Category: suicide

21May

To Brandon, with love.

Michael and son Brandon – Halloween 1991

Today marks the tenth anniversary of Michael Corrier’s death, my husband of 11 years.

I hesitate to publicly acknowledge this date out of concern and respect for my husband Charlie. But, he’s mature and understands that this day is still a day that I stop and remember a man; a great man that was in my life for many years. Just because I have had the good fortune to meet and marry Charlie, doesn’t diminish the good years I had with Michael. 

Ten years is a long time to go without seeing someone, or talking to someone. Their voice becomes distant, their presence becomes less, their name comes up less often, and sometimes, the people around you never even knew that person.

Life goes on, with or without us.

And as true as those statements are, I stand firm in the belief that Michael Corrier is a man that will be missed and thought of for as long as some of us have a breath left in us.

In less than two weeks Michael’s son Brandon will be getting married to an absolutely wonderful woman named Kelsey. The Save the Date magnet has been stuck proudly front and center on my refrigerator for months now; only to be replaced recently  with the wedding invitation.

Brandon and Kelsey have been making preparations for months. The dress. The venue. The non traditional wedding cake. All the fun things (and some not so fun things) that it takes to host such an event.

And as happy and excited as I am for them, I’m so sad that his Dad will not be there to witness his son getting married. That moment of pride when a father looks over at his son standing at the alter, most likely remembering the day his son was born, his first steps, and so many other milestones that we are privileged to witness as parents. Mike won’t be there for that moment when Brandon watches his beautiful bride walk down the aisle. Standing in for Michael as best man will be Shane, my son, Brandon’s step brother. 

So let me tell you about this man named Brandon.

He came into my life in 1998 when his dad and I married. I thought step-parenting of two young kids would be a breeze. Boy was I wrong.

Just because I was ready to be a stepmother, didn’t mean that Michael’s children were ready to be stepchildren. I was met with reluctance and resentment. When Brandon and his younger sister Heather were with us, they missed their mom, and quite frankly, they didn’t want to be there with us.

Much of our first year of marriage was spent trying to adjust to being part time parents. (Shane had recently moved in with his own Dad).

Even though things weren’t ideal, we all got into a pattern, a routine. It made it easier that Brandon and Heather made friends with some of our neighborhood children. Summers were spent at the pool, cookouts, sleepovers; life as a stepmother, and life as a stepchild became easier, less stressful – and yes, eventually, actually enjoyable.

Michael always looked forward to seeing his children.  He would make it a point to stock up on groceries, look for movies to watch with them, anything to be able to spend time with them. I loved watching him interact with his kids; conversations that would take place over dinner, tucking them into bed at night; he loved being their dad.

I watched Brandon go from a little boy to an awkward adolescent (as most adolescents are). When he turned 13 or so he asked to come live with us. Thankfully, his mother agreed –  and that’s when I became his full time stepmother. Coincidentally, around the same time, Shane came back home to live with us.

Boy was my plate suddenly full! And awesome!

Those few years that Brandon lived with us is when I came to know him much better. Every morning I would take him to school. We had about a 25 minute commute – and don’t judge – but we bonded over listening to Mancow’s Morning Madhouse on the radio. In case you don’t who that his – Mancow is the name of a radio host that was loud, opinionated, irreverent, and sometimes inappropriate. It was mine and Brandon’s guilty pleasure.

As teenagers almost all of us go through a time when our dress or our hair (or both), drive our parents crazy. And Brandon was no exception.

All of his clothes were black. From his hat down to his shoes. With the exception of his gold chain that kept his wallet attached to his jeans. Goth, I guess… but it drove us crazy!

Thankfully, he grew out of that phase.

High school. Rugby team. Good grades. First job. First car. Graduation.

And then one weekend Brandon went out of town with some friends. And his stepfather had to make the impossible call in the middle of the night to Brandon.

“You need to come home. Your dad died tonight.”

Shocked.

We were all shocked by what happened. Suicide. Oh my God, why?

I believe that night Brandon became a man.

At the funeral service he bravely got up in front of everyone; steadily, without hesitation, never faltering.  He talked to this group of friends and family about his dad. About Michael’s  never ending love of family. Of friends. And his children.  Brandon talked about how his dad was always the last one to sit down for dinner, making sure everyone had everything they needed. He spoke of his love for his father. His generosity. The way he hugged, the way he loved.

