It is estimated that 22 veterans kill themselves every day. My husband is one of those 22.
This is my journey. It isn’t neat or tidy or even straight-forward. I will ramble and curse and generally share how it feels to continue living in the aftermath of suicide. I’m not even sure what I will say or where I will start because the story is already in motion. Finding a starting point is like figuring out the best time to jump on a train mid-derailment. There’s no best place to start. And capturing the anger, sorrow, and joy on this journey will be fucking messy. Let’s face it, life is messy underneath all the pretense. Tragedy lifts the veil so there’s no where to hide.
I am a widow and this is my journey.
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