My Husband's Son Committed Suicide
This month marks the 8th anniversary of my husband's son's suicide. I shake my head thinking back to that awful day, January 5th, when my cell phone rang and my daughter called with the horrific news. On a brighter note, eight years later, the Grands, our grandchildren -- Scott, Logan and David -- are involved in busy and productive lives. It was not easy.
As young boys in college they expected to join their father and grandfather in the family business, Sheldon Good and Company. It had always been their grandfather's dream.
But, life threw their family a curve ball. The boys were robbed of a career in their grandfather's real estate business. They had no choice but to rise to the occasion. They all left Chicago, because of unpleasant memories, settling in Austin, Texas, Bloomington, Indiana and Manhattan. They are thriving. Scott just became engaged to Katie. Logan married Annie and David is studying for his Master's Degree in commercial art. Our daughter-in-law also left Illinois and lives in Boise, Idaho. They are trying to put the horror of losing their father and husband in perspective.
Going back on Shelly's and my life...
For the first several years of our marriage, I swear to you darlings, we did not have one unhappy day as a married couple. Oh sure there was a little of this and a little of that, but nothing marred a day in our lives. We were living a fairytale life. My life resembled the movie, "Pretty Woman"!
Nothing lasts forever. Suddenly and quickly, bombs began exploding all around us! Sharp shrapnel from the blasts pierced our hearts and our lives. They were huge, coming from out of nowhere, shattering us. They were devastating blasts and we at times felt our lives were out of control.
A horrific betrayal of a son's greed and lack of respect for his father, who gave him everything, started the chain of events that lasted over a few years beginning with my husband's son running a coup against his father's successful Real Estate Company, Sheldon Good and Company. Can you imagine? We could not. Over the next months and years there were lawsuits; I was struck with cancer twice, my husband's son eventually bankrupted Sheldon Good and Company and finally the unthinkable, his son committed suicide!
Fortunately, my husband and I are survivors and best friends. Of course our lives will never be the same. My husband was robbed of his company and a son. The Grands were robbed from a real estate career, and their father. Fortunately, out of our war torn episodes comes growth.
How we survived suicide.
Sitting in front of my computer today, the memory of the suicide in our family flashes before my eyes. I shuddered as tears well up for my husband, for my darling daughter-in-law and our three grandsons. My dog, Orchid, begins to lick my bare leg sensing my distress. After a few moments of kissing her back, I put fingers to keyboard to write my story of that horrific day eight years ago when I became the bearer of heartbreaking news to my darling husband.
One late afternoon my cell phone rang. I heard my daughter, Lizzie's, frantic voice,
"Mom! Mom! Are you OK? Where are you?
"I'm fine. I'm at the market. What is wrong? What's wrong?"
"Where is Papa?" Her voice had an ominous tone.
"He's at a meeting. What's wrong? Did something happen, Lizzie?" I felt myself starting to lose control.
"Steven committed suicide, mom," she replied in a hysterical voice. The story is on every television news channel in Chicago! I was afraid the news would be on National TV in California! I don't want Papa to the hear about Steven's death over the news."
"This can't be true! This can't be true!" I said in a bewildered voice.
"Mom, it's true. He shot himself."
"Oh my G-d, this is too much to bear. What words can I use to tell a father his son committed suicide?"
"I don't know what to tell you mom. I just know you will find your words."
"I love you, Lizzie."
"I love you, mom."
We said our goodbyes and I drove home in a daze. "How will I break the news, I kept saying out loud to myself. "My poor dear husband. This is devastating. This is a family disaster. There are no words. There are no words."
These were the thoughts racing through my mind as I entered our home. No one was home except Orchid. I just sat and pondered. I remember finally hearing the door open and the familiar voice, "Hi Honey, I'm home. Where are you?"
"In here," I answered.
He came in, bent down and gave me a kiss as he always does; smiling his usual smile, patting our dog Orchid, and talking a mile a minute about his meeting.
He immediately stopped when he noticed an unfamiliar look on my face and two cups of hot tea prepared and sitting on the table. We never drink tea! To this day I do not know why I made tea!
"Is something wrong?"
And then I told him as best I could all the while holding his hands in mine and kissing his tears away as they began to pour down his cheeks.
His first response as the tears rolled down his face where not words. He hit his chest with his fist so hard! He did not speak. He couldn't talk! He was in shock. I thought he was having a heart attack!
"Shelly, are you having a heart attack!"
And then he said, "I'm not having a heart attack. My heart is breaking. My heart is broken."
And the questions came and I answered as we sobbed together while I held him in my arms; the tea cups filled to the brim.
How did my husband survive? How did our family survive?
THIS IS MY MESSAGE
We women are so wise, darlings. You know that! We are gathers of everything, especially, gathering our family around us. If we have the ability to see into their needs, we can forge a helpful plan.
After I thought things through, I devised my plan.
I engaged my husband into the personal lives of our daughter-in-law, Jami and Steven's three sons. I felt if he took on the role of 'father' he would heal. He would feel he was helping the Grands grow up and Steven, his son, would rest in peace. Fortunately I was right. But it took nudging and time.
Fathers are not mothers. Grandfathers are not grandmothers. Women are 'mother earth.' So I would constantly remind him...
"Did you called the boys today?"
"I did but they did not return my call," was the reply.
"Call the boys, again! Call them five times if you have to. You are their grandfather. They need you!"
"When did you speak to Jami?"
"A week ago" would be the reply.
"I will dial Jami's number and hand you the phone!"
I involved us in our bereaved families life. I would invite Jami and the boys out for dinner. Or I would say, "Let's invite Jami and the boys to stay with us in California. Or when I bought birthday cards I would hand him a pen and tell him, "write a message and please sign your name!" Or I would mention to him, "let's take the boys to Brooks Brother's Men Store shopping!" Or "let's visit the Grands."
I truly did not let up. I continued: "The boys need a roll model. Jami needs your advice. You are that person. You can lead them into manhood and be involved in all their important choices. You can take over the reins from Steven. They are lucky to have you. And you are lucky to have them."
And that is how my husband survived.
He threw himself into his grandson's and Jami's lives. We both did. I am their secret- keeper, advisor and fun and loving Honey. I truly love them all and I hope they know I would raise heaven and earth if they needed me. The Grands all revere their grandfather. Jami revers her father-in-law's advice. He is leading them down the right path into manhood, though they do not always like what he has to say! Jami has become my third daughter. Shelly and I have worked at filling a void in their lives. We are their security blanket. And they give their love back to us ten-fold.
Will our carefree life ever be the same? The answer is no. Steven's suicide is an emotional scar that will never dissolve. There are three sons without a father, a darling wife who lost a husband, and a father who will never hug his son again.
As my fingers continue to wiz across my keyboard I am struck by the definition of the word suicide and survive. The definition of suicide: to end. The definition of survival: to continue in spite of.
Looking back on my husband's life, thus far, as a father, businessman, husband, grandfather and pillar in the Chicago community, I cannot fathom how his son's values went completely astray. My husband would never betray a stranger let alone his family. I can only surmise he was not well and give him the benefit of the doubt.
I am sorry Steven chose not to live. But, I am happy that my family choose to survive in spite of it.
Here is the hotline number to call if you suspect or know someone in need of help. 1.800.273.8255
Do something GOOD today: Make survival one of your favorite words.
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