posted by Jean Feb 2, 2026

if you are determined,
  bound and determined,
     to disregard
          disrespect
          dismiss
     the life that you own,
            get a room
               far away
                  and write a long note
                     saying "sorry, I love you,
             but I hate myself more."
         
         dammit
         you made a mess.

Author: Jean; Intro: DT

Jean's husband committed suicide almost 30 years ago. Ten years later, in response, she wrote of her experience in a 6-part series on her blog site, Pondering. She suggested it might be appropriate to re-post here.

This is a subject intensely personal but Jean was willing to share her experience that others in the same situation might gain some degree of peace.

"I think there's value in knowing what people will do to others and often, eventually, to themselves. What they end up doing to themselves is also doing to others. The others are the ones who have to live with what happened and deal with it for the rest of their lives. The others have to choose how much guilt they will allow themselves to live with and for how long. It is often a long process.

Guilt is often not deserved or necessary. Even forgiveness isn't always necessary because the others probably did nothing to cause the suicide. The others still have a life to live...for themselves. The best they can do is to live their life outside the shadow of what happened. Live in light."

The subject is disturbing to some so the (very long) article is not directly posted. If you wish to read the article, you can access it here.

originally posted by Jean Dec 4, 2007

If I
had my way,
if it were
up to me,
I'd know
what to say
and how
to say it.
I'd know
what to feel
and when
to feel it.

First published by Jean Mar 3, 2012

spending too much time
trying to make sense
when there doesn't seem to be
much sense to make.
spending too much time
holding my breath
waiting for the answers
turns me blue.
too old to waste time
turning blue
being dizzy
staying confused.
hurting.
pretending my name is
Vincent or Emily or Ansel or Georgia or Marjorie K
is time better spent.
I know none of those
names are mine. And
I figured that out
all by myself.

first published by Jean Oct 6, 2009

Morning's pink mist nightgown
lifts slowly,
uncovering the beauty
of the coming day.