Joining the Suicide Widow's Club

I became a widow at the young age of 43. After 13 years of fighting hard to escape severe depression, my husband, Andy, let his light extinguish. He died by suicide on July 12, 2021.

Until that day, I closely guarded a secret, one that was not mine to disclose. Many close friends and family knew that Andy was struggling, and that he had depression. But he wore his mask well, keeping his self-image intact. Very few knew the depths of his despair and the frequency with which he battled internal demons. I protected his confidentiality and privacy, but it came at a huge cost. I had been living an inauthentic life for years, helping him manage his illness in the best way I knew how. While mental health professionals and a variety of other doctors and healers were helping him, his care was fragmented. He desperately wanted a “quarterback” to take charge, who could integrate care across health disciplines and optimize treatment; yet, there were so many days that he either struggled alone in silence or with me as his sole partner. It was a heavy weight for him, and for me, to carry, but no one else could carry it for us.

At the time of Andy’s death, he had been writing his story. Over the years, I too, felt compelled to write. I had felt so lost and alone, with nowhere to turn, and no one to help me. My academic background sent me searching for resources to help guide me, but I came up empty. There were numerous resources to help partners care for someone with a mental health illness. Finding resources for partner or family members who were coping with depression at home proved more challenging. There was no helpful advice for an illness that was not responsive to treatment. I failed to find the stories of families who tried and tried again to fight this disease, a disease that would never be well-managed, in remission, or cured. I was living in the limbo-land of a family desperate for answers, but with no guidebook to follow. No 12 step program, no coordinated treatment plan, no caregiver support network - no way to know how to operate in this barren environment.

Little did I know, I wasn’t alone. There were thousands upon thousands of people just like me all over the globe, trying to keep it all together. Partners maintaining the household, appearances of a “normal” life, taking care of the kids, feeling completely unsupported. I did not discover this until I crossed to the other side of mental health illness, where the “preventable” was not prevented and I discovered I was unknowingly part of an underground society, where members are hidden from each other.

I was living in the shadows like so many women before me, I just didn’t know it. Unfortunately, the only way the veil is removed is to turn in your wife membership and exchange it for the suicide widow version. I found my heartbroken community only after I was granted access to some exclusive clubs: a survivors of suicide support group that met remotely and several social media groups for suicide widows. Each time I logged into these virtual groups, I was astonished to see the steady stream of new members joining our ranks, and the staggering number of people with their lifetime memberships. Even more shocking was how similar our stories were.

I began to voraciously listen to and read these stories. Women who recounted their former life, living day in and day out with a partner who they desperately loved, but who transformed right before their very eyes. Women who described their partners as Dr. Jeckell and Mr. Hyde. We all clung to the days with our Dr. Jeckells, the wonderful, kind, and amazing husbands, boyfriends, and fiancés we knew and loved. This was our true love, the person we wanted to spend every day with and loved us to our core, and we loved in return. These versions of our partners were worth fighting for, worth staying for, and worth waiting to return. Regrettably, our Mr. Hydes appeared more frequently over time, causing chaos and confusion in our lives. Their minds were hijacked by a darkness that we cannot fathom. For some, this period was short. For others, like myself, the oscillation occurred over a series of years, with an eventual downward spiral that was more severe and intense than ever before. We stood by our Mr. Hydes, gripping our seats and riding the wave until our beloved Dr. Jeckells returned. We cogitatively knew Mr. Hyde manifested because of an illness that was out of control, but due to no fault of their own. We tried our best to love and support them in the only ways we knew how. We did this in silence. We had no training, and had to learn on the job.

The day after Andy died I felt a strong conviction to come out of hiding and finally share my story. I’ve sat with discomfort and pain, fears and tears, and grief at a scale and intensity I did not know was possible. It was more painful than I could imagine. My worldview forever changed and I will never be the same. The days of believing in a “happy life” were gone; I took the red pill against my consent, and saw the Matrix that lies beneath. For all of you blue pill people, who want everything to be “fine”, this blog is not for you. For the rest of you, I invite you to follow along as I seek truth and understanding, discover a world full of grief and loss, and heal and pave a new path forward in this new life I never expected.