I have never been more proud of Brandon than I was that night.

That was 10 years ago.

I have watched Brandon grow into one of the finest human beings on this planet. He could’ve used his dad’s death as a crutch, or an excuse not to succeed in life. Any lesser person would have. But he didn’t.

Brandon stayed by my side in the darkest of times, even while dealing with his own grief; when there were no answers to the questions. No rhyme, no reason. And even though we were “technically” not related any longer, he has never not been my son, and I have never not been his stepmother. He made the choice to stay in our lives after his father passed away, and for that I am eternally grateful.

This fine young man has completed college (he and Shane graduated on the same day). He has continued to advance in his career. And now, he will be marrying the love of his life.

We miss Michael. Some of us always will.

But I have been blessed to have a part of him continue to be with me through his son.

Michael’s legacy.  Brandon Michael Corrier.

So, next Saturday, as champagne filled glasses are raised and toasts are made, I will raise my glass and silently toast to Michael and the son he left behind.

Cheers to father and son. Cheers to your legacy Michael. You would be so proud of him, I know I am.

Wish you were here to see it all.

16Mar

A Home for my Heart

Almost seven years ago I found myself standing in a funeral receiving line as the widow of a man that took his own life. I was told later that I uttered the words, “I will never smile again.” Now that I look back, I’m sure I believed those words.

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The road has been long, and at times, seemingly endless.

Many of you have accompanied me on this unintentional journey. You have been there to catch my tears and to buffer my falls. You have endured my many questions that there were no answers to. You have witnessed my small victories and stood by my side while I experienced life’s disappointments. My gratitude for your love and support is immeasurable.

And although grateful for my many friends and family that have been there for me, I discovered that any healing, or any growth that would take place in my life,  would ultimately be up to me.

So I set out on this – what – pilgrimage, if you will, to forge a new life for myself.  A life without Michael. A life without a mate. A life where I was forced to learn my weaknesses.  A life without a safety net.

But where do you begin? Where do you go and what do you do? How do you continue when all you want to do is curl up in a ball and pretend this awful thing didn’t happen?

Well, to answer these somewhat rhetorical questions, I will borrow a scene from one of my favorite movies – Sleepless in Seattle. Tom Hank’s character is trying to explain his life as a new widower.

Doctor Marcia Fieldstone: “What are you going to do?”
Sam Baldwin: “Well, I’m gonna get out of bed every morning… breathe in and out all day long. Then, after a while I won’t have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out… and, then after a while, I won’t have to think about how I had it great and perfect for a while.”

And that’s what I did.

Breathe in.
Mourn for the love that was taken from me.

Breathe out.
Mourn for the life I had to leave behind.

Breathe in.
Fill my lungs with the fragrance of a new day.

Breathe out.
Look around me and witness the china blue sky.

 It was gradual. It was painstakingly slow.

But, in time,  I began to face each day with more optimism than the last; with more laughter (yes, I laughed and smiled again) than sorrow; with more joy than grief. I began to breathe in contentment; and exhale the pain. I have stayed true to the belief that this tragedy would not define me.

And as the years have passed, and as time has marched on, I have evolved and transformed  into a woman that absolutely loves life and all of the good, the bad, and the ugly that it encompasses.

Six months ago I began a weight loss journey; one that I have not shared on social media – maybe because it was so personal – maybe because I feared failure. But I jumped in – head first – and have not come up for air. To date, I have lost 48 pounds.

How do I feel? Wonderful. Successful. In control.

Which catapulted me back into the dating world.

Yes, I joined Match.com.

And on the first morning of my membership I am greeted with the most friendly of greetings:

“It’s a great day to say Good Morning TnShortStory.”

Meet Charlie.

Cat-Charlie-02-5x7

Our beginning was a couple of witty emails, followed by a surprisingly easy phone conversation, and ending in an unpretentious meeting at a local Chili’s for lunch. Come to find out,  we have a mutual friend (thank you Spencer), that corroborated that neither one of us were serial killers, stalkers, or relatively bad people.

We have been together ever since.

May I please tell you about this man?

