It’s been just over two years since the passing of my awe-inspiring husband. In his life, he taught me about unconditional love, forgiveness, and patience.  His actions taught me humility, compassion, and the value of serving others. In his illness and his death he has taught me perhaps even more.  My husband, Dan, suffered from rapid onset of depression and anxiety. He died of suicide April 22, 2014.

These two years have been a journey through loss, devastation, hopelessness, fear, and insecurity. Today I have profound hope, sincere joy, and a degree of independence. But that is just today and in this moment. I wanted to believe that grief was a series of stages that my children and I would move forward through and never back. But our reality is much different. The emotions we experience independently and as a family are deeply complex, and while we make definite forward progress, we continue to take side steps and back steps.

We have not traveled this journey alone, and in fact many times we were carried by the most loving of family, friends, and community- our village. Along with countless other acts of love and service, our village provided my family with meals, childcare, dog walking, and carpool.  We have relied on our village for hugs, to be shoulders to cry on, to bring laughter and joy, and to simply be there.  However, I will say one of the absolute hardest parts of this journey was accepting help. It was so painful to accept that I couldn’t do it alone.  I had to ultimately acknowledge that if I set out on this path without our village it would be a detriment to my three children.

This blog is an exploration of our grief journey, the disease depression and suicide, and in finding meaning in death.  I want to convey hope, love, and an appreciation for those who support my children and me.   This blog is about finding me again, and most importantly, it is about vulnerability.

I owe thanks to everyone who has traveled this journey with us, but at times I am physically and emotionally unable to engage others. I find myself often in what feels like isolation. When someone asks how we are I want so deeply to provide an authentic response that encompasses the complexity of our status, but I am often too depleted to provide such a response and instead retreat. I believe sharing my thoughts via this blog will give me an opportunity to sincerely relay our journey. If I can’t do this, then how can I have hope that those who are suffering in silence can ask for help? If I can’t answer honestly as to how I am coping, then does that negatively impact my children’s ability to find their unique way of grieving while knowing they are not alone?

I believe Dan’s illness and death can have an unimaginable positive impact to those around us if I allow myself to be vulnerable and speak openly. I have considered this blog for a long time and am committed whole-heartedly to the good that can come from sharing. I hope a dialogue can be started not just with my post and your comments, but also among our community and perhaps farther.

There are no words I could ever write to express my most profound gratitude to those who carried us. Thank you for reading this post through the end. I hope you will be a regular visitor and become part of our village. I hope you will ask questions even if you think they are too direct. I hope to be an open book about this process, and I truly believe sharing my feelings in this format will allow me to come out of my isolation.

I plan to share more about Dan’s disease and death for those who do not already know our story. I encourage you to read Dan’s obituary and some of the guest entries. After reading, I think you will understand why awe-inspiring is such an apt description of this truly remarkable man.

Daniel DeMerell Obituary

Connie DeMerell