There is a certain kind of pain that does not heal.  Anyone who has lost a loved one to suicide knows exactly what I mean.

My wife, Chrissie, took her own life in 2016.  I have learned the hard way that you can drive yourself crazy trying to figure out why it happened, or wondering if there was anything you could have  done to prevent it.  With counseling I’ve learned that ultimately, the person who took her own life was responsible for that terrible choice.  It’s not exactly comforting, yet it’s true.

I’ve been told that a person who commits suicide is in a deep, dark place that the rest of us cannot understand.  Chrissie brought joy and friendship to many people; she helped total strangers and countless others who never knew she was caught up in that deep, dark place.  One way I try to honor her memory is by doing little things for total strangers.  It just feels good, because I know part of her spirit lives on through me. 

But many “survivors of suicide” (the term counselors use for us) are haunted by one thing:  There is no sense of closure.  I’m left with an emotional scar that resurfaces in the least expected times, in the least expected places. 

It is a certain kind of pain that does not heal.  And I would not wish it on anyone.