He is kind. He has a heart that is pure, and I believe, spun of gold.  His sincerity reaches to my soul. His amazing creativity inspires me. His energy is contagious and the way he looks at me – well, it melts my heart.  His love for life is equal to mine.

We fell in love; almost in an instant.  All of this seemed to be happening so fast – or was it? Looking back – given my history and his, I believe God has been preparing our hearts for one another for some time now. The time was right. Our hearts were ready. And it happened.

There is no turning back from this irrefutable, irresistible, wonderful love. Come hell, or high water, I love this man. And he loves me. If I could safely shout it from the rooftops, I would. We are planning a life together. A future.

From the beginning we have captured a sentiment.

We love “us”.

A unit that was formed from two people into one entity.

Us.

And that is how we will remain.

Us.

Charlie and Cathy.

A life to be lived. A love to share. A future to write.

Our hearts are finally home.

All my love,
Cat

For Charlie.

21May

Six years, or 2,191 days without him

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This is my week. This is “The Week.” This is the week that I allow myself to relive that night in May 2009 when my world was turned upside down; the night my husband, without any warning, took his own life. The night that would forever change not only my direction, but the direction of his entire family. This is the week that I allow myself to be enveloped with grief if I feel the need; the time to reflect on this unintentional journey; giving myself permission to cry and be sad for a bit. This indulgence might appear to negate the progress that I have made, but in reality it brings to light the everyday joy that I am now able to find in life again.

So, please, allow me to share some of my thoughts and feelings that guide me through “my week”.

It’s hard to believe that I’m in the midst of the sixth anniversary of Michael’s death. Sometimes it feels like yesterday that the police officers were knocking on my bedroom door, and other times, it feels like a lifetime ago, or even yet, someone else’s lifetime ago.  And yet no matter the perception, the reality remains that this man has been gone for six long years. You know, there’s going to come a point in time if I live long enough, that he will have been gone longer than we were together, and that will make me sad.

Even today as I rummage through old photos, I am reminded that there will never be any “new” pictures of Michael. All of our images of him stopped in 2009. And as the lives of his family have continued, and our own images have, and will continue to change, his image will remain frozen in time. As I flip through the photos, my breath is taken away when I see all the “last” images of him. The last photo of him with Lexi (the only grandchild he got to meet), his last Christmas, his last Easter, and sadly, the last picture taken with his son Brandon and daughter Heather.  I weep at these sights. And not just for me, but for Michael and all that he has missed. I weep for his children, Brandon and Heather, as well as for my children, Heather, Robin, and Shane.   I break down in sobs knowing that his grandchildren (and future grandchildren)  will never know the wonderful man that they would’ve called “Poppy”.

Michael was an incredible man. He was a giving man, a selfless man. He was one that would take on your burdens and make them his own. He was the last one to sit down at the dinner table to ensure that everyone had everything they needed. He would give a stranger the last dollar in his pocket if they needed it. He was my emotional rock and my best friend. Michael was always quick with a smile, generous with his hugs, and a kiss if you allowed him. He loved with his whole being, he gave with his whole heart. He made everyone around him feel special, important, and loved.

Michael loved life more than anyone I knew. So, the obvious question would be “Why would he take his own life?” This individual that appeared to be in charge of his own happiness, a man that portrayed strength and control. Why?  I don’t have the answers, nor will I ever. I can only speculate and to do that really serves no purpose. He made a decision, a very poor decision and it cost him his life. I have moved on from seeking an answer, as it only sends me into a spiral of sorrow, self doubt, and confusion.

There have been numerous times when I have asked the rhetorical question. “How could you do this to me Michael?” My own sister has vocalized the same question to me. Funny though, when she asks the question I feel defensive of Michael. I sat down one night and wrote these words while tears were streaming down my face and I was choking back sobs.

“I never would have done this to you,
This pain that you have put me through.
This hell called healing,
You left it all up to me to deal with.
I never would have done this to you”.

It has taken time for me to realize that Michael didn’t do this “to me”. I, along with his other family members, were merely casualties left behind in his act of desperation. I don’t blame him anymore, I only have love and sadness for him. The anger ship sailed long ago.

