Three and a half weeks ago, Ken killed himself. This is the first weekend I’ve been alone since it happened. Weekends are the hardest. Life seems at a standstill. The phone hardly rings. No one comes to the door. The silence is frightening.
I’ve lost three sons. Scott and Ken to suicide. John died of colon cancer. Chris is left. Now I’m afraid of losing him. He lives on the other side of the country. But he calls every day now. Twice. His voice is reassuring.
I can’t talk about Ken yet. He lived with me for four years before he died. Every room in the house holds memories and reminds me of him. I would never have believed he’d do such a thing. I didn’t know he had a gun.
I don’t know how to live my life. Right now I’m just getting through the days. One breath, then the other.