Author’s Note – Two Years Later

I originally wrote this piece nearly two years ago, in the wake of my husband’s suicide. At the time, I was swimming in a sea of questions, grief, and societal expectations about what my relationship meant — to others, to me, and to the world.

What I’ve learned since then is that grief doesn’t fade so much as it reshapes. And sometimes, revisiting old words can open up new understanding — not just for me, but hopefully for someone else who might be facing the same kind of pain, confusion, or isolation.

If you are struggling with thoughts of suicide, or walking beside someone who is, I hope this entry offers something — even if it’s just the reassurance that you are not the only one. That your story, however complicated or messy or quiet, deserves compassion.

 

On to the post

Preface: I’m in a strange headspace—grieving, reflecting, and feeling like a hypocrite. This post is not easy, and I won’t sugarcoat it. It’s a letter that needed to be written, and a truth I can’t keep quiet about any longer.

—

Dear Jacob,

It’s been four weeks since that morning I found you. The medical examiner placed your time of death shortly after you messaged me—around 9:40 p.m. that Sunday. I found you the next morning, around 9 a.m. And from that moment until my own last breath (which I still plan on being a long way off), I will carry one truth: you didn’t have to do this, Jake.

At first, I chose to protect your memory. I told people what they could handle: that you passed away suddenly. I let them grieve the version of you they knew best—the joyful, laughing, irreverent spirit that once dressed up as Miss Skidder Onassis for the KMSM homecoming float, the smart, curious guy in college, the partner I traveled the world with.

But by shielding them from the truth, I failed to share the part that mattered most. That you died by suicide. That this wasn’t just a tragic loss—it was a crisis no one saw coming.

Going back to work, I realized how much this silence was costing me. Every patient struggling with depression or psychosis reminded me of my own failure to speak the truth, even while preaching openness in clinical practice. I can’t continue toward becoming a psychiatric nurse practitioner—can’t build a career based on helping people face their mental health struggles—if I don’t also confront this loss. If I can’t use my empathy to tell the story of my person, then I’m not being honest.

The hardest truth is that I’ll never fully understand why you chose to take your own life that night. There were signs of depression and anxiety, yes—but no explicit warning, no suicide note, no clear cry for help. You made excuses about not returning to therapy, even when I offered to pay. But you never told me, Jake. You never gave me a chance to fight for you.

I know this wasn’t planned. Your suicide had all the hallmarks of an impulsive act—and statistically, those are the most fatal. They happen quickly. In under 15 minutes. The warning signs, if they exist at all, are fleeting. A vague comment weeks before. A shrug. A brush-off. And they’re almost always missed.

You knew this. We’d talked about it in general terms—about the difference between people who seek help and people who hide. And still, you didn’t reach out.

I’m angry. I’m angry that you chose a permanent solution to what might have been temporary problems. I’m angry that I’ll never know what tipped the balance. But I don’t blame myself. You made an adult decision, one with adult consequences. I just wish you hadn’t.

But I still love you. And I hope wherever your soul rests, you’ve found the peace you couldn’t find here.

– Leigh

—

To those reading this: I know some of you suspected. I haven’t exactly been subtle in recent weeks. But it’s time to stop whispering about suicide and start shouting the truth.

What do we do next?

We don’t hide it. We don’t do what I did and cover it up.

If someone you know says something offhand about wanting to die—take it seriously. Ask questions:
– Do you feel safe right now?
– Do you have a plan?
– Do you have access to the means to carry it out?
– When do you plan to do it?

These are not invasive questions. They are lifesaving questions. You don’t need a medical degree to show basic human concern. If someone says they’re suicidal, believe them. Take them to an ER. Call 911. Call the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline at 988. If they’re a veteran, press 1 to connect with the VA.

And if you’re the one struggling—please reach out. Call 988. Call a friend. Send a text. Knock on a neighbor’s door. You matter. We want you here.

I’m also struggling with how the world handles suicide. A coworker of Jacob’s told me they’re not even allowed to mention his name. It’s as if he just stopped showing up to work and disappeared. If that’s true, it’s not only disrespectful—it’s dangerous. Silence doesn’t protect anyone. It just lets the shame grow unchecked.

I’m sorry I didn’t say all this sooner. I know there were so many factors in Jacob’s depression—too many to untangle, and some I won’t share. But what I will say, loud and clear, is this:

Suicidal thoughts are not normal. They are a symptom. And they are treatable.

Let’s stop pretending we’re okay when we’re not. Let’s stop treating suicide like a dirty secret. Let’s talk about it. Let’s ask the hard questions.

Because if even one life is saved by this conversation—then Jacob’s death won’t have been in vain.

Thanks for reading. I know this was long. But I needed to say it. Finally. Truthfully. Out loud.

Remember to be the person your dog and your mom hope you are