Living in the Aftermath of Suicide

By: Trixy Jackson

I didn’t know in September 1997 when I met Dante, that twenty-four years later September would hold a different meaning for me. Dante was my first love. I met him freshman year of high school. I knew he battled depression. Even at fifteen, he suspected he wouldn’t live past twenty-seven, like Kurt Cobain. Something he would allude to through the years. I thought he was being ridiculous, as I couldn’t see past my rose-tinted glasses and the love that swelled in my heart for him. 

In 2005 we married and I realized as soon as we moved into our new apartment, that something in him had changed. The depression and anxiety had grown. At first, I thought it was marriage, graduation, moving, and a new job causing the change, but I was wrong. It was mental illness, and it had a firm grip on him.

Image curtesy of Wedding Dreamz on Unsplash.

By 2009, I felt more like a roommate than his wife. He agreed to marriage counseling but refused to get help for his mental health. He held a high-security clearance at work and worried he would lose his job. I moved out in 2010. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made. I still loved him, but my depression was growing because of the situation. He didn’t even ask where I was going. The depression wouldn’t allow it.

In the years to follow, I called his parents on two separate occasions to inform them that Dante called to tell me he had checked himself into a hospital and that he had written and shown me a suicide letter. They went to his aid. They put protocols in place, and Dante was getting help.

In 2020, I frequently checked in with Dante. I knew Covid was a huge stressor for many people and I was worried about him. He told me he’d quit his job before Covid, but was looking for a new one. He mentioned our high school reunion, asking me if I thought there would be one. I found this question odd. I knew he wouldn’t go. He suffered from social anxiety. The conversation concerned me. I asked him if I needed to call his parents. He was adamant that he was fine.

Several months later, on August 22, 2021, I got the call I never wanted to receive. His stepmother informed me that Dante had finally lost his battle with depression. It felt as if my world had ripped in two.

The next day, I started emergency therapy. Two days later, we had a funeral. I worried about his mother and how she would receive the woman who had divorced her son and remarried. She wasn’t my biggest fan.

Walking into the funeral home was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I made it into the entryway and broke down into a guttural sob. Everyone knew who the sound was coming from, even if they couldn’t see me.

Image curtesy of Chris Vanhove on Unsplash.

Funerals are supposed to help with the grieving process, but when you lose someone to suicide, it takes more than a funeral to ease the pain. Dante didn’t die from cancer or an unexpected accident. He chose his end. He left a letter, but even when there is a letter, questions remain. Why didn’t I call his parents? If I hadn’t left him would he still be here?

Losing someone you love to suicide changes you, and you look back at every conversation you’ve had with that person and see everything as a sign and wonder how you could have missed them. Dante messaged me about our cat, Onyx, a few days before the incident. He told me about her health, his concerns, and how he was worried. Later, I looked back on this conversation and saw it in a different light. He wanted Onyx to be okay without him. He even left a note saying I may want Onyx back.

Every day was a struggle. My current marriage was in trouble because I couldn’t stop thinking about Dante. I was heartbroken and in the deepest depression I’d ever experienced. I felt my feelings were betraying my current husband.

A couple of weeks after Dante’s death, I met with his father and stepmother. We shared details of what we knew leading up to the event. They let me read the letter he left. I thought the meeting would provide closure, but I found I had even more questions.

I wrote emails to Dante. I tried to see the situation from his perspective. Why was he done with life? He could no longer leave the house to do the things he loved. He was paranoid and struggling with daily activities that were once simple.

My grieving process bounced around. It wasn’t linear. Once I was past the first anniversary, I thought I’d be okay. I no longer felt the need to email Dante on a daily, or even weekly basis. I didn’t cry every time I thought of him. I even laughed with friends, at some of our shared memories of Dante. 

Image curtesy of Valeriia Bugaiova on Unsplash.

In December 2022, four months after I felt semi-normal, my cousin took his life. I was in shock and I drove my car into a ditch. The walls felt like they were closing in on me. Anxiety made it hard to swallow and breathe. My world had turned dark. I was angry at my cousin and Dante for leaving me behind to drown in my grief. I questioned why I should be here when they weren’t, and I realized I’d hit an all-time personal low. My husband had to find me help, as my counseling office told me I couldn’t get in for twelve to eighteen months. 

I joined BetterHelp which offers remote counseling. I opted to do phone sessions once per week, as the forum allows you to message your counselor anytime you need to talk. I also began attending groupinars for grief and loss and I wrote regular journal entries to sort through my feelings.  My therapist was able to see the journal entries and respond in the chat forum outside of our regular sessions. Having this outlet was huge for me.

I’ve also found that connecting with your spirituality can help relieve some of the weight felt by such a traumatic event. I started meditating, which gave me a calm I didn’t know I could possess. I find peace in believing they are at peace.

In one of my groupinars, I found out about Life Certificates, which I filled out for Dante and my cousin. The certificates helped me to process my memories and get them down on paper as a sort of memorial to their lives. 

Image curtesy of Prateek Katyal on Unsplash

Seven months after my cousin’s suicide, I still cry, but I can breathe better. It still hurts, but it’s more bearable. I still email and talk to Dante occasionally. It’s nice to think he’s out there and that he hears me, even if I can’t see him.

If you’ve lost someone to suicide, know that you’re not alone and there are others who understand what you’re going through. It’s tough to grieve such a big loss, and while time heals, it doesn’t erase or replace. My hope for anyone going through such pain is to know they are wanted and loved more than they could ever realize, and that they would continue to search for peace and meaning and allow life to reveal it in time.

Image curtesy of Amer Mughawish on Unsplash

Trixy lives in Wisconsin where she enjoys spending time with her friends, family, and two cats. She has a B.S. in Human Development & Family Studies. When she isn't researching or writing, she enjoys traveling and documenting everything via photographs.



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