 Although having a loved one pass away in any other way is devastating, the nature of a death by suicide adds to the complex act of grieving. I know many individuals that have witnessed their loved one struck down with cancer and other life threatening illnesses. I have seen the heartache and the desperation of them watching their soul mate fight for their life and ultimately succumb to the illness and pass away. And I’m left thinking, “God Michael, WHY DIDN’T YOU FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE LIKE THEY DID?” That is the added ingredient in this process of grieving for a victim of suicide.

So, I’ve learned a few things about being the widow of a man that took his life – through my own experiences and those of others. I suspect these thoughts are probably universal to survivors.

  • If you’re my friend, never be afraid to talk to me about Michael. I’m always ready to hear stories of him, your memories of him. That keeps his memory alive.
  • Unless I bring up the act of suicide, I don’t want to talk about the way he died.
  • Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m pretty strong, I’ve been through hell – and in some ways I’m a better person to have gone through this.
  • Never – ever – tell me that everything happens for a reason.

My family agrees that if Michael had waited until daylight, we might’ve had a different outcome. So please, if suicide has ever crossed your mind, just wait.

Wait until daylight. Wait until you see your child’s smile again. Wait until you hear a bird’s chirp, or a choir singing God’s praises. Wait until your love kisses you Good Morning. Wait for that sliver of light, because it’s there to be seen. Just wait, because life is worth living. Life is worth the heartache. Life is worth the wait.

Above all, it is my wish that Michael be remembered for how he lived his life, the legacy that he left behind; not how he chose to end it.

Love and peace to all,

Cat Corrier

20Sep

Beyond my Last Starry Night

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I wrote “My last Starry Night” in December of 2010.  Michael had been gone for 18 months.  Since that writing, I have probably read that story a few dozen times. Not because in any way is it literary genius, but because sometimes I need to take myself back, just to see how far I have come.

As I promised on the fifth anniversary of Michael’s death, I would write the story of hope, of happiness, and achievement that I have experienced since that horrible night in May of 2009.  Perhaps the best way to share my growth, is to share with you excerpts of some of my journal entries early on in my grief.

September 23, 2009

Grief follows me like a shadow, sorrow a constant companion. 

Dear Michael,

You took your life 4 months and 2 days ago. Today someone spoke to me of guns, in an almost romantic way – the kick of one, the feel of another. I could’ve left and not looked back. But I stayed and asked the polite questions as to not make them feel uncomfortable. What a joke. Is that how it should be? Is it so easy for people to forget that my husband shot himself in the heart just a few short months ago? 

December 24, 2010

As this day comes to a close, and as this year comes to an end, I am so sadly consumed by the loss of my love. I so wish that I could move on, that this still was not the focus of my soul. As in the dimming of the day, as in the waking of the night, as in the breaking of the dawn, I need him, I miss him, I yearn for him. Life will never be the same without him. I’m just not sure what to do, and yet, as I do nothing, life continues.

I am so scared that I have stopped growing, that my life has ceased to have meaning. He, Michael, was my center. My world spun on the axis of his love, his caring, his being. That inertia balanced everything else in my life. Without him my world has spun out of control. I am trying desperately to gain that control back, to center myself back into existence. Dear God, please help me with this.

**Side note** I don’t want to leave the impression that I didn’t have good days during this time in my life, I did.  I had good, hearty, fulfilling moments. As most of us, I chronicle my life on Facebook. I look back on those days and I am reminded that although it was a very tough time in my life, I also see the many smiles, laughs, and tender moments I experienced. **

January 10, 2011

As predicted, around 2am, snow starting falling in East Tennessee. I was awakened with a phone call at 5:30 am that work would be closed today. Rather than rolling over and going back to sleep, I got out of bed, bundled up, and went outside to see the snow. My God, it was so beautiful, so peaceful. There is a certain quiet that a blanket of snow brings. As my lungs were filled with the cold, crisp air, I felt a sense of joy. It was the joy of the moment, the joy of witnessing the sight of predawn beauty; the joy of being the sole witness to the splendor before me. Thank you God for this early morning blessing.

