Life Goes On: Picking up the Pieces After a Loved One’S Suicide

By Kim Haymans

All loss is difficult, but death by suicide is a traumatic loss that brings with it more than just grief. Suicide leaves the surviving family members and friends with unfounded feelings of guilt and shame, questions that can never be answered, and regrets that make accepting the death almost impossible. When my husband took his own life in 2009, my life spiraled out of control for a time. I struggled to understand what had happened, why it happened, and, most of all, why I didnt see it coming. I blamed myself and for a time wanted to give up and die. Living and dealing with the events surrounding his death were just too difficult and painful. I questioned everybody and everything in my lifeincluding God.

In time, with the help of family members, friends, counselors, pastors, and prayer, I found my way out of the depths of my despair. I gradually began to put my life back together againslowly but surely, one piece at the time. My life is drastically different now from what I imagined it would be when I first married. Ive had to accept changes that were forced on me, but Ive tried to make the best of those changes and use them in a positive way. I began writing a blog two years after my husbands death as a means of therapy for myself. I never dreamed it would turn into something that would help others as well. After keeping my blog going for two years, I decided to pursue turning it into a book. Life Goes On: Picking Up the Pieces After a Loved Ones Suicide is the result of my personal experience and is told straight from the heart with total honesty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Jan 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781452588698

Kim Haymans

Kim Haymans is an elementary school teacher with a specialist’s degree in early childhood. She is an only child with one son and two grandchildren. She lives in a rural area in midwestern Georgia. Kim met her future husband while in college. They married in 1983 and had just celebrated their 25th anniversary at the time of his death.

Book preview

The Beginning - A Rainy Monday

I remember that day like it was yesterday. Every detail is etched in my mind, probably forever. It was a rainy Monday (reminding me of the song Rainy Days and Mondays—always get me down). The day started like any other, getting up early, getting ready, and leaving for work. I’m a teacher, and we had a teacher in-service day instead of regular school that day. I was scheduled to be at a workshop all day on school improvement plans. However, there was a group from my school that had to leave the workshop early to attend the funeral of a friend and former co-worker. The funeral was held that afternoon in the chapel of a local funeral home. Little did I know as I sat there remembering Mrs. Flowers (who had also been my son’s first grade teacher) that I would be back in that same room three days later for my husband’s visitation.

After leaving the funeral I stopped by the grocery store on my way home. I remember talking to my husband on the phone while I was in the store, and our conversation ended in a silly argument. I felt badly about it, so I bought his favorite—fried chicken from the deli—to take home for supper. Just as I arrived home, he was getting ready to leave. The rain was getting heavier, and I asked him to stay home and help me take the groceries inside. I didn’t really need the help and the rain didn’t matter because I was parked under the carport, but for some reason I had an uneasy feeling about him leaving. He left anyway, just as I knew he would. I’m not sure why, but I sat in the front seat of my car watching in the rear view mirror as he backed his truck out of the driveway. I remember seeing him stop and thinking Thank goodness he’s changed his mind, but he only got out of the truck to pick up something in the driveway (to this day I don’t know what he picked up). That was the last time I ever saw him.

Looking back on that day I constantly ask myself what I could have done differently. I wonder if I had changed even one little detail of the day would the events of that night have changed. Was there something else I could have said to keep him at home? Should I have insisted on going with him? Why didn’t I tell him I loved him before he left? It’s been years, but the whys, what ifs, and if onlys haven’t gone away. I don’t know if they ever will…

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go. Joshua 1:9 (NIV)

A True Nightmare

I went on with my normal evening activities—eating supper, taking a bath, ironing my clothes and fixing my lunch for the next day. Those who know me know I like my sleep, so on school nights I’m in bed by 10:00. Prior to going to bed, I had talked to my husband on the phone twice. Both times he told me he would be home soon, but I had heard those words so many times before that I knew not to hold my breath. The first time I talked to him he sounded okay, but the second time I could tell he wasn’t. I practically begged him to come home, to get off the wet roads. I even offered to go get him—wherever he might be (I had done that many times before, even if it meant missing my 10:00 bedtime). He said no and wouldn’t tell me where he was, just that he was on his way home. Many other nights I had gone out looking for him, but because of the weather this time I chose not to.

