The story of finding Dan is one I have rarely shared. Some of the details I have never spoken or written and may never be able to. I experienced a deep personal trauma that night. A trauma that will be with me for the rest of my life. It is part of who I am now; I have accepted this and have found a way to live without it destroying me.

Despite the horrors of that evening I would not change being the one who found him. I believe I was at his side within minutes of his death. I do not have to live a life wondering what he looked like lying there, if he suffered for long before he died, if animals explored his body. I was with my husband, at his side as I should have been.

We hung up the phone at 10:05pm. Dan had to drive 6 miles home; he should have arrived in 15 minutes.  I brushed my teeth and climbed into bed. I closed my eyes and very well could have fallen asleep. I was not remotely considering he might not be coming home.

At approximately 10:30pm I glanced at the clock and realized he still wasn’t home. I called his cell. He did not answer. I thought maybe he was on the other line with one of his partners, so I waited a couple of minutes and then called back. No answer. I texted him and said I was getting worried. No response. I called him again. No answer. I texted him and said if I didn’t hear from him in the next few minutes I was worried enough that I would call a colleague he was with at the meeting. No response. I called again. No answer. I considered maybe he had a car accident. Maybe he had been pulled over by the police for a traffic violation. At approximately 10:40pm I called his colleague. She was already asleep in bed and said he should have been home by now. She said she was worried and to call her as soon as I heard something. At 10:44pm I called him and this time it went directly to voicemail.  For the first time it occurred to me that instead of an outside circumstance not allowing him to call me, he was choosing not to come home and had perhaps hurt himself. Because my mom was at my house asleep, I was able to jump in the car, wearing my pajamas, and head to his St. Vincent’s office.

The St. Vincent’s office is a 10-minute drive at that hour. I pulled into the parking lot, drove past three gentlemen exiting one of the buildings on the lot, and headed to the back entrance of Dan’s building where he usually parks. His car was not there. I turned around and drove towards the parking structure attached to his building. I saw his car parked just under a lamppost. I did not see him in the car and thought perhaps he decided to go for a walk on the small trail that runs through the green space behind the parking structure. I turned my car to pull up next to his car and my headlights illuminated his still body lying face down on the ground next to the parking structure. I immediately put the car in park, jumped out, and ran to his side yelling, “Call 911, help, call 911,” hoping to alert the gentleman I’d seen at the nearby building.

Dan’s body was lifeless, and without using any nursing judgment I immediately turned his body over. I did not consider that moving him in such a way could aggravate injuries if he were still alive. I was screaming crying asking him, “Dan, what did you do?” I repeated that question over and over again as I checked for a pulse. No pulse. Started CPR. Then stopped to assess him. I couldn’t figure out what happened. Had he been hit by a car walking through the parking lot? Had he been assaulted? His wedding ring was not on. Maybe he was shot. I looked for a bleeding wound that I could apply pressure to. The only wound I was able to see was a deep laceration to his chin. I put my fingers in the wound to see how deep it was. I noted the wound did not tunnel though his head and was not life threatening. As I was doing these things I continued to repeat the question, “Dan, what did you do?”

The three men from the nearby building had arrived and one asked, “Ma’am do you know this person?” When I replied that he was my husband the man said, “He jumped off the building.” I began to cry even more hysterically and took out my phone to call one of my best friends. I believe I called her three times and kept yelling in the phone that he was dead. She asked, “Who’s dead?” I said, “Dan, Dan’s dead.” She asked for more information but I kept hanging up. I passed the phone to one of the gentleman for assistance. I will always remain deeply appreciative for their presence and support that evening.

I only then started to hug Dan and kiss him, beginning to accept he was actually dead. I cried and told him I loved him. The paramedics and police arrived. The police officer asked me to step away from him and the paramedic said she had to confirm he was dead. I didn’t want to leave him but it was clear that I was not going to be allowed to stay by his side. The police officer brought me back to my car, which was still running. I sat in the car while the officer stood next to me with my driver door open. He wanted to ask me some questions, but first I called home repeatedly trying to wake my mom up. Finally she answered the phone and I told her he was dead, where I was, and that I was with the police. I recall the tremendous effort it took to focus my attention on the officer, understand his questions, and to articulate answers. Despite the gentleman telling me Dan had jumped from the building, my mind began to reason again that he had not killed himself and that he was involved in some type of robbery, which would explain why his wedding ring was missing.

The officer asked a range of questions. Some I feel were to determine if I was responsible for his death, some were to determine if anyone else would want to hurt him, and others were to determine if his death was a suicide. When the officer specifically asked if Dan would have any reason to kill himself I was adamant that he did not. I recall relaying that Dan had been stressed about work and had been depressed but he had no reason to hurt himself. Shortly after the questioning began my best friend’s husband (who was one of Dan’s close friends) arrived. I recall seeing him standing far away. I cried out his name and kept asking if I could talk to him, but they would not allow him to come any closer. The questions went on for hours. He asked them again and again, sometimes rephrasing them. I suppose to be sure I was being honest.

I was in shock, I was shaking, and sometimes I thought I was losing my mind. I imagine those hours looked from the outside just like it would in a movie. Moments of sobbing crying, moments of when I focused and told the officer everything I could in hopes they would be able to find out what had happened to Dan, moments of me pleading with the officer to understand that we were a normal, loving family who had been happy.

The coroner had arrived and was working to determine the manner of Dan’s death. My friend’s husband was now allowed to join me and the police had us move my car to the inside of the parking structure. I didn’t understand why but now know it was so that they could move Dan’s body. The officer and the coroner both informed me that Dan’s death was a suicide. As the coroner spoke those words I recalled turning Dan’s body over so that he was on his back. I immediately told them that I had done that. My mind had completely forgotten that detail. I am not sure if it was my mind’s way of not wanting to accept he had jumped off the building. Up until that point the acceptance of suicide would only flow into my mind for brief periods.

The officer and coroner who worked with us that evening conducted themselves with complete professionalism. I am incredibly grateful that they carried out the task that was required in a way that allowed me to remain calm enough to stay near Dan. They compassionately informed me of his suicide and stood beside me while I cried. I asked about his wedding ring. The coroner said he believed his ring fell off upon impact and they assured me they would remain at the scene to look for it. I asked if they found a note. The coroner said they searched Dan and his car but did not find a note. They told me it was time to go home but they would call me soon.

I arrived home to my mother and my dear friend, who was able to be there because of another dear friend. I believe it was around 3:00am; thankfully my children were still sleeping. The coroner called within minutes to state they found his ring just a few yards from his body, giving me some small amount of peace. My clothes, hands and feet were covered in Dan’s blood. Dan had shattered his left leg, which produced a moderate about of bleeding. I did not see the blood from his leg that night. Not sure if it was too dark or if my mind would not allow me to see it. My friend offered to help me shower, but I couldn’t shower yet. In my mind showering and changing my clothes would make Dan’s death real and would begin the rest of my life as a widow with three kids. I sat with my friend, her husband, and my mother in my living room, and for the next hour and a half I told them all of the details of the last seven weeks. We cried, we comforted one another, we reminisced about Dan, and I think we even laughed. By 5:30am we started to make a plan…

Little did I know but in those hours my village was already rallying around us. When my friend’s husband joined me at St. Vincent’s, my friend was able to go to my house and sit with my mother because another dear friend went to her house to babysit her young children. My friend’s mother booked a flight to Oregon, her husband cancelled a very important work trip scheduled for the next day, and both of these amazing couples made the first steps of changing their world to support my family. The support of these two families in particular has everything to do with the wellness my family is able to experience now.

The plan we started was the beginning of a path that included despair, agony, hopelessness, and unwavering support from my closest friends, family and community. My path is one of genuine happiness shared with profound sadness that creates difficult moments, days, nights, and sometimes weeks. It is a path of healing, hope, and resilience. As the sun came up that next day, I began to process the first step of that path; acceptance that my beloved husband was gone, and had died of suicide.

Connie DeMerell