I once read that dust is mostly made up of human skin cells. I wondered if his skin cells were on me then as I watched the brown mist settle on my arms. It had been two weeks since the gunshot that simultaneously oppressed and liberated me. I was sorting through the things my husband left behind in the garage. The garage we built years ago for utilitarian purposes that had somehow morphed into a metaphor for my husband’s declining mental health.
This detached, filthy rectangle had slowly become John’s retreat when, three years ago, he stopped staying in the house after dinner.
Then it became his lover when, two years ago, he stopped sleeping in our bed and preferred the night time company of his ever-growing used car collection and other women.
Then it became his asylum when, six months ago, he stopped sleeping altogether and changed the locks on both doors that lead into his fortress.
In his absence, it was not a retreat, or a lover, or an asylum. It was a dust filled, physical oxymoron. Cluttered but hallow, ancient but modern. Laden with sunbeams, but darkened with shadows. The first time I went in there after his suicide, I sat amongst the things he once touched and I knew with certainty that the phrase “time heals” was bullshit.
Time, makes things real.
Time removes the merciful veil of shock.
Time is the guilt getting heavier.
Time is discovering yet another question that will never be answered.
My eleven-year-old daughter was just outside the back door of the garage that day looking down at her feet while balancing on a large metal beam. It was her first time there too. The long brown waves cascading from her head made it impossible for me to distinguish the look on her face. Not that her face was so easy to read during those early days anyways, but I still wondered what is looked like beneath her hair. She hasn’t spoken of her dad since his funeral. She hasn’t spoken much at all.
What must this be like for her? I thought. What did I need from my mother when I was eleven and mute?
Cake.
Every eleven-year-old girl needs her mother to bring her cake. I grabbed the leftover cake pops from the lunch I’d packed us and asked her to join me. She nodded her head no. So the cake pop and I went to her, out in the desert heat with its unrelenting rays of sun that seem so disrespectful to the cloud that had settled over our lives.
She was softly crying.
“Did you remind Daddy about me when he told you he was going to kill himself on the phone?” she said while still focusing on her feet.
It was in that moment that I decided I was ready to date. Yes, two weeks after my husband’s suicide I was ready to date. Not because I wanted to get remarried, not because I was healthy and so full of love that I couldn’t wait to share it with someone. No. I decided I was ready to date because
fuck
him.
That afternoon I had the conversation with her, my first born, about how nothing anyone said could have talked the gun out of his hand. About how that wasn’t even daddy’s voice on the phone when he died because his brain was so very sick. About how his sick brain thought she’d be better off if he was dead. About how his suicide was no one’s fault. As I said these things to her I knew that I didn’t completely believe them myself, but I said them anyways.
A few days later, I left the kids in the care of my parents, went out of town and met with the man who would become Chapter Four in my memoir, Boys, Booze, and Bathroom Floors. And then every weekend after that I dated a different man. And sometimes the same man. And sometimes four men in a day. I used them and they used me and I am a better person today because of it.
Dating gave me an outlet for my rage, respite from the guilt, and introduced me to my new self. No, I did not meet the next great love of my life out there in the modern social-media infused dating world. No, I did not meet a man that helped piece back together the broken fragments of my once optimistic soul. But I did meet a widowed woman named Michelle who raged until she could finally find the courage to be sad, who withheld the guilt until she was strong enough to absorb it, and who put her own damn soul back together, jaded though it might still be.
Dating can be used for all kinds of purposes, not just an eventual marriage. For me, it has been healing and I get so much criticism for it, but I’m too busy being wined and dined to care. Not everyone’s path to self-discovery and healing after loss is the same, but everyone has one, and they are obligated to their future, healthier self to find it.
About Michelle Miller
Michelle Miller is a grief blogger, has essays featured on TheRumpus.net and OurSideofSuicide.com, and is the author of, Boys, Booze, and Bathroom Floors: Forty-Six Tales about the Collision of Suicide Grief and Dating. Her memoir chronicles the aftermath of her husband’s infidelities and suicide in 2014 at the age of thirty-one, and how she used dating to run from, and simultaneously into her grief.
Prior to her husband’s death, Michelle worked full time with special needs students in a small town while balancing life with two young children and a volatile marriage. Her approach to grief is one of extreme empathy, humor, blunt honesty, and….okay, a few cocktails along the way.
Michelle is currently living with her best friend, and their five children in San Diego, California. She is working on her second book, Ghetto Grief which is a collection of short stories about the unconventional ways in which she grieved and continues to grieve her husband; set to be released in 2017.For links to follow her on social media, view her blog, purchase her book, or read her published essays, visit: MouthyMichellesMusings.com
I lost my husband to suicide in April. He battled PTSD and was diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder. The marriage was a very difficult one. Our 13 year old son called the police on my husband who was in a drunken rage the night before he took his life. We left the house and he killed himself.
I have since learned that most of our marriage was based on lies, deception and paranoia. I tried dating soon after becauseI was painfully lonely, but the thought of another person touching me is repulsive.
I don’t envy anyone who is on this journey. Everyone has an opinion until they experience it for themselves.
What a horrid judgemental thing to say. HOW DARE YOU!! You have no idea the pain Michelle lived through. No one does but her!
Wow, I’m the exact opposite.
My divorce hurt me so badly I never dated again and became suicidal myself. It’s been 20 years and it hurts me every day. Every day I punishe myself for loosing her even though I was a good husband. If I enjoyed doing it I stopped. No more camping, sold my motorcycle, stoped gaming, quit my career, I litteraly stopped eating food I like, sometimes I don’t eat for days, I work constantly, live in a shack in the woods, then give my money away. I took a very dangerous job and consistently ignore safety rules.