Even though I was worried and had an uneasy feeling, I went on to bed. My cat Milo curled up next to me in the bed, which was unusual. He’s not normally an over-affectionate animal. He’ll sit by me for a few minutes, but then jumps up to go do his own thing, as most cats do. This time though he stayed right beside me in the bed, almost as if he sensed something wasn’t right. I fell asleep sometime just after 10:00 watching television. Then I woke up suddenly—I could’ve sworn I heard a loud noise and someone calling my name. I guess I startled Milo because he sat up in the bed and started meowing. I looked at the clock—10:45. I didn’t get up. I didn’t turn off the TV. I just stayed there with a sense of dread and fear slowly building up inside of me. I knew something was wrong.

I was still lying there, wide awake and filled with worry when my son Trey came in from work just a few minutes after 12:00 AM. He slung the bedroom door open, flipped on the light, and said Mama get up—Daddy’s been in a wreck! I almost responded by saying I know—of course I didn’t know—I just felt it. Trey told me he had passed the scene on his way home from work, less than two miles from our house. He came up on police cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance. Then he saw his daddy’s truck on the side of the road. He was too afraid to stop, so he came on home. He wanted me to go back with him to see what had happened. I told him we needed to stay at the house in case someone called or came to tell us what was going on. He wasn’t satisfied with that, though. The longer we waited the more upset he became. I finally told him that if he would stay home, I would go see what was happening. He agreed, so I left just before 1:00.

As I was heading out of our neighborhood I passed a state patrol car driving down our street. I knew he was going to my house, but I kept going anyway. I had to see for myself what had happened. As I got out on the main road, I saw the flashing lights up ahead. I kept driving until an officer stopped me. It turned out to be someone I knew, who had previously lived in our neighborhood. He told me to turn around and go back home, that the state patrol (who I also knew because he lived in our neighborhood) was on the way to the house to talk to me. I told him no, that I wanted him to tell me what had happened. I told him I already knew my husband had been in a wreck. I remember I never put my car in park. I sat there with my foot pressing down harder and harder on the brake as the deputy told me my husband was dead. My initial reaction of course was to shake my head no and begin to cry. I then told him I wanted to go to the scene and see for myself. I told him it couldn’t be true because Trey had said the wreck didn’t look that bad. That’s when he told me, as I was still sitting in my car with my foot on the brake, that my husband didn’t die as a result of the wreck… he died from the gunshot wound he inflicted on himself after the wreck. Eddie had committed suicide.

When I heard those words, my tears stopped and I felt a numbness start to take over. I felt a wall going up around me, insulating me from what I was hearing and from what was happening. Sitting there in the middle of the road, in the rain, at 1:00 in the morning, after hearing that my husband was gone, I felt totally alone. Eddie had abandoned me, and I believed that God had also. Looking back now though, I know that God never left me. I didn’t realize it at the time, but He was there with me in the car… He was the one who put the wall around me protecting me so that I could survive what lay ahead of me.

I will never leave you nor forsake you. Hebrews 13:5 (KJV)

The Night That Wouldn’t End

I know a day only has 24 hours in it—half daytime and half night. But I’m positive this night lasted at least ten times that long. Once I heard the news, time seemed to stand still. For the rest of the night it was like watching a movie in slow motion. I guess the deputy finally realized I was still sitting there with my foot on the brake, because he told me to put the car in park and move to the passenger’s seat so he could drive me home. The ride home was less than two miles, but it seemed to take forever. All the way I kept thinking this isn’t happening; it isn’t real; it’s just a bad dream. When we finally pulled into my driveway the state patrol and a friend from the neighborhood were standing under the carport. I tried to speak to them on the way inside, but all I could do was think how am I going to tell Trey his father is dead?

I found Trey in his bedroom and broke the news that Eddie was gone, but not that he had taken his own life. I think he knew before I even said it just from the look on my face. He had what I can only assume was a typical/expected reaction… he yelled no, punched his bedroom door, pulled off the t-shirt he was wearing and ripped it apart, then fell in the floor crying. I’ve never felt so helpless. For the first time in my life I had no idea what to do to help my child. I patted his back, tried to hug him, told him I was sorry and I loved him, then just stood there. I was at a loss for what to do next. I finally called his best friend, and thankfully he and his girlfriend came immediately to be with him. Once they arrived I left them in the bedroom with Trey, and I went back into the living room.

