at the hospital

If you are considering suicide, I hear you when you say that your life is overwhelmingly complicated. I am sorry for the pain you are feeling. If you don’t have a place or a person to ask for help, NAMI has resources for you. Call or text: 988 (Suicide and Crisis Lifeline) for immediate assistance, or text HOME to 741741. Talk to trained counselors who care, 24/7/365.

If the danger feels immediate for you or a loved one, call 9-1-1 and ask for a Crisis Intervention Team (CIT) officer.

If you are recovering after a loved one committed suicide, I am sure you know that the pain will never go away. We could never have made it through those early days without a fierce team of prayer warriors on their knees for us, walking alongside us, and crying with us.  We survived by leaning on friends and family and through the grace of God. I also wrote a lot. Here are a few of the blogs I wrote as I processed all that happened on July 8, 2014. Maybe something in one of them will help you process what you have been feeling. And remember, I love you.

July 12, 2014 – Peripeteia 

August 12, 2014 – The Ache 

October 23, 2014 – Having it All Together 

January 21, 2015 – Time Marches 

July 7, 2015 – Grief, One Year Removed

July 7, 2016 – I Get by with a Little Help from my Friends 

June 30, 2017 – The Days After (The Day Les Didn’t Show Up) 

July 8, 2018 – The Anniversary 

July 8, 2019 – Be a Blueberry 

October 12, 2019 Say the Words

July 7, 2020 – Defining Moment 

July 8, 2021 – Seven Years 

July 8, 2022 – July 8