My husband was found in the upstairs room of our house, a victim of suicide.
When I got home, the back door was locked. Someone else close to him had arrived before me, and I asked him to get the door open. It was taking so long that I took our baby back to my parents in-laws’ house to wait.
From what I was told, Jason was on his knees, slumped over the bed, face down. As stated in the autopsy report, with “a single, contact, perforating gunshot wound to the head.” He was 23, and our son was almost 3 months old. I became a widow & single mom at the age of 21.
This always comes to me in the middle of the night. My breathing is shallow and strained. I’m so tired of waiting for everyone to get back. They won’t answer their phones.
I go back home. I always drive around to the back door, but I tried that earlier, and it was locked even though it’s never locked. No one ever used the front door.
But this time I saw black vans, and I lost the inviting curve of the driveway that used to take me to the back door. Instead, my truck veered off to the left because the front door was open.
Desperation, despair and hopelessness poured out the front door escorted by faceless men in grim uniforms. His family was coming to me with robotic movements and eyes ringed with shock and confusion.
He must be hurt- they need to replace the black vans with an ambulance. Someone made a mistake. The stretcher should not be covered like that.
I just talked to him a little while ago. Was it a few hours? I can’t remember anymore, except that I should have been here when he got home.
His friend came up the driveway looking for him. A man stopped him and spoke to him, and I saw him put his face into his hands and start sobbing.
I saw Jason’s grandfather raise his hands and cry out with shock when he was told.
I’m still parked by the driveway, the door of my truck hanging open. I reach to the backseat and check on my baby son who is sleeping soundly in his car seat.
I’ll never stay here again. I cannot stop seeing them come down the stairs and through the front door.
My heart will not beat normally, and it will not stop reminding me. This is a nightmare. I just want to breathe and wake up from this nightmare.
Click here for Part 3 of What Happened.Tags: nightmare