By the time I came out of Trey’s bedroom, several of the neighbors had arrived. There were probably ten people in my living room including the deputy and state patrol. Everyone started hugging me, telling me how sorry they were, and asking if there was anything they could do. I remember looking around at everyone thinking what are you doing here in the middle of the night—you should all be home in bed—you have to go to work in the morning—I have to go to work in the morning. Someone asked if I wanted them to call anyone for me, but I told them I would do it. I took the phone into the kitchen and called my mother. Standing at the kitchen sink I asked her to come to the house because Eddie was dead—he had killed himself. I don’t remember being overly emotional when I talked to her or even crying when I said the words. Soon after that my mother, grandmother, and father arrived.

I knew everyone that was in my house, until a strange man walked in. I sat on the love seat as I watched him put Eddie’s wallet, watch, and keys on the mantle over the fireplace. I was wondering who this man was and why he had Eddie’s things. He introduced himself to me as the coroner, then sat down—in Eddie’s recliner. He proceeded to tell me what he knew about the events of that evening. All I wanted to do was to tell him to get out of Eddie’s chair because he would be home soon and would want to sit there, but he wouldn’t stop talking long enough for me to say anything. He told me it appeared that Eddie was heading towards home when he hit a mailbox on the right side of the road which spun his truck around backwards. He then went off the side, up a small embankment, where the back of his truck hit a utility pole. His truck was damaged and it was possible that Eddie was injured, but not enough to prevent him from getting out of the truck. The coroner said he knew this because the truck door was open and Eddie’s keys were out of the ignition laying in the driver’s seat. Eddie was lying outside the truck with his shotgun beside him. He said there was evidence Eddie had been drinking—the smell of alcohol and a beer can in the truck. They had taken blood for a blood alcohol test, but the results wouldn’t be in for several days or even weeks. He asked if I wanted to be called about the results of the test. What a stupid question to ask at a time like that! How was I supposed to know then if I wanted to hear those results days or even weeks down the road? The only thing I wanted to know right then was if he could tell me what time Eddie died. He said they couldn’t pinpoint the exact minute of his death, but that he could tell me when the 911 call came in from the people across the street who heard the wreck—10:45.

I later learned from the man who placed the call that it was only a matter of minutes between the time he called and when he heard the gunshot. This man (I don’t even know his name) started across the street immediately after placing the call to see if he could do anything to help until the emergency services arrived. Before he could get across the street he heard the gunshot. He said he went over anyway, knelt beside Eddie, and because he didn’t know if he was still alive or not, began to pray for him. I know all of this because my mother talked to the man and his wife several days later. One day, I’m going to find the courage to go see this man myself and thank him personally for what he did.

Eventually around 4:00 AM the police and neighbors began to go home. My mother, father, grandmother, and Trey’s friend Mikel and his girlfriend stayed. At some point I went back into Trey’s bedroom to tell him the truth—that Eddie had committed suicide. That was even harder than telling him his father was dead. You’re not supposed to lose a parent when you’re just 24 years old and especially not that way. I didn’t know what to do with myself after that. The house was suddenly very quiet. I walked around, sat in the living room and stared at nothing, until I noticed the red spots on the carpet. If you live in Georgia you know what a mess wet, red, Georgia clay makes. I couldn’t leave those spots there. I’m very particular about how things look, so I had to clean. After all, I didn’t want Eddie to see the carpet like that when he came home. So at 5:00 AM my mother and I were on our hands and knees in the dining room and living room cleaning the carpet. By the time we finished, another day had started, and with it came all of the plans I would have to start making.

Jesus looked at them and said, With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible. Matthew 19:26 (NIV)

Doing What Has to Be Done

The next three days were filled with phone calls, flowers, food, visitors, plans, arrangements, and decisions. Let me say that if you don’t have a will, get one written. If you don’t have a cemetery plot, purchase one. If you haven’t made your wishes for your final arrangements known, tell someone. The people you leave behind when you die have to make some of the most important decisions of their lives at a time when they are the least prepared to do so. Thankfully I was still in my state of numbness (and probably shock too), so I just went about what I had to do kind of like a robot. I felt as if I was off somewhere else watching myself go through the motions. I have always been a very organized person. I like things done the right way, and that wasn’t going to change now.

Eddie’s parents were in South Georgia and couldn’t get to our house for a couple of days. I didn’t want to exclude them from the planning, but the arrangements had to be made before then. So, with the help of Trey, my mother, and my father I began to take care of things. This may sound strange, but my first call was to our insurance agent. I had to make sure there would be money from the life insurance before I could begin to plan a funeral. Once that was taken care of, the next step was to choose a funeral home. After I made that choice the funeral director walked me through the rest of the arrangements. We had to set a date and time for visitation and the funeral. I had to choose music and scripture