So I feel the need to get this off my chest... Maybe it will help in my healing...
Justin asked to borrow the car to pick up his medication. I had taken my midterm the day before, so his help was welcome. I had planned a quiet evening. I was happy he had run all the errands and I could spend the evening with him. I was excited to tell Justin I had barely passed my test, but I was still getting a B in the class. Thursday was the funnest day I had in years. The girls at work were on a roll and told some wild stories. They had me laughing the entire day. My face hurt. As everyone knows, I don't get much opportunity in my life for fun. I had been furiously searching for an apartment because Justin was convinced the house was making him sick. Apartments in Bothell are really expensive and my search was fruitless. Justin's grandfather sent us $1k to help with the move.
Anyway, Justin picked me up from the bus stop. When we got home, Mary told me Justin had been to the pawn shop. He was in the bathroom writing, which was not unusual. I encouraged him to keep a journal because he felt he didn't have anyone to talk to. I asked him why he pawned a bunch of our stuff. I told him he should have waited until we found a place to move into. He blew up and told me I never used the stuff he pawned, and it was none of my business. I explained this was something married people discussed, and I didn't think I was out of line. He became very angry and started screaming at me that I had ruined his life, that he hated me, and I didn't appreciate the things he had done for me over the years; raising my kids, taking care of me when I was sick, etc. I told him that I did appreciate everything especially considering the amount of pain he was in the entire time. He continued to review every wrong he felt I had done to him in the 9 years we were together. I told him that if he was that unhappy, and thought I was such a horrible person, I would help him find an apartment. When I said this, he pulled the money he had in his pocket out and threw it at me. He said all I was interested in was money and I could have all of it. I told him I was not interested in the money, I was worried about him. He told me to leave him alone. He said he should have cut my throat in April after I punched him. He was deranged. He didn't look like himself. He grabbed the back of my head and pushed his fist into my eye socket like he wanted to punch me, but was holding back. I could do nothing but look into his eyes. I was searching for my loving husband, the man who loved me and the girls more than anything in the world, the joy filled person I loved with all my heart and soul. He wasn't there. All I saw was a desperate man. A man wrecked by pain and completely out of his mind. He grabbed my arms and pushed me out of the bathroom. He said "do you want to see what I bought today?". He reached behind the bed and pulled out a rifle and informed me that it was loaded. I ran to call the police. I was told by the suicide hotline to call the police if he was having a crisis. He yelled at me not to call the police and broke the telephone. I begged him not to hurt himself, but honestly I thought he would shoot me too. I told him I was not worth dying over. I told him I would help him find another place to live, and maybe we could work on our marriage. He locked himself in the bathroom.
I snuck my cell phone into a back room and called my friend, Becky. Luckily, she answered and called the police. When I tried to call them myself, I was directed to the Albuquerque police department. I ran to Rain's room, where the girls were. I put them on the floor of the only room with a lock on the door behind a mattress and waited for the police. I was terrified he would shoot me. Justin always told me that he could not stand the thought of me being with anyone else. We had talked about dying together when I started getting sick a year before. So much ran through my head. I wanted so badly to leave the room to try to talk him out of killing himself, but I didn't want the girls to lose both their parents that day. I was more afraid they would end up alone than I was for my own safety. Mary told me that she now understood why Justin had told her over and over that this would be his last day.
When the police arrived, we climbed out the window and they took the girls. While talking to the police, I realized I didn't know what kind of rifle Justin had, and convinced myself he had bought an air rifle since he didn't know anything about guns. Becky's husband arrived and took the girls to their apartment. Becky stayed with me. They brought in negotiators and the swat team. There were no less than 30 officers on the scene. They evacuated my neighbors and closed the street. Looking back, I don't think I made it clear that Justin was suicidal. That may have changed the way they handled the situation. Who knows, at the time, I thought the situation was clear.
After 2 hours, there were two large explosions at the house. A couple of hours after that, one of the officers told us the media was on its way and they wanted to put Becky and myself into one of their vehicles. The media was not coming; they wanted to contain me so when they told me he had shot himself, I would not be standing in the street with my neighbors all around. I felt like I was in a dream. I had honestly convinced myself Justin would be okay. I asked if I could see him. The officer said it was a gruesome scene, and it would be better if I didn't.
I thought the negotiators would talk him out of the house and take him to the hospital where they could help him. I was careful not to tell them Justin had threatened me. I was afraid he would end up in prison if he made it out of the house alive.
They asked if I wanted to talk to a chaplain. I told them I was not interested. I didn't think I could handle someone throwing god in my face at a time when I hated god. They told me they had a grief counselor, which I agreed to talk to. Turns out, the grief counselor was the fire department's chaplain. Liars. Talking to him was the best possible thing for me. He didn't mention god. His name is Chuck Goodwin, and I swear I could not have made it though this without him. He walked me through cremation arrangements, and even arranged for the funeral home to donate the service since I could not pay. Chuck held my hand and called every day to find out how the girls and I were doing. We stayed with Becky for a week. Justin's parents arrived for his cremation. This was a bunch of bullshit I will probably write about another time. Amber, one of the girls I worked with, offered her apartment to us for an additional week. My dad flew to Seattle, we packed the house in 2 days and we were on our way back to Albuquerque.
After receiving a copy of Justin's death certificate, I had a timeline for Justin's last hours. The girls and I left the house around 6:45, Justin shot himself at 7:05 (he had enough time to smoke two cigarettes), the police acquired a search warrant at 9:30 (this is when they entered the house), they informed me he was dead at 11.
Finding out the time of his death actually made me feel a little better. I agonized at the thought he spent hours in the house, surrounded by police with spotlights, struggling with his decision, thinking about his baby, and me and the girls. After returning to the house and seeing the aftermath, it doesn't appear he struggled. It looked like it was probably a clean shot. I asked the medical examiner if he blew his head clean off, he told me I didn't want to know, but asked for the name of Justin's dentist because they had to identify him through dental records. I think that says it all.
I think I have the most difficulty with a couple of things. Justin was a beautiful person. I imagine him dying in the forest somewhere. I imagine he takes his last breath surrounded by beauty and peace. I can't accept the fact that he died in such a violent way. Alone and in the terrible mental state he was in. Such a tragic shame.
The other thing is that he told me he hated me. That was one of the last things he said to me. Justin was an honest person, and took great pain to make sure he didn't say things he didn't mean. He was wearing his wedding ring when he died. He stopped wearing it in April when I punched him. I was surprised he had it on. I think it may have been his way of telling me he still loved me. I don't know. That's what I tell myself, anyway.
Each person has reacted to Justin's death in a different way. Most have really surprised me. I think Justin would be surprised, too. I honestly think he thought me and the girls would go on with business as usual. I think he thought we didn't care if he were there or not. Who knows how he planned his last evening to be. Where and when did he plan to shoot himself? What would that evening have been like if I had not asked him about the pawn shop? I know in my heart that I did everything I could for him in the 9 years we were together. I gave everything I had to try to figure out what was wrong with him and I tried my best to make sure he was comfortable. I tried to make him happy, but it honestly became too much for me. I spent his last weeks begging his parents for help. They didn't understand Justin's condition. Unfortunately, no one but me and the girls really understood what he was going through. Now I bear the burden of being the last person to see him alive. I am left to live without my partner in crime, my heart and soul. I feel numb and lonesome. I miss him every moment. He always defended me and comforted me. We wanted so much to grow old together. To watch the kids grow up. We wanted to travel. We were so close and so thoroughly in love with eachother. We had many unforgetable years together. I am shattered and lost.