As the afternoon drew to evening and my text messages and calls went unanswered, my concern turned to annoyance, then back to concern, then stomach-churning fear... until two young and inexperienced police officers arrived at my door step at 10:30pm to give me the news that shattered my world.
By that stage I had already called my sister for support, along with my best friend and her fiance. I'm so glad I had these special people with me when that blow was delivered. They've been by my side ever since, along with my parents and an army of friends and family, both mine and my husbands.
I did not see this coming. If only I'd known the intensity of the darkness he was fighting. I'd have done anything to take his pain away, I'd have found a way to save him.
In hindsight there are signs that we all missed and some mildly unusual behaviour that has now finally been explained. Together with his family and friends I've been able to trace it back many years, long before we'd even met and fallen in love.
This month has been a whirl wind. A sickening roller coaster that I hate and can't get off. A raging stormy ocean that keeps pulling me under, tossing me around, crashing down around me and throwing my world up-side-down. And I'm still such a long way from dry land. My chest hurts from trying to hold my head above water and my entire body aches from fighting the relentless current.
Despite my own unbearable pain and grief, I feel so much for his parents and sister. They had no idea he was unwell and I'll never forget the primal howl that his father let out when I made that call to Sydney that fateful night, from our home in Brisbane. His family were on a flight that next morning and for the following week we clung to each other in disbelief, asking 'why' over and over again, looking for sense in a senseless place.
I at least knew he was suffering depression. He'd been diagnosed the day we got back from our honeymoon (just under 5 weeks earlier) and had been on antidepressants since that day. He had told me that he'd spoken to his family, but I now know he'd given them the watered down version and left out a lot of the important detail.
If only I'd gone with him to Sydney that week to talk to them together. They might have seen the dangers that I missed. But it was a work trip for Dan and he didn't want his new colleagues knowing that he'd snuck his wife along to the conference for moral support.
In the weeks leading up to our wedding he'd been complaining about memory loss, lack of concentration and focus, and doing some strange things. Like walking in to a cafe, ordering lunch, handing over money before then getting distracted and walking back to work without his food or change. Or taking the rubbish bins out at night and leaving all the doors open and lights on outside.
The symptoms and odd behaviour had been coming and going, getting progressively worse over a period of about six months (pretty much since we bought our dream house, ramped up the wedding plans and started getting excited for our future together - which I now suspect was causing Dan to put more pressure on himself to provide and perform, pressure that his depression fed off, creating more self-doubt and a sense of worthlessness).
He was concerned that his problem was Early Onset Dementia, and at the age of 34, he had started losing his mind. Maybe inheriting the illness from his maternal grandmother who first displayed symptoms in her 70's. Or as a complication from the type 1 diabetes that he'd been living with since the age of 12.
However he didn't want to get tested or see a doctor until after our wedding, because he didn't want the results to over shadow our special day. So I tracked down a highly-regarded mental health specialist and booked us in for the first available appointment after our wedding and honeymoon.
It was a revelation on the day Dan was diagnosed. So much made sense. Dan realised he had possibly been battling depression for years but had adapted and built his life around it to the point where he hadn't recognised it.
While he'd been single it was easy to hide. Once we met and fell in love, our courtship progressed quickly and when we'd moved in together a year later (six months before our wedding), it became much harder to hide - from both he and I.
Again, this lead to him putting more pressure on himself, which the depression thrived upon, setting him up to fail and manifest itself further.
He'd accepted the diagnosis and committed to the treatment. But the problem with depression is that it zaps your motivation and feeds you lies. Most days I sat a glass of water on the kitchen bench at breakfast time and reminded Dan to take his antidepressant. But in hindsight, I don't know if he remembered on all of the days that I didn't prompt him.
If only I'd been more vigilant and prepared his medication EVERY day. If only I'd known the gravity of the situation we were in.
We'd been carefully cautioned about the 'dangerous' time a person can go through as the anti-depressants kick in. Our doctor warned that as his brain's neurotransmitters started firing again, and the chemical imbalance that causes depression started to change and work towards levelling out, that there would be bouts of motivation and clarity. That when combined with the hopelessness and bleakness of the depression that we're fighting, could create a higher risk of suicidal tendencies. We went away armed with information, a sense of relief, and commitment to tackle this demon together.
He made a confession to having a suicidal thought one week later, 4 weeks before he died. On that day, I'd fought back tears while explaining that it wasn't the answer, that we were getting help for his illness. Telling him it would destroy me, that there were so many other ways out of the darkness and he had a team behind him. I took him straight back to our doctor who reinforced the same message.
The doctor asked him: Do you have a plan? Do you feel safe? Do you promise to talk to someone - your wife, the doctor (and gave him his mobile number), a friend, etc, if you feel like this again? He said yes, of course, he would never ... and then never said another word about it.
He'd accepted the diagnosis and committed to the treatment. But the problem with depression is that it zaps your motivation and feeds you lies. Most days I sat a glass of water on the kitchen bench at breakfast time and reminded Dan to take his antidepressant. But in hindsight, I don't know if he remembered on all of the days that I didn't prompt him.
If only I'd been more vigilant and prepared his medication EVERY day. If only I'd known the gravity of the situation we were in.
