Once upon a time, I fell in love with a man. I was twenty-one. It was time to get married, and he said he loved me back. The stars aligned, just as I had been raised to believe.
I called it love.
We were engaged after three months, married after another three. It was tumultuous. He was challenging. He was also challenged.
Three years into our marriage he was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder. I don’t know if it was Type 1 or Type 2, I could never keep it straight. I lived with it. The type was irrelevant. We held everything together for years. It was a loud, angry marriage, and it lasted much longer than it really should have.
His mental illness eventually cost him everything.
Friday, I spent the afternoon telling each of my children that their father had committed suicide.
I have a lot that I wanted to say, to write, but I find myself wordless now. I am holding it together for them. Special Man was here most of the weekend, and he is holding me together. These kids are amazing and strong and wonderful, but they are not okay right now.
They will be though.