Four Summers

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This story takes time to develop and there is little sexual activity, all of which is between adults.

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Everything, it seemed, happened to me in the summer. Bad things and good things. Sometimes I was glad when fall came along, signaling summer had finally left us for good. And sometimes I wanted the summer to go on forever...

First Summer

In August an incoming text pinged on my phone right after I had dropped off our two kids, Zoey and Lucas, at my parents place for a long weekend. School was starting soon and they were excited to be away from home for a weekend. I pulled over and read the text.

"I'm so very sorry to do this to you and the kids. Tell them I love them. I have to do this to prevent myself from ruining their lives. Good-bye, Adam. I love you."

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," I swore as I dialed 9-1-1. Once the operator answered, I told her I was afraid my wife was going to harm herself or commit suicide. Unfortunately, I was over an hour away from home and I had no idea where she was. I was patched through to emergency services in our home town, told them what I knew and they promised to investigate. With fear in my heart, I raced home. There was a police car in front of my house and the polite, young female officer met me.

"Are you Mr. Avery?"

"Yes, I am. What do we know?"

"Well, Sir, we have looked through the house and no one is in there. We assumed that she has a car and your garage is empty. We've sent out several crews looking for the vehicle, a blue Camry, according to her vehicle license filed with the state. Right?"

"Yes. Oh, shit, I thought she was doing so much better..."

"Mr. Avery, what is her phone number? We may be able to triangulate on it if she's within cell range..."

I gave her the number which was called in and suddenly her radio crackled to life.

"Unit seventeen, we've located the signal coming from somewhere in Patterson Park. Join us for the search."

The officer jumped into her car and tore down the street. I thought for two seconds what I should do and decided to follow her there. I lost her in traffic but knew how to get to the park which was about twenty miles out of town. Once I arrived there, I saw five or six police and sheriff cars in the main parking lot. The young officer was gone but I was met by a stern-looking deputy.

"Sir, there is an emergency here, please move along."

"I know, I called it in. It's my wife."

"Oh, sorry. Here, wait with me at this table. We'll see what they find."

After what seemed like an eon, but was probably only ten minutes, his portable radio crackled.

"We have a DB with apparent GSW. Send in Dr. Smather. We're securing the scene."

The deputy turned to me and said sadly, "Sir, that message means they found a body and are calling the coroner."

Nausea rose up and I suddenly was heaving between sobs. I screamed and became irrational, crying I had to go see her. As I turned to head up the trail, the deputy grabbed me and sat me down. "Sir, we can't have you go up there. It may not be your wife and even if it is, it could be a horribly ugly scene. You have to stay here."

Numbly I nodded 'yes' and sat back down. Somewhere there was a tiny ray of hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't Emily. I wept more silently until I saw the female officer who had been at our house come down the trail. She had a somber look and approached me.

"Sir, can you please describe your wife?"

"Yeah. Tall, blonde, short hair, thin. Scar on her right wrist from a bike accident years ago..."

"Unfortunately, I believe your wife died by suicide today by firearm..."

"Firearm? We don't own any firearms!"

"Well, Sir, the female appears to have died from a self-inflicted shot to the head. She is about ten minutes up the trail and then a bit into the woods. We will need to investigate things more. Do you see her car here?"

After looking around the large parking lot and dodging people who were staring at us, I saw her car in a far corner. We went over and easily seen on the front seat was a paper bag and an opened box. Once I let her into the vehicle, she retrieved the box, turned it over and showed it to me.

"Your wife seems to have bought this today, Sir. I'm sincerely sorry for your loss. I'll need to call this information in. Can you get anyone to drive you home? We'll need to take care of her car as part of our analysis."

I nodded and after a few minutes I called my buddy, Bill. "Hey Bill," I sobbed, "It's me. Uh, Emily, Emily just killed herself." Bill started to ask questions but I kept right on talking. "I need a ride home. Can you and Susan come pick me up at Patterson Park and take my car home, please? I don't think I should be driving."

In about thirty minutes Bill and Susan drove up. Susan ran to me weeping and hugged me. Bill stood by looking stunned and finally gave me a hug, as well. I gave my keys to Bill and he took off leaving me with Susan. Once the officers realized I had some help, one came to me and told me they'd drop by in an hour or two for a formal interview and discussion about what would happen next.

I sat next to Susan, numb with grief and pain, as she drove me home. Bill was waiting there in the driveway and they both led me into the house. Once Susan got me a Coke, I started to talk, more to review in my mind what had just happened.

