Yeah, you read it right, out of spite.  

I spent 27 years with my partner, later officially my husband. Honestly, from the beginning, I am unsure how we ever made it other than we both had parents who were of the “make it work no matter what” generation. Besides, his parents are Catholic and do not believe in divorce, so there is that.  

To highlight this, his mom told me one night a little over a year ago that it was “my responsibility” to make it work. You know, forget the substance use and the domestic violence; enough to make one go ugh. So, my upcoming series will deal with the grieving process from start to finish, in a sense. I will warn from the beginning that this series of posts will be raw and taken date for date from Facebook posts and my feelings. It will also talk about my takes on grieving. I have about four months of backlog, but here we go. 

That Day

So it started with this Facebook post…

So, I will post this now.

Jacob passed away last night. It was unexpected. I will post updates on memorial services when I know myself.

I am okay, and I appreciate your kind thoughts, but as with my earlier post, I need to step back and process this. DMs may take a minute to respond; be assured that I am as okay as I can be.

Oh yes, nothing like coming home after a weekend of dealing with patients and being completely tired to find what you think is a peaceful house, only to discover your husband dead in his bead, by his hand.

And while I am reflecting on this, I do remember how I was feeling in that moment. First was disbelief, until I saw him dead in the bed with a 9mm in his hand. I remember checking for responsiveness and seeing a blood pool in his mouth, the 9mm in his hand, and the overwhelming smell of death. I remember my sweet dog Leonard serving as a watch over his corpse.

Fuck…shit, call 911. I know he’s dead, but someone needs to deal with this. I remember speaking to the 911 operator, who told me to step out, not touch anything, and stay with her on the phone until an office arrived.

“Jesus, lady,” I need a friend here, not just a bunch of cops. I know; I have worked before, and more cops show up at this kind of shit than at a Krispy Kreme when the hot now sign is lit. She was the first one to have my back. She put me on hold and patched a call to my best friend, Paul. She freaked him a little by introducing herself as a Salt Lake City 911 operator. Soon after, I heard the voice of a friend in the phone patch. 

I do not remember the whole conversation other than to hold myself together; he would be there ASAP. Folks, he lives 35 miles from me and had to drop kiddo with inlaws. He was at my house in a little over 40 mins….that is a friend.

I have only sometimes had a favorable opinion of SLC PD. Thankfully, the officers who responded and stayed were all veterans, and 2 of the 3 were combat arms (combat jobs like infantry, armor, and field artillery). They also understand how vets and medical professionals have “gallows humor “because, trust me, nursiepoo was going at its full tilt. Paul later told me that he worried my humor “might be too much “until he talked to the three officers and realized I was with fellow vets and things would be as okay as possible.

Many folks talk about why vets take care of each other. I can sum it up in one phrase, “Trauma bonding.” Vets have all been through the same shit. Whether it is basic training, daily duty, or combat, we all have been through the shit. 

And those of us who have seen “the elephant” have an even tighter bond

“Seeing the Elephant” is the term Civil War soldiers used to describe their first experience with combat. A new, in-the-round movie experience entitled Seeing the Elephant at the Civil War Museum gives visitors a glimpse at “the Elephant.” The film gives visitors a historically accurate, multi-sensory portrayal of the nature of Civil War training and combat.

https://aaslh.org/seeing-the-elephant/#:~:text=%E2%80%9CSeeing%20the%20Elephant%E2%80%9D%20is%20the,their%20first%20experience%20with%20combat.

Honestly, I am forever bonded ‘to any vet and proud as fuck that I am. The trauma bond means I can call a brother and say help, and if they can’t be there at speeds that are illegal in Utah, I will be there on the phone as soon as they can get there in person as needed. 

So, nursiepoo, where does this little “rant” of yours go? And why the title?

Well, on May 22, I realized “I was it.” I had to make my headway or die in the water. I needed to rely on those with my “six” (meaning they had my back). I have a pretty big Facebook friends list that, as I joke about, have met me in person, shared body fluids, or seen me naked. They have my six, the vets on my feed, and more. So, the turmoil begins.

To answer the post’s title, I bought a 2007 Vulcan VN 2000 Motorcycle yesterday to answer your question. Jake hated that I liked to ride.

Anyhow, be the kind of person your mom and dog think you are.