What Were Her Last Moments Like?

I’ve never written a trigger warning on anything I’ve written before but I think it might be a good idea today.

Yesterday my family and I attended the Ontario Police Suicide Memorial in Toronto.

It was an emotional, somber and much needed tribute to those who have lost their lives because of the line of duty.

My first wife Cindy will be honoured next year but nonetheless, it felt important to be there with the other families this year.

And in the last day my mind has ventured into places I’ve never allowed myself to explore.

In the fifteen years since her death, I’ve never really wondered what her last moments were like.

I guess I haven’t been able to until now.

I didn’t consciously choose to build a wall around Cindy’s final moments. Looking back, I think it was my subconscious way of protecting myself until I was ready to climb a ladder and look over the top to the other side.

Now that I have, the questions I’ve been afraid to ask have taken over my mind.

How long beforehand did she make her final decision?

Did she think about leaving a note or letter and what made her decide not to?

Did anyone at Home Depot wonder why she was buying duct tape and aluminum tubing?

How did she decide what brand and what size to buy? Did she research it beforehand?

What was going through her mind and heart as she swiped her debit card and the transaction was approved?

How long before she died did she bathe (the tub was still full)?

Was she crying while she was taping the hose to the exhaust pipe and the to the window of her car?

How much vodka did she have to drink to be able to do it?

How long did it take her to turn the key and start the car for the last time?

Was she scared? Was she having second thoughts? What was going through her mind?

How did she decide what radio station to put on and how loud to turn up the volume?

What was it like? Was she in pain? How long did it take? What was her last conscious thought?

I’ll never have the answers to any of those questions.

And I wonder what it means that I’m wondering now, after all these years?

Maybe it means I’m healing. Maybe it means I’m stuck. Or maybe it means nothing at all.

All I know for sure is that it makes me sad.

Sad that she was in so much pain.

Sad that she felt so alone and without hope.

And sad that trauma has taken so many beautiful people from their families and will claim so many more.

RIP Cindy. ♥️♥️