I Forgive Me. I Forgive Him.

A car.

The power it had over me.

He loved cars. He would choose mine. I didn’t care. Was it safe? Check. How many car seats could I fit? Check. Color? I don’t care. Just give me safe.

He hated dirt.
He needed order.
His anxiety came out in our cars.
Clean.
Always.
Black interior to hide the dirt.
Always.
Dirty boys soccer shoes taken off and put in the trunk.
Always.

We would fight about my car.
Always.
Kids eating in it.
Me drinking coffee and spilling in it.
Stupid fights.
He’d tell me to clean it out.
I’d tell him to stop the nagging.
Stop the demanding.
Stop the madness.
I started to leave it dirty to piss him off.
Resentful. Annoyed. Passive aggressive.

I see it clearly now.

The control.
His needs.
The fights.

It wasn’t about the car. It wasn’t about me. It was about him. It was his lack of control. It was about his inability to control his anxiety. Instead of me seeing it for what it was and responding with support. Instead of asking him if he needed help I would respond with anger. Disdain. Hurt.

With counseling this story has changed.

It’s not about a man trying to control his wife. It’s about a man trying to control his fears. Trying to control his environment to settle his unsettled brain. Unable to say it. Maybe he never even understood why he behaved that way.

I understand now.
Instead of black I need white.
White and light.
It calms me.
Cleanses me.
Gives me peace.

I wish I would have known what I know now.
I wish I could give him a hug and ask him if I could help him calm his head and heart.
I can’t go back and fix it but I can move forward and forgive myself for what I didn’t know back then.

I forgive that Sandra who didn’t know.
I forgive that Pat who couldn’t share his pain.
Yes.
I forgive.


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Dear New Widow: A Love Letter to My 40 Year Old Self

Dear Sandra,

He died. 

Your world has been turned upside down. Chaos will dominate your heart and mind for months, actually years and I am so sorry.

Grieve him. 
Grieve you. 
Grieve your boys father. 
Grieve the life you thought was yours. 
Grieve the life you hoped would be theirs. 

It’s going to be brutal. Yes. Brutal.

Listen to me. Even though you may think it will never get better. Even though you believe the excruciating pain will never leave your body or mind. I promise it will. I promise. It takes time. Time to get your balance again. Time to learn how to raise them by yourself. 

Trust your gut. 
Believe in your choices. 

You are their mom. Don’t let anyone tell you how to parent. Don’t let anyone tell you how to live. 

They are not walking in your shoes. 
Sleeping in your empty bed. 
Living in your head. 
Learning how to let an old life go and creating a new one for you and those two. 

They are standing on the outside looking in. 
Their vote doesn’t count. 
Your life. 
Your boys. 
Your way. 
Your vote. 
Only yours.

Simplify your life. Accept you can’t do it all. Ask for help. It’s different now. 

From now on it is only about you and the boys. 
Nobody else matters. 
This is not selfish. 
This is survival. 

Dig deep. 
Find your strength. 
I know you have it.

Wants and needs of others are no longer your problem. Set boundaries. With family and friends. Boundaries will save you. You need your energy to heal you. To heal them. 

I know you are scared. 
Don’t be afraid Sandra. 
Fear will hold you back from healing. 
Be bold. 
Be brave. 

One day you will wake up and feel the sun on your face again. 
You will laugh without feeling guilty. 
You will let go of the rage and anger. 
I will be so damn proud of how far you 3 have come.

Those boys will be ok. They will smile again. I promise. 

Love them. 
Guide them. 
Be honest with them. 
Listen to them. 
Let them feel. 

I know you can do this. I believe in you Sandra. It will be so hard. For a very long time. You will struggle. They will struggle. Do the work. 

You will all heal. 
Life will be beautiful and so full again. 
Different. 
But so very beautiful. 
I promise. 
You’ve got this. 

Love, Sandra


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Kate Made Me Live Colorfully

A woman named Kate died yesterday.
She had a beautiful smile.
She had her own style and owned it.
She built a business that offered something to women that made them feel special.
Her creativity and ability to make you feel special was bigger than her.

I never buy pink but I did when I bought her phone case.
It makes me feel alive.
It makes me feel feminine.
It makes me laugh because I stepped outside of my box.
Kate's ability to MAKE ME FEEL AGAIN made me buy pink.

Kate was a beautiful woman.
A mom.
A wife.
A family member.
A friend.

Kate died.
Her family and friends will forever feel pain and her loss.
They will grieve.
They will suffer.
Their world's are now turned upside down.

