Kate Seim's blog post

Well as usual, things didn’t go as planned.  According to my parents, Florida hasn’t had any rain in weeks. Then the weather got the memo that I was riding through.  A huge line of storms moved through towards the end of the ride last night, causing me to fall short of my daily mileage goal yet again, and preventing me from riding today.  We actually knew that the weather was coming so we left a stake in the ground at I-4 and US 27 where I stopped for the day and headed to my parent’s house in Tampa (about 45 miles away).  I didn’t want a rest day considering my timeline, but at this point I have accepted the fact that there is nothing I can do about the weather.  I have come too far to try and push the envelope and risk injury or worse.  Depending on the weather, I may ride some in the morning tomorrow or we may just head directly to Miami from Tampa, returning to the road on Saturday.  I am really looking forward to the Miami event, and hope to see many of you there.

I have an interesting addition to this blog post.  Some of you may remember that when Azure and I were in West Yellowstone we met a woman who had just lost her husband.  The morning that we spent with Kate was actually probably one of the most meaningful days that we have had on the entire trip.  Not because we had a happy celebratory reunion with old friends, or made it to one of the many trip milestones, but because we had such a heartfelt, honest, and unguarded conversation with a person who at the time was a total and complete stranger.  We met as strangers yet we parted as much more than that.  As we were leaving I told Kate that if she was willing, a blog post written by her would be very powerful.  What she sent to me is so much more than that.  What you will find below, is unguarded, honest, and true.  Kate, Azure and I thank you for the time that we spent together.  I thank you for your willingness to share you story, I know all too well how hard that can be.  I have not edited or modified this in any way shape or form, this is Kate Seim’s blog post.

He was begging for his life and I killed him anyway.  That’s what it feels like two months after your husband shoots himself.  At least, that’s what is left in my world. 

Mike and I were married in October 1999.  We have two beautiful children; two boys that mirror Mike’s heart.  Two boys that Mike left behind to wonder what happened.  A seven year old that believes he could have saved his dad.  An eleven year marriage wrought with alcoholism, depression, and, who knew, mental illness.  An eleven year marriage that ended so I could save myself.  I left and Mike died.

This is not my academic assessment of what happened.  I understand that my husband was sick – I knew it when he was still breathing – it’s what motivated me to leave.  He wouldn’t (or couldn’t) get the help that he needed and I couldn’t save him. I was dying inside.  I did what I had to do, yet, somehow, that explanation doesn’t seem square in the face of human fallout.

In the weeks after I left, Mike made desperate pleas to save our marriage.  I held my ground.  He made familiar promises of change but my wall kept those promises at bay.  You’re cold and heartless, he said.  No.  I’m breaking the cycle.  I’m breaking the cycle.  I’m breaking the cycle.  My daily mantra.

We had a therapist.  She was among the few to witness (and document) the deterioration of Mike and the failure of our marriage.  She openly supported my decision to leave.  She counseled Mike to seek change through rehab and treatment.  She admonished no one – she advocated for healthy living.  Mike didn’t see advocacy.  Mike saw conspiracy.  That was when our therapist explained that the stronger I became, the sicker Mike would get.   

Reconciling fact and perception is a daily exercise.  The events are true.  They are unchanging as history dictates.  Perception is altogether different.  Some days I feel responsible and others I feel vindicated.  Some days a monster looks back from my mirror and some days it is the face of a free woman.  The constant, regardless of fact or fiction, is sadness.  Mike left a hole the day that he died.  There is nothing left to fill it.

Suicide isn’t meant to kill just one person.  Of all that has been said to me in the weeks since Mike killed himself, this stands out.  It implies that his death was vindictive instead of being the “end of suffering” that we read about in pamphlets and listen to on macabre webinars.  And it might be true, what that man said.  Mike called me as he was preparing to die and I heard the gunshot that ended everything.  His voice wore a strange mixture of craziness and clarity – hatefulness and love.  He didn’t leave a note.  He left his words with me: a placement of trust or gaff of eternal torment?  It was “10pm Mike” that made that call.  The one who grew more detached as his sickness grew.  It was the Mike who had lost his way. 

I’ll never get it.  None of us will ever get it.  I can’t imagine myself in a place where suicide is the solution.  That hopeless feeling is the only box I can find that fits Mike’s death – a worn, tired, oddly-shaped box. 

There is no proud, safe place to stand in the face of suicide.  It is dark and ugly – but it is not lonely.  The quiet masses that share this story come forward and take force on the glass porch above that chasm.  They show you that you can jump and the glass porch will not break.  And then they shrink away.  There is no heroism in facing mental illness alone.  There is no sanctuary in keeping the void left by suicide.  I am in my detached place.  This will pass and I will find myself in a different, pigeon-holed stage of grief.  And when I find myself in that place, I will keep doing what I have been doing: showing up.  Which I have found is often heroic in and of itself. 

Comments

[Erin]

Kate-Thank you for your willingness to share the rawness of your grief and the courage to share your story. I hope you and your family find peace someday.