Emily and I had been married for over twelve years. I knew early on she could be moody at times. After Zoey was born ten years prior and Lucas eight, she had pretty bad postpartum depression. With the help of some counseling and six or so months of medication, she seemed to perk up each time. Then a slow, gradual deterioration of her mood began. Once she was even hospitalized briefly due to suicidal thoughts; her meds were adjusted and she seemed to improve. Lately things had started to get bad again. She was seeing her psychiatrist twice a week, meds were switched and doses were increased. I thought back to the last week and remembered she actually seemed to be a lot better. While she wasn't laughing, her mood was clearly better, so much so I had thought it would be a good idea to let the kids go for the weekend. I had also hoped to spend some time with her without the added stress of the rambunctious kids, hoping to help her continue to improve. I had no idea she would do this, particularly because she seemed better.

After I had talked myself out, I sat there glumly as Susan began to discuss what we, what I, needed to do next. She mentioned the kids who needed to know about their mom, and of course I had to tell our parents. She and Bill urged me to tell the kids personally, so I picked up the phone and called my mother.

"Mom, it's Adam. Are the kids with you right now. No? Well, please sit down. Emily just committed suicide."

There were shocked gasps from my mother before she settled down and proved herself to be a great mother. "Adam, you'll need to come up and tell the kids yourself, you know that, don't you? And they'll need to delay their start of school. Counseling, they'll need counseling, too."

She went on and on with recommendations and suggestions until I finally said I'd drive up early in the morning to tell the kids. My plan was to immediately return home. I knew there would be tons of things to do so I couldn't stay too long.

The young officer arrived a few minutes later and interviewed me. I gave her Em's psychiatrist's phone number and a brief history of her illness. She told me sometimes once a severely depressed person makes up their mind to commit suicide, they appear better as they have made a decision which will get them out of their pain forever. I was given information that the autopsy would be done the following morning and her body would be released the next day to a mortuary of my choice.

Once she left, Bill sat with me while I called Emily's mother Linda with the bad news. Linda was no stranger to suicide; her husband, Emily's father, had committed suicide himself about the time our kids were born. Linda promised to fly down in a few days to help out. Susan made a quick meal and although I had no appetite, I did manage to gag some food down. They left me around nine pm and for the rest of the night I alternated between sobbing and fitful sleep. At six in the morning I showered, grabbed two cups of coffee and headed out to the most difficult task of my life.

My kids were in the den watching cartoons when I arrived. They groaned thinking I was there to pick them up, but there must have been something in my manner which calmed them down immediately. My mom turned off the TV and I sat down with Zoey and Luke and told them the bad news. There is no way to sugar-coat the news, so I simply told them. They were obviously shocked and started to bawl. We all sat there, hugging each other and crying. Finally, we all settled down some and agreed we should head back home.

The next few days were a kaleidoscope of awful images and feelings: Sheer grief. Casseroles. Mobs of visitors. Funeral home. Hugs of condolence. Droning preacher at a funeral. Pouring rain at the gravesite. Too little sleep. Sobbing children. Sobbing me. Writing an obituary. And on and on.

After about ten days Em's mother and my parents left, leaving the three of us to navigate our way through life. The kids had not started school for obvious reasons until one morning when I received a phone call from their principal. She asked how they were doing and gently suggested they might need a couple of things. First, she urged me to get them back in school as a mechanism to return to some kind of a routine. Secondly, she recommended counseling for them. She offered a quick session with the school counselor for the purpose of referring them to a professional child psychologist in the community.

That evening I talked with them about it. They glumly sat there as I told them their teachers missed them and they needed to get back to school. I promised them if it didn't go well, they could return home for a bit longer. When I mentioned counseling, I realized they didn't know what it meant. I told them counselors were people who could help them understand what had happened and help them recover some. This was met with stony silence until Zoey asked, "Yeah, but will it bring Mom back?" I admitted it wouldn't but I gently insisted they give it a try.

The next day I took them to school. Each of their new teachers met them in the office, hugged them and escorted them back to their rooms. I heard later they told the other kids Zoey and Luke had "lost" their mother and all the other kids in the rooms were to be extra nice to them. Once they were in their classes, I went to see Shelly Simpson, the school counselor. She escorted me to her office and closed the door.

"First, I want to offer my sympathy to you and to your family and secondly, I want to help as much as possible."

"Thanks."

"A parental suicide is one of the more difficult situations we have to deal with. We know from experience kids may seem to bounce back, but there are still issues which need to be addressed. Now, I do basic counseling here at the school, but my time is quite limited as I cover both this school and two others."

"I see."

"So, what I would like to offer is a name of a superb child psychologist for your kids. I'll have them see me and I'll tell them about her. Sometimes things like this coming from me are accepted better than from a parent. Here, take her name and give her a call. Set up an appointment, let me know when it is and I'll talk to Zoey and Luke about it later today. OK?"

"Sure. Thanks. Uh...would they be doing this together or separately, do you think?"

"I'd leave it up to Dr. Ellis. I would predict a combined visit with both, and then maybe some private sessions."

"OK. I'll make the call and get back to you."

"Adam, again, I want to offer my sincerest condolences. Good luck with those two. They're great