I hope as time passes they will find peace.
Peace in their hearts.
Peace in their minds.
Peace in their whole self.
I pray for them they find peace.

I hope Kate is at peace.

Mental illness takes over one's mind.
Just as cancer takes over the body.

I hope people wake up.
Mental illness is a disease.
It is not a choice.
Cancer is not a choice.

People are quietly suffering because we don't treat mental illness as an illness.
The stigma is real.

I hope the media someday changes how they report on suicide.
There are no answers.
A note doesn't give one.
A death cannot be explained in a paragraph.

The story is simple.

A daughter lost a mother.
A husband lost a wife.
Family and friends lost a woman they loved.

All that needs to be said is...
I am so sorry for your loss.


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Merry Christmas To Us

Our 6th Christmas without him.

My boys have become young men. 

Old memories from holidays past remain.

Beautiful memories with him.

Brutal memories from those first years without him.

New traditions have been created.

Simple and sweet.

Time has given us the gift to create them.

Time has given us the gift to forget.

Forget the overwhelming and suffocating pain.

Time has given us the gift to honor the past.

Enjoy the present.

Have hope for the future.

Celebrate who we have become.

It hasn't been easy.

It still isn't some days.

You learn to live with the pain.

You learn to hold tight to the good.

To the laughter.

To the moments where you feel whole.

To the people who love you.

To the people you love.

To honesty and truth.

We are no longer broken.

The three of us have healed.

A Christmas card.

A Christmas letter.

Gifts.

Decorations.

A Christmas Eve church service.

I was finally able to do it this year.

I enjoyed it.

Yes I cried but tears of joy.

Joy I haven't felt in years.

Hope in my heart.

A Merry Christmas it was.


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A Christmas Letter From My Son

Me: I want to write a letter to include with our Christmas card.
Jack: Are you kidding?
Me: Seriously. I think people will be shocked getting a card from us.
Jack: Mom. They will. They haven't heard from us in years! Why don't you start the letter with "Hey! It's the Begans. Remember us?"
Me: Jack. That's pretty funny. Why don't you write it.
Jack: Really? 
Me: Yes. You.

The boy walked up the stairs and 20 minutes later emails me the letter below.
He walked downstairs.
Read it aloud to me.
I laughed.
I cried.
I realize he has a lot to say about his life.
Charlie has a lot to say too (he's writing the letter next year).

We have healed because we are honest about our life.
We celebrate the good.
No sugar coating the bad.
No bullshitting to make others feel better.
Truth.

I'm sharing this letter for two reasons.
1. If you are deep in your grief, you and your children can heal. It takes work. Do the work. You will have a beautiful life again.
2. You who have supported us over the years I want to say thank you. The boys want to thank you too. Unfortunately, I don't have your addresses.

Merry Christmas my friends.
May you find peace, joy, laughter and hope in your hearts.
Cheers!
Sandra

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Hey! It’s the Begans. Remember us? I know it’s been awhile but we’re finally back for this whole Christmas thing. Old school Sandra has returned to her Christmas and holiday spirit; decorating the house, ordering presents, and even sending out a Christmas card (I’m just as shocked as you are).

Let’s quickly revisit the last five attempts at a Christmas card…

1st year - nothing

2nd year - nothing

3rd year - nothing

4th year - Thanksgiving card! Happy holidays! Oh wait, they’re still sitting in mom’s closet. Getting closer though.

5th year - Holy shit an actual Christmas card that’s going in the mail and ending up at people’s houses! We’ve finally made it.

Jokes aside, Mom, Charlie, and I are thriving in our beautiful town Fairfield, Connecticut.

“Sandy” as my friends like to call her tongue in cheek, is working out everyday at the Y, volunteering at a woman’s center in Bridgeport, and trying her best to keep up with Chaz and I. In May, she pulled a LeBron and returned to her Cleveland, Appleton, WI, to give a more serious speech than this summing up the last five years of our lives. She crushed it. She also crushed her triathlon in September, where even though Charlie and I were a bit worried she wasn’t going to make it out of the ocean after seeing some 80 year olds get out of the water before her, she made up some time and even joined an AIDS race for a little bit to help the cause because that’s the kind of person she is (she got lost in the biking portion of the tri). She also went to Italy over the summer while Chaz and I took our vacation from her for three weeks in Appleton. It was good for all three of us.

