Beginning from an End

8 months. This picture was taken on the happiest and most anticipated day of my life. December 7, 2012. Never have I ever done something that made me feel so whole and so right with the world. In the months to follow, I felt I had found my place in the universe, being Steven Habing's wife. Our life was amazing. I never wanted for anything, and I had the world by the tail. He had spoiled me since the day we met, July of 2008. I was a teenager just out of high school, and he was a hard working party animal just out of college. We were inseparable since. Everything he set out to do, he accomplished. He opened up a gun shop that fall, and it flourished. Most of my nights were spent behind the desk in awe as I watched him work his magic with customers. He was happy, and we were in love bad. While in college in the winter of 2010, we got engaged. We planned the wedding for 12/7/12, enough time for me to graduate and find a job (which I did). We honeymooned, we started a new chapter, we adjusted, and we loved every day.


8/9/13. This day, that life ended. I left the house that morning, and I did not hear from him for quite some time. I became concerned, and so were his parents. I drove for five hours looking for him, calling his phone, and looking in local bars to see if he was trying to unwind. He was discovered by a farmer in his truck with a single self-inflicted gunshot wound to his right temple. He died instantly and without pain. He was parked at an abandoned house out by interstate 70 west of Effingham. He had a beer in the cup holder, his wallet on the console with his driver's license visible to whomever stumbled upon him, and a note written to me on a notepad on the dashboard. The farmer notified the authorities around 4:30pm. He was pronounced dead at 5:40pm at the scene. I was notified that evening, but I don't recall the time. Before I left home to stay with my parents (I was getting upset and worried about not being able to find him), I had left a note on the front door explaining where I was going and how to find me. I left phone numbers for him to call upon his return. When my parents' door bell rang, my heart jumped thinking he had decided to come out of hiding. I was wrong. It was Sheriff John Monnet and my in-laws.

In one single moment, I have never felt so emotionally sick, betrayed, alone, deceived, hurt, lost, confused, angry, and ugly. I couldn't grasp the idea that he would leave me to handle all of these emotions on my own. He was my husband. The one that made me feel beautiful, confident, successful, and wonderful. Why was I now feeling the opposite? I considered our marriage vows: "For better or for worse." I felt betrayed that he was not holding up his part of that commitment. On top of all of these thoughts, I struggled with the fact that I am an Addictions Counselor and work on a crisis team. My job is to prevent suicide and to help those who are struggling with such thoughts. Why couldn't I do that for my own husband? Not just as a wife, but as a professional.

Rewind. 7/1/13. My husband arrives to his gun shop to find that it is on fire. Investigator reports state that lightning was the cause. Although it was not a total loss, this was certainly a devastating blow to our business. This sparked several investigations. Throughout that month, Steven began rebuilding/remodeling the business while periodically meeting with various people and organizations regarding this unfortunate situation. He had good and bad days as he continued to make decisions and get his business back in order. The week of his death, Steven told me that he would have things back up and running within the next week or so. I was under the impression that things were being smoothed out, and we would have our life back in order very soon. Little did I know, he was fighting his own battle with this stress alone. He hid these details from me so I wouldn't worry about him or our future (he knew me well).

We didn't have kids. That isn't what the blog is about. In search of support online, I struggled to find the support I was looking for. A 'young widow', according to various blog categories on the internet, refers to a woman aged 32-49 who is without husband and struggling to cope with single-motherhood on top of the grief of losing her husband. I don't fit there. I looked for survivors of suicide groups. These blogs discussed life-long struggles with mental illness, a failing relationship, divorce, affairs, and chronic-hidden depression. I didn't fit there either. Neither did Steven. I looked for support through spiritual books. They stressed the importance of moving on and following God's path he made for me. Although I believe that to be a spiritual truth, it did nothing for my 'here and now' attitude. I wasn't ready to move forward. I want to be stuck right here. I feel I have no other choice but to stay here in this moment until I can find peace to move forward. SO, I didn't fit in those books either. Maybe its my stubbornness, but I couldn't find a place to fit among blogs, support groups, and books. True to character, I'm doing it on my own and my way. Don't confuse this with isolation. I do this for a living; I know what isolation is and how detrimental it is to any recovery. I'm not isolating. I'm making my own way to grieve.