I was doing better. I got put on pain meds for my nerve pain, along with anti anxiety meds. I went to start a job, my son was in day care and there was hope. The first day I went to lunch. I ate, then sat there. I realized I couldn't call him. I. Couldn't. Call. Him. The shock and denial of his suicide wore off in that moment. And I fell apart. I didn't go back. I had to get my in-laws to get my son and went to the ER. I was put on more meds.. which help. But every minute of ever day is a struggle to get through again. This is my reality... This is it. I'm extremely pregnant with my dead husband's child that I have to give away due to money. My son doesn't have a father. He left me all alone to deal with life.. let alone being broken. I keep thinking of how I could follow him. I don't want to. I wouldn't wish 10 seconds of this on ANYONE. Living with the memory of finding him... Now that the denial has worn off a lot more details are coming back. I looked up his method, and he had researched it. He knew what he was doing, and that he only needed 20 minutes to do it. What he didn't think about was how the woman who built a life, bared his children and stood by him no matter what would be completely broken. He got peace.. and that's great I guess. It's all I ever wanted for him since I helped him through depression. I hated seeing him so unhappy and not being able to help. But what about me. What about his children. He's at rest now, but I'm still here. Alone. Shattered. In a living hell most of the time. Let me be clear, hell is an understatement. I already feel as if there is fire beneath my skin 24/7, but I'm on earth. If I had just skipped my make up. If I had just put my hair in a bun. 5 minutes, 10 minutes was all it would have taken to save him. Now I'm alone. I'm alone and broken and I don't know how to put the pieces back.