Charlie is 14 but by the looks of it, could pass for a college kid. He’s six feet tall and built like a linebacker with the athleticism of a point guard. He’s the talk of the town when it comes to basketball and he’s due all of the credit because when he’s not messing around at home with me, he’s working on his game at the local gym. I got named captain of the varsity basketball team and people claim he’s already better than me so to put that in perspective, I think Ludlowe will be excited to have Charlie join the program next year. I can also drag him onto the golf course in the summer and he holds his own with the locals. In July, Mom and Charlie drove up to Mount Washington in New Hampshire to hike. Most of you know I have the same trait as my dad, which is the outdoors being foreign. In conclusion I had two and a half days to myself to golf and watch the Brewers in peace.

As for me, I’m in the midst of my final year of competitive basketball. I was blessed to walk into the Ludlowe basketball program my freshman year and join one of the winningest classes in school history. Let’s just say I’m not missing Appleton North basketball right now (too soon?). I finished my college applications in November and people, senioritis is for real. I love Ludlowe but sitting in class from 7:30 to 3 everyday is getting old. I’m writing everyday and am going to pursue my degree in journalism and try to follow in the footsteps of my idol Bill Simmons.

As a family this has been the year of the return. We went back to Appleton together for the first time since 2014. Over spring break we took two of my friends and went to our favorite spot in Florida, Sanibel, for the week. We also returned to praising the Lord and finding a church that embraces our steadiness to get back into the church community. Charlie is in confirmation class and mom and I are slowly getting back to going to church.

All in all, the three of us have been to hell and back but I think we’ve come out of the darkness and have found new perspectives on our lives. Beautiful ones. Fairfield has treated us in the best way possible and the friendships we’ve made here are priceless. The support system we’ve created here made the transition seamless. As for Appleton and our peeps from afar, don’t worry, we won’t ever forget about you either. Thank you to all those that have stuck with us the last five years. Through thick and thin, you’ve helped in ways that you couldn’t even imagine. Without you, we’d still be stuck in a cloud of grief with no way out. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Jack


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The Two Boys with Beautiful Souls

Charlie (12) and Jack (16)

Two boys.

9 and 12.

"Please sit on the couch.

We have to talk."

3 words.

I had to say them.

Words I knew would change their lives forever.

Words most children never hear.

Words no child should hear.

Telling Jack and Charlie their dad died was the most difficult and will forever be the most painful and torturous thing I will ever have to do in my life.

They were living a great life.

A life with a dad who loved them.

A life with no fear, terror, pain, hurt, guilt, shame and longing.

A life that was so good. 

So right. 

So beautiful. 

I waited.

Waited to tell them.

I waited until school was over that day.

I was terrified to tell them.

I had to give them every last second in that life before they had to walk through the door of darkness, grief and the unknown into their new life.

They would grow up in a heartbeat.

They would experience pain no human should feel.

They were just little boys.

Two little boys who I had to tell how their dad died.

Two little boys who sat on the couch and cried.

Who were silent.

Who had no words.

From that moment I was terrified for them.

What will this do to them?

How will this change them?

Will they survive this?

Days were dark.

School was missed.

Life was so different.

Change every day.

Yelling.

Crying.

Silence.

Fear.

Anger.

Days are still tough.

School is still missed.

Tears still fall.

Not as frequent.

But I'm not going to lie, those days still come.

They probably always will.

Just as I crawled out of darkness, those two little boys have too.

They have crawled with grace and dignity and beauty.

They have had to change and embrace a new life.

They have had to find their way every day.

They are 2 boys who have gone through more than most can bear and have grown into strong, amazing young men.

They have grown into 2 young men who understand life more than most adults.

They show empathy and compassion to those who struggle or who may not fit in.

They are funny, loving, talkative and kind.

They are survivors with soft edges.

They have a support group who they love and loves them.

They have an amazing group of friends who they stay tight with in Wisconsin.

They have created solid friendships with an amazing group of kids in Connecticut.

They are both on the honor roll.

They play sports and are involved.

They play in the school band (and hate me for it).

They are on their phones too much and play too much xbox. 

They don't always make their beds or brush their teeth without me yelling at them.

They talk back and can be mouthy.

They are 2 normal kids living a good life.

I can't keep count how many people they meet come up to me and tell me what nice, kind boys I have.

"Thank you. I agree" I say with a smile and try not to tear up.

They don't know our story.

They meet Jack and Charlie and witness the genuine and kind human beings they are.

When their dad died I was terrified for them.

The terror is gone.

Will they be able to survive this?

Hell yes. 

They have and are thriving every day.

Who have they become?

Two beautiful souls I am proud to call my sons.