It is now early afternoon and I have decided to restart the book The Year of Magical Thinking. It is a recount of Joan Didion’s experience after the sudden death of her husband. I had started reading this book previously and had to put it down; not for the lack of interest, but for the pain and grief it stirred up in me. Yet, I have decided to pick it up again, and dive back into her reality and mine. Her words resonate throughout me, “Life changes fast. Life changes in the instant. You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.”  Maybe I think that by reading it, somehow, it might speed up or even cure this grief that inhabits me. 

** Side Note **The reading of that book was the beginning of my understanding of grief, of coming to terms with the loss. It was my first encounter with the writings of a widow, of her pain, her loss, and knowing that what I was feeling was not only normal, but part of the cycle of healing.**

Monday, February 21, 2011

Somewhere, Somehow, Sometime in the last few weeks I feel that I have made the transformation from “victim” to “survivor”, Thank you God.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Louise and I registered for an art session at Spirited Art. I am so excited to be doing something so out of my box! I want my life enriched with new experiences, new challenges, and new sights. 

**Side note**  I remember exactly where I was when I wrote that last entry. I remember the feeling of optimism, the assurance that the worst was behind me. Of course, as in any journey from grief, I had setbacks, but I felt like I had reached a turning point here. **

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

For some time now I have battled with a late night conundrum. What is it that prevents me from going to sleep at a reasonable time in order to feel refreshed and rested the next day? There’s a battle within me that keeps me up night after night… with nothing but a vague anticipation of… I don’t know, a lack of completion… something not finished. And last night, as I finally turned off the television and looked at the clock, I realized it was 11:30. Our last night together, Michael came to bed at 11:30. That realization made me gasp for breath, as the tears welled up in my eyes. Oh my God, these last two years, I have been waiting for Michael to come join me in bed… as it should be…as it was for so many years. 

Present day:

I’m not sure why, but I didn’t journal much after that. Maybe it was because I started living more in the present and less in the past. Also, often journaling would conjure up the reality of my husband’s death and that would mentally put me in a bad state of mind.

It’s been five years since my husband took his life. Rarely do I torture myself looking for answers that can’t be found.  I no longer live in the past. This road, this journey  has been long, it’s been rocky, I have traveled into unchartered territory. There was a time in this process that grief would so consume me that I would crawl under my bed and sob into the carpet (hoping that the sounds would be muffled).

There are no magic words to make it better.  As stated in the book Second Firsts by Christina Rasmussen, “The identity that’s created while grieving is based upon pain, fear, guilt, anger, sadness, and a broken heart. There is a different identity waiting to be revealed. A real evolution takes place in the  brain during the days, months, or years following a loss – and it holds exciting possibilities.” She makes the point that “Time doesn’t heal, action does.”

So where am I today? I’m in a good place. I’m in a state of peace, of joy, of gratitude. I decided early on that I would choose happiness. I felt so strongly about it that the word is in a prominent place in my home.

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I stayed determined that the death of my husband would not define me forever. I held fast to the belief that I was stronger than my situation. And what have I achieved? Well, first, confidence. A higher belief in myself that I am far stronger than I ever imagined myself to be. And secondly, confidence in the relationships that have gotten me through these many hurdles. My children, Heather, Robin, Shane, and Brandon. My beloved sister Terri that stayed by my side for an entire year after Michael’s death. Sadly some of my friends that were thrown into this journey with me have gone to the wayside, but in the meantime I have been blessed with new friendships.

It took me four years to financially get back on my feet. The death of my husband forced me into bankruptcy and the loss of my home. It’s a humbling experience to see that the home you worked so hard for being sold to the highest bidder on the front steps of the courthouse. Although blessed to have roommates to share the everyday expenses, I praise God that I am finally able to live on my own again. I rally in my independence and rejoice in having my own place again.

The last paragraph in “My Last Starry Night”:

My prayer is that someday I will find my way through this labyrinth of grief, of loneliness, and heartbreak. At times I feel like great strides have been made, only to run into a wall in this maze I am trapped in, but I have faith that I will get through this. I may not come out the same person that went in, but maybe a better person. One that will never take for granted the warmth of family, the gift of life, the treasure of laughter, and the smile of a child. And maybe, someday, God willing, the love for another man.

Present day:

All of those prayers have been answered. Well, except for the part about the love for another man. I’m just not there yet, nor will I possibly ever be. But that’s fine, because it is well, it is well with my soul.

Blessings,

Cat