Tomorrow is the funeral.

Sunday, June 23, my husband died by suicide. I was the one to cut his body down. Today I am a numb mess. I can’t even get out of bed. I can’t keep holding this together for everyone. His mom can barely talk. We have a daughter and I can’t even be there how I need to be and I feel guilty about that. I’m mad and I don’t want to go forward and I don’t want a life without him. I am eaten up with guilt about what I could have done. I go from sobbing to feeling hopeful that I could build a new life to feeling guilty for even thinking about that. Does happiness ever come without guilt again? Last night I had a dream that he didn’t do it. And that we were together and in love again and when I woke up I tried to go back to sleep quickly so it wouldn’t end but it did. It’s all ended. All the life we built gone in an instant. I can’t believe this is our reality. That I’m a widow at 30. That my poor daughter lost her dad at 10 years old. My heart breaks for her.