We'd been carefully cautioned about the 'dangerous' time a person can go through as the anti-depressants kick in. Our doctor warned that as his brain's neurotransmitters started firing again, and the chemical imbalance that causes depression started to change and work towards levelling out, that there would be bouts of motivation and clarity. That when combined with the hopelessness and bleakness of the depression that we're fighting, could create a higher risk of suicidal tendencies. We went away armed with information, a sense of relief, and commitment to tackle this demon together.
He made a confession to having a suicidal thought one week later, 4 weeks before he died. On that day, I'd fought back tears while explaining that it wasn't the answer, that we were getting help for his illness. Telling him it would destroy me, that there were so many other ways out of the darkness and he had a team behind him. I took him straight back to our doctor who reinforced the same message.
The doctor asked him: Do you have a plan? Do you feel safe? Do you promise to talk to someone - your wife, the doctor (and gave him his mobile number), a friend, etc, if you feel like this again? He said yes, of course, he would never ... and then never said another word about it.
I asked him, gently, two or three times since that day if he'd had any more similar thoughts but he quickly assured me 'no'. Not wanting to mother him or push him, I never forced the issue. And I believed him.
If only I had looked deeper in to his eyes as he answered. If only I'd recognised that my wonderful, loving Dan would of course lie to me to protect me and save me from the pain.
The concept was so surreal to me, I could never imagine Dan getting to a place where suicide seemed like an answer. Let alone the ONLY answer. I couldn't imagine my love and our hopes and dreams for our new life together NOT being enough to give him hope and the motivation to hold on and fight.
He had everything to live for. He'd been given a front row view of this at our wedding only weeks before, where friends and family travelled from all over Australia and as far away as London and Canada to share our special day with us. He'd been so humbled and moved and you couldn't get the grin off his face the entire day.
We were blessed, and he felt it that day as strongly as I had. How could I ever consider that a dark cancer-like demon was tightening it's hold on him and persistently whispering such horrible lies until the pain grew so bad that he could see no relief.
In the end, he'd either remained convinced that he had dementia or the fears returned suddenly. His memory function and concentration had been improving, but he'd worked from home the day before he died and I'd seen that he was having trouble focusing on his work. A number of times he came to find me and while I noticed that he was procrastinating and having trouble getting in to things, I had no idea that he was struggling THAT much, or that he'd started convincing himself again that his brain was failing him in a drastic and permanent way.
That night, our last night together, he seemed normal. We'd watched our favourite tv show together, cuddled up on the lounge, and talked about plans for the future. He seemed content and genuinely excited about the plans we were making.
The next morning, that fateful Wednesday morning, he'd slowly dragged himself out of bed. He always struggled in the mornings. We'd put it down the affects of his anti-depressant wearing off from the morning before and I was always extra loving and gentle in the mornings, to help ease him in to his day. As he got out of bed I gave him a quick cuddle and went down to our kitchen to make his lunch for the day.
I now think that as he kissed me goodbye and left home that morning, he knew on some level that he wasn't coming home. I don't think he'd put a lot of thought in to his suicide, just enough to come up with a vague idea, and go through the motions moving towards that plan, working out each step as he got to it.
If only I'd known his mind that morning. If only I'd known the pain he was in. I'd have held him so tight when I hugged him goodbye.
I'd have wrapped my arms around him, with my head nestled in under his chin on his lovely chest and never let him go. I'd have given my last breath to save him.
The crazy thing is... that he was thinking the same thing about me. He gave his last breath to 'save' me from the pain that he believed was inevitable for us. He gave his life to save me from a life that he thought I'd be better off without. He left me a note, addressed to his darling, telling me how much he loved and adored me and apologising for what he was about to do but saying his brain function was deteriorating and he had to 'end things now before I become a constant burden on you and my family.' He said he didn't want to hurt anyone, but hurt now was better than a lifetime of hurt and struggle as he got worse and more sick. He signed it off "I love you so much. You are amazing, beautiful and kind. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry xxxxx oooooo Dan'
If only he'd seen that he WASN'T saving me from a life time of pain. But that he was actually transferring his pain on to me. If only he'd seen that it was going to get better, that it wasn't the life sentence that he thought it was.
But he had depression. Severe Depression with Mood-Congruent Psychosis, we now suspect. He could not see. His reality had become distorted and the logic that I use to understand this situation wasn't available to him. He only saw pain. And made the ultimate self sacrifice to save me from that pain.
If only...
The crazy thing is... that he was thinking the same thing about me. He gave his last breath to 'save' me from the pain that he believed was inevitable for us. He gave his life to save me from a life that he thought I'd be better off without. He left me a note, addressed to his darling, telling me how much he loved and adored me and apologising for what he was about to do but saying his brain function was deteriorating and he had to 'end things now before I become a constant burden on you and my family.' He said he didn't want to hurt anyone, but hurt now was better than a lifetime of hurt and struggle as he got worse and more sick. He signed it off "I love you so much. You are amazing, beautiful and kind. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry xxxxx oooooo Dan'
If only he'd seen that he WASN'T saving me from a life time of pain. But that he was actually transferring his pain on to me. If only he'd seen that it was going to get better, that it wasn't the life sentence that he thought it was.
But he had depression. Severe Depression with Mood-Congruent Psychosis, we now suspect. He could not see. His reality had become distorted and the logic that I use to understand this situation wasn't available to him. He only saw pain. And made the ultimate self sacrifice to save me from that pain.
If only...
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