I learned about it on my birthday last year. I had no idea he was in so much trouble. We were divorced in 2004, he had a good job that he enjoyed, and I thought he was doing well. Wrong answer.

I last saw him at a local gas station in 2013, and he seemed to be doing well. I hugged him, part of me will always love him, of course. We were married for 13 years, and that’s something, more than enough. He was a good man and we held no grudges. We had our problems, but if I knew he was under that kind of stress, the “my life isn’t worth anything” kind of trouble, my husband who had been sober for over 20 years would have gone over to see him and talk to him. He would have tried to help.

When someone you love kills themselves with a gun, it’s just sickening. It takes some time to get over it. There are just no words for it. Maybe I’ll never get over it completely, the scars remain. So we remember and honor the dead by trying to live well, no matter what. Some days that’s all we can do. And remember, no matter what.