I've thought about blogging before, many times actually. I love to write because I find it extremely therapeutic. I make bad jokes at the wrong times because I would rather laugh than cry. I'm an open book with nothing to hide. That is one trait that drove my husband up a wall! He was a very private person, so for him to know I was blogging because of and about him may not make him too happy, but I hope he'd realize that this is one way for me to start to heal.
My husband was a Marine. I hate using the past tense to talk about him. Right now I should be kissing my husband goodbye as he goes to work knowing that in a few hours he'll be home and I can give him a hug as he walks in the door in his camies. That won't happen now, not ever. Tom, my husband, the man I have loved for the past 9 years, is dead. I am still in the denial stage. He died Monday May 10, 2010. He took his own life aboard Camp Lejeune.
That day, that horrible, horrible day was supposed to be the day he Finally got the real help that he had been so desperately seeking. I thought he was ok. I was told he was ok. I was told that because I told them he had a gun I saved his life. I didn't save his life. I killed him. Yes, everyone says "It's not your fault. There is nothing you could have done. You were trying to help him." But no matter what anyone says that is how I feel. I will always feel responsible for how his life ended. I got off the phone and the words that she used didn't sit right with me. "The MP's secured him and he is on the way to the hospital." How did they secure him? Was he hurt? I know she said he was alive and ok, but maybe somewhere deep down I knew. She didn't know, not then. She thought he was ok, I did too for a little while.
3:45PM: An unmarked car pulled up to my house. I went outside and he had the wrong address. I came back in and broke down crying. I thanked God because for a moment I thought it was Tom. I thought he was here with bad news, but he wasn't. He was ok (again), or so I thought. Not even 15 minutes later, a knock at my door. I opened it and knew. You never open the door to anyone in their uniform unless they have the worst news ever. I stepped outside and closed the door behind me as my children were inside. I asked if he was dead. They needed to verify who I was. For some reason they had my maiden name. I corrected them and as I said "It's Bagosy" I fell to the ground before he could even get the words out "We regret to inform you..." It was all I heard as I hit the ground. My neighbors all rushed over and took care of the kids. How? How did it happen? I was told he was alive and safe! How did it all go wrong? Eventually I got my answers, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter because he was gone.
I found out at 4PM that my husband had died-- that my life was over, at least in the sense that nothing would ever be the same. This wasn't something that could be fixed. It wasn't something that an apology would make up for. It wasn't another ridiculous fight that got out of hand and in a few hours it would be as if nothing bad happened. This was real. This IS real, but I have yet to accept it. How do I do that? How do really truly accept that I am a WIDOW and a single mom?
I try to make it real in my mind. I try to sit there and tell myself 'He's NOT coming back. This is NOT another deployment. He's NOT in the field or on duty or anything else. He IS Dead. Forever. There is no turning back.' But I can't. I stop myself because the pain is to great; it's too real. Living in denial is better. I cry and cry, but I can stop myself after a while. I'm terrified of the day that it truly hits me and I can no longer pretend. The tears will flow and I don't know if they'll ever stop.
May 15, 2010 was his funeral back in DE. It was easier being there, even on that day. I'm back home in NC and it's hard-- It's Hard! It hurts more. I can't pretend here as well. I look around and EVERYTHING reminds me of him. I'm waiting right now, waiting for the day for it to totally sink in, to become real. I fear that day, but it's coming and when it does... well I don't have a clue as what to expect. No one knows truly how this feels or how to handle it until it's here, and it's here. That's why I'm blogging, so that I can have a place to put my pain. It's a journey I don't want to be on, but I have no choice. I have to learn this life day by day. There are so many things I want to tell Tom, I want to share, I want him to know. This is my place for him-- for me to tell him.