I wanted to read this 4 years ago.

I wanted somebody to tell me my kids would be so good again.

I write this for you if you are afraid for your children.

Afraid like I was of what the future would hold for them.

This is for you.

Know the road may be long and scary but I promise they will be okay.

More than okay.

They will be amazing.

P.S. Jack and Charlie...

I am proud of you every damn day and honored to be your mom.

I love you.

The Girl With the Hole in Her Heart

I cried all day today.

I woke up and I knew it was going to be one of those days.
They still come.
Not as frequent but they come.
I hate them.

I try to wish them away.
They just don't go away.

My heart hurts.
I can't stop it.
It just hurts.
Physical pain.
Heavy bricks laying on my chest.
My heart feels like it has torn into two.
I can't explain the pain.

Today is one of those days.

Some days I don't feel the physical pain.
My heart feels whole.
Broken but whole.

Other days it hurts so much I want to rip it out of my chest.
There is a gapping hole that needs to be filled.

You can fix this Sandra.
Fill it with work, exercise, a walk on the beach.
Stay away from the wine.
Something has to fill the hole.

I can't fill it today.

Tears pour out of me.

I beg for this pain to go away.
Please.
I hate this.
It HURTS.
I want the hole to go away.

It will go away.
I need to sit in it.
Feel it.
Cry.

Tomorrow it will feel better.
It always does.

I'm tired.
I'm lonely.
I'm afraid.
I'm emotionally spent.
I'm stressed.
I'm on my own.

It piles up.
The pain.
The worry.
The lonely life I lead.

I realize this is when the pain comes.
This is when the hole is the biggest.

It doesn't matter who I am with.
It doesn't matter where I live.
I can be surrounded by people who love me.
I can be doing something I love.

My heart still hurts.
The pain still comes.

It came today.

It used to be daily.
Then weekly.
Now it shows up when my heart can't take anymore.

Let it go Sandra.

Goodbye my heart with the hole in it.
Goodbye pain.
Goodbye tears.

Until next time...


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I Have Let Go

So here I go...I have been thinking about writing this blog for a long time but I just wasn't ready. After 2 and a half long years since my husband died, something in me shifted. I have started to laugh more, taste my food, drink less (coffee and wine), read again, work out, eat better and smile more. Why?

I finally let go. 

I looked at my two boys, Jack and Charlie, and thought "we have walked a long dark road together but I know we are going to be ok". We finally let go.

Anger, fear, guilt, terror, spite, despair, paranoia, rage...at times they had taken me over but I am done with them. I have let them go.

My deep sorrow, pain and heartache is quieter. It is still there but softer. Grief will live with us forever. It hits us and takes our breath away but we know how to work through it with the tools 2 years of grief counseling has given us. 

I've accepted the new me. I've accepted we are now 3 instead of 4. I've accepted the boys lives are taking a different path if Pat wouldn't have died. I have accepted we all are surviving the trauma of suicide and are taking it one day at a time. I have accepted we now live a strange life I never could have imagined unless you are in it. Strange but good again.

Time does heal. Cliche yes, but time has healed the boys and I. With help from our loving family, dear friends, grief counselors and acts of kindness from strangers, we are healing and so grateful.

We are o.k. We finally let go.

If you have just started down your journey as a suicide survivor, I want you to know you and your children will be o.k. again. I just wanted somebody who had lived it to tell me their kids were not just o.k., but amazing. Actually, my kids are amazing.  Jack and Charlie are kind, funny, beautiful old souls who every day amaze me with their courage and strength. Kids are tougher than we think. Be as honest and open with them. Talk to them about their grief even though it hurts like hell. Give them a voice - their voice as a suicide survivor.

I'm not an amazing writer. I can be crass and raw and use too much profanity. People have tagged me as a "straight talker" and "bitch" for years. It never really bothered me.  I stood and still do stand up for what is right and I believe in.  Maybe that straight talk saved me and gave me the strength to be honest, open, raw and real with my boys and myself. Honesty so many survivors of suicide struggle with because of the stigma attached to mental illness and suicide. We all choose our journey of grief, and I choose to be as open as I can be. It has been a process to get here but I'm talking about suicide. I'm talking about mental illness. I'm talking about grief counseling and school psychologists and crazy situations I have been in. It may not always be comfortable and safe. But I finally let go.

I'm not afraid of what people will think. All that matters is what my 2 boys think. They are amazing and support me writing this blog. No fear here. I give myself permission to live again. I hope this blog will help you live again too.