My friend gathered a notepad and pen from the kitchen; my friend, her husband, my mother, and myself started a list. Call the pediatrician, call Dan’s doctor, call Dan’s parents and sister, contact our estate attorney, call the priest, call the Dougy Center, call my doctor, order an autopsy, review finances, make a budget, hire a part time nanny.

Then we discussed our options for when the kids woke up. I knew I couldn’t tell them about Dan’s death right away because I worried about the questions that would follow. Would they ask if we would be ok, if I would die, if I would kill myself, if they would kill themselves, if we would have to move out of state, if they would have to leave their school and friends, if Dad was in heaven, if I would have to work as much as Dad did, if we would run out of money? My head was spinning. I was in shock and I knew I didn’t know how to answer any of the potential questions. Because my children had a parent die of suicide, they were now at higher risk for suicide, mental illness, drug use, and crime. Each child would have their own grief journey and challenges based on their age. I did not know what the incidence of these risks was, but any increased risk was devastating. I knew enough to be petrified that my children’s lives could be ruined and I would lose them too. I did not know how to best help support them and knew I needed help and guidance.

At this point it was after 5:00am. We knew it was time to begin making phone calls. I called our pediatrician who knew Dan well. I recall telling him Dan had died and that he jumped off of a parking structure. I asked him not to share how he died until I had more information. I then asked if there was any hope that my children could be ok. I desperately needed hope. I needed to know if I loved them, supported them, and was present for them, that they “could” be ok. He did provide hope and guidance about the kid’s future. We agreed talking to the Dougy Center, a center whose mission is to provide support in a safe place where children, teens, young adults, and their families grieving a death can share their experience, was the best resource for direction in informing the children about his death.

I called Dan’s doctor and left a message on his voicemail. I had been in contact with him on a regular basis and had left voicemails for him the last few weeks, so calling him felt somewhat routine. I remember thinking I had to be composed and speak slowly so that I could give the details of the evening and his death. I am unsure, but I think I may have even stated that Dan took his medications as prescribed, a detail that would be important in caring for him if Dan were still alive. As I reflect on the phone message, I am curious as to why calling Dan’s doctor was such a high priority for me. Why did I feel the need to leave such a message? I did not consider that his physician would likely go into work and sit down at his desk between patients with a pen and paper, prepared to retrieve routine phone messages. And I did not consider how such a message could impact Dan’s physician. He would likely be facing a full clinic day of patients. He, like many other physicians, likely continued on in clinic providing compassionate, quality care to others while burdened with his own shock and grief. I would imagine he read though Dan’s chart looking for any signs that Dan would die of suicide. I have stated numerous times that there are unrealistic expectations placed on physicians to swallow their emotions and carry on with patient care. My awareness of this problem in the medical field and my determination to shed light on it didn’t stop me from burdening his physician while in my own grief. I believe leaving that message was my attempt to continue to care for Dan. He had died, but that would not end the deep commitment and feelings of responsibility that I have for him. I would continue to care for him as my husband and father of my children.

I called Dan’s parents and sister. I remember waiting till about 5:30am thinking they would be starting their day. I told them the truth, and there are no words that can give justice to their devastation and grief. We started making travel plans for them to arrive in Portland that same day.

I emailed our estate attorney. I believe it had only been ten months since we had last spoken to him. Dan and I had sat in his office, pregnant with Gracie, planning for our children’s future if something were to ever happen to one or both of us. We felt young and excited about our growing family. We had no reason to think we would actually need an estate plan, but it was something we thought we should do as parents for our children. At the time of my email to him I had no idea how much time I would be spending in our attorney’s office over the next 12 months handling and closing Dan’s estate. I was not aware that our attorney would actually be an essential part of our village, guiding me, with expertise and compassion, though endless paperwork and government deadlines for Dan’s estate, while always being respectful of Dan’s illness and death.

Knowing the kids would wake up for school soon, my friend walked me to my bathroom where I reluctantly took off my bloodstained clothes and showered. She offered to wash the clothes to which I said no. I ended up placing the clothes in a plastic bag and hid them in my closet. Today the clothes are still in the plastic bag packed away in a box. I have looked at and held them probably twice. The first time was to determine how I felt holding them. Would I feel closer to Dan; would they bring me peace or sadness? I don’t recall feeling closer to him holding the clothing, nor did they provide comfort or greater sadness. I think it connects me to that night. As horrible as it was, those were still my last moments with my husband and I feel compelled to never forget that evening. I feel somehow like I owe it to him.

No one should have to endure life alone and everyone has a right to die with comfort and dignity. I do not believe Dan felt he was alone in life and his struggle. He did die alone and his body remained alone for hopefully only minutes. I do not know if he had comfort as he passed, but he did die with dignity. I want our children and the world to know that when someone dies of suicide, they still maintain their dignity. Suffering from mental illness and succumbing to suicide is not shameful or selfish and does not diminish one’s beautiful life. The second time I held the clothes was to determine what I should do with them. Admittedly it feels strange to keep the clothing, particularly unwashed. I can’t throw them away because it pains me to think that the clothing with his blood would end up in a landfill. I can’t wash them because washing the clothes would wash his blood down the drain into a sewer with all of the other wastewater. I know rationally that both of those options are appropriate, but it feels like I am throwing him away. Because we had discussed years ago that he would want to be cremated when he died(which he was), I believe it would be best to burn the clothing. I can’t, however, bring myself to build a fire and carry that out. For those reasons I will leave them packed in a box until I can “do something” with them. I won’t allow the internal struggle I feel surrounding the clothing to occupy space in my mind, and I won’t live in fear of judgment as to how I choose to handle things such as this. I need to be the most complete me possible so that I can focus on my children and what’s best for their well-being and journey. As I complete this paragraph, I realize that its length is a good indication of how much thought went into something that most people would not have even considered was a struggle for me. I think it is important to share this because everyone has a “bag of clothes” they don’t know what to do with. We have no idea what others’ personal struggles are. One of my hopes is that people can feel safe to freely share their own struggles without fear of judgment. If we as adults are able to do this, we are creating a safe environment for our children to do the same.

Because I was still at a loss as to how to answer my children’s possible questions, and I had not contacted all of the people on our list. We decided that when the kids woke up, we would announce it was a special day for my girlfriend’s family and my two boys. There would be no school and my friend would take them to Starbucks for breakfast and then to her house where my children would play with her children. Her nanny, her mother who was flying in from California, and her husband would care for them so that my friend could stay by my side. I would say Dan had left for work really early.

I can’t imagine what we looked like having just experienced the shock and trauma of Dan’s death only hours before. As we gathered around the kitchen table, my seven year old appeared unsure about our story and kept asking where dad was. I loved them so much and would do anything I could to help them, but there were so many questions, and I needed more time….

Connie DeMerell