No new words tonight

Thursday it will have been a year since Mike ended his life. The last couple of days, all I can think about is what was happening a year ago right now… how we were in our last days together, but I didn’t know it.

I can’t find any new words tonight, so I’m going to re-post what I wrote last March about what happened one year ago tonight.


On that Monday night, when Mike came home after taking Sean back to his mom’s house, he took me by the hand and led me to the couch. “Let’s sit down,” he said. He told me what was bothering him, how he felt worthless and hopeless. I did my best to reassure him. I held him.  I told him how much I loved him.

The emptiness in his eyes scared me. I know that haunted look all too well, and it speaks of a dark, dark place. But he’d been to that dark place before and always come back to me.

I didn’t want to go to work the next day, didn’t want to leave him. But he got up, got dressed, made me tea. He hugged and kissed me, and he said, “Don’t worry about me today. Go to work and don’t worry. I’m going to work.” And he did work on a sculpture all that day — I saw the results of his work when I got home. He was still working on it that evening, and we talked a little. I thought he seemed to feel a little brighter. I had no idea it was our last night together.

Looking back on it, I see the sign that I missed in the moment. In the six years we were together, we had most of our deepest conversations either lying in bed in the dark or standing in the kitchen, each with a drink in our hand. Sometimes we stood talking in the kitchen for hours, never bothering to move into the living room where we could sit in comfort.

Only once before had he EVER prefaced a conversation by asking me to sit down: the day he had to give me the news that my father had died.  When he led me to the couch on Monday night, he knew what he was telling me… even though I didn’t.


~ by hourbeforedawn on March 1, 2011.

6 Responses to “No new words tonight”

  1. No words, Lira, just love.

  2. It’s only natural to walk through the past when this type of anniversary comes around. These can be tough days, especially the days that follow. I found that I prepared myself for the anniversary of Michael’s death, which I got through fairly well. It was the days that followed that took me by surprise.

    Be gentle with yourself Lira. Sending love your way.

    • Most everyone in my support group who has been through at least one anniversary of their loss has said that the anticipation of the anniversary was worse than the day itself. I think I’m fairly well prepared for it, so maybe that will be the case for me. But until I read your comment here, I hadn’t thought about the harder days coming after… although, now that I think about it, the day after our wedding anniversary was when it all really hit me.

      Well, the day after this anniversary I’m getting my first tattoo! Hopefully that will be a significant enough distraction.

  3. Love and hugs, Lira. All the best too for the tattoo – mine hurt a lot but the pain was an important of the process (for me) and it’s healing up nicely.

  4. thinking of you lira…sending you a huge hug.

  5. the tattoo is your rite of passage…all the words expressed here where the challenges you had to go through. I see your tattoo as the physical badge of what you went through this year.

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