I won’t do it, not while I have people around me that it would hurt. It’s why I moved 1000 miles away and cut off all outside ties.
Every day I think of her and want to die, every day I say to myself”don’t do that to your mother”
My mom’s health is very poor ,. I don’t know how much longer I can cope or what comes after.
Your story was short, mine lasted 30 years. I was a firm believer in till death do us part. After he tried to poison me, not just once, I sought out the advise of my priest. He explained that death is not just physical death but also emotional death. In my case I was experianceing emotional death and I should look at it as I was lucky to still be alive. After months of soul searching I gave up trying to make someone love me and gave it to his crazy wants, sold our home, walked away from whom at one time I would have considered the love of my life. Four months later he committed suicide after his best buddy to whom I believe may have a been his gay lover told him he should do it and get it over with. It’s has been ten years. I have my own life now but dating doesn’t seem to fit into my life.
Val
I have been struggling the past 5 weeks after my husbands suicide on 9/23/18 (although he died the next day). I was heartbroken. We did and in vitro fertilization (IVF) embryo transfer two days before his suicide. I was pregnant when he took his life. So much grief ensued, and still does to an extent. That being said, I found out 1 week after that he was having an affair. I know he was depressed at times, but hindsight has made me realize he was an alcoholic and mildly bipolar- not to the extent of going to the extremes, but he absolutely was. I know it wasn’t him, but his mental illness that lead to these events. Like you said though, fuck. Him.
I have felt ready to at least see who else is out there, but I haven’t expressed this to anyone because I feel guilty. Most people don’t know about the affair and I am not ready for the judgement. Slowly I am learning to take care of myself, but I thank you for sharing your story so that I know I am not alone. Not alone in what happened, and not alone in wanting to move on. ❤️ Thank you. If you have any more advice please share.
I feel this post my Fiancé committed suicide in front of me and I was so guilt ridden because he loved me so much but just couldn’t keep himself up for a relationship he was talking to other women I found out we broke up. For a year he tried to get his self together for us and his kids but he had ptsd and mental illness. He got worse every time I saw him. Part of me was like if only I just sucked it up and got back with him he’ll still be here. It’s been 10months since he has passed I still think about him and still see the image of his death in my head.. I had to say fuck him why should I be alone at the age of 35 with no kids or a man to love me.. it wasn’t him that night I saw a stranger something that wasn’t human.. I pray now he is at better place. I am now with someone who shows me so much love it almost scares me but I know that’s what I need.. praying for all who have been through this
Michelle,
I found your post because of searching out “how to date a widower of suicide”. I divorced two years ago after a 27 year marriage that truly ended 12 years earlier but I was willing to stay until death do us part. My Ex, however, decided he would cheat. So I gave myself a year to find myself and figure out what I wanted. Finally, I posted on a dating website in January of this year. I met my current boyfriend in March and we’ve been dating happily ever since. I am curious about how to date someone who’s spouse committed suicide because…she haunts our time together. I don’t want to sound selfish but I’m kind of tired of hearing him refer to her as his wife (she killed herself more than 8 years ago after they were together for 27 years). He tells me he grieved for a good two years, first spending time “falling out of love” with her. But she still seems to take up a lot of his memory. He dated almost immediately as he found out after her death that she had cheated on him. We have so much in common but I’m…I’m jealous of his love for her. It seems to me that if someone commits suicide then “THEY” decided to leave you behind. And, if you found out they cheated on you too, how can you still have fond memories of that person? Since my marriage ended slowly, maybe I’m the one missing the point. Any advise for me? Thanks, TammyTam
Thank you for this. My wife took her life while we were both at home. Like your husband, she had been mentally ill for a while and had turned to drugs and alcohol. No matter what I tried tried to do she wouldn’t get help. It took about 3 attempts before she succeeded.
We had been together for 9 years, married for almost two. It had been over between us for a while but I guess I thought I could fix her, and didn’t want to give up.
After she died, I was incredibly depressed and lonely, sure I had friends but it didn’t matter. Four months later, I hung out with a girl I’d known for 20 years. We had dated before, but hadn’t seen each other in a decade. She had gone through hard times too and over a few days of seeing each other the old spark came back. I never thought I could feel love for somone again, and maybe more so than my wife.
I thought maybe it’s too soon, but it felt right and everyone I told were happy for me, even my step-daughter. Sadly my new girlfriend says she feels like a mistress at times but hopefully time will help.
People may judge, and say time needs to pass after such a tragedy, but I have to ask, “how much time makes it ok?” A month? A year? 5 years? And how does the year or so of being out of love, and dealing with their illness factor in?
I thought I was moving too fast, but the love I have now is something I’m glad I didn’t pass up because I thought it may be too soon.
People will have their opinions, but if they haven’t been through the nightmares I’ve experienced then they have no frame of reference and I’ll move on with my life how I please, and do what makes me happy, finally.
Thank you for taking the time to share some of your story. We have a lot in common. I’m glad to hear you found love again ❤️
Michelle, you drove your husband to suicide. Then you loved it. You are sick. This is how women act nowadays. No empathy. Men are just wallets. You are terrible.
Love you too 😘
Michele. Thank you for sharing. I didn’t go they what you did but after 38 years became a divorcee and thru my “grieving ” process started dating about 6 months after he decided that he was moving on to a younger woman. He was my only man whom I had sex with but I also found myself thru dating and I’m so blessed that 4 years later I have discovered myself and now can share with an man who truly knows me.
Thank you for sharing! There is definitely a grieving process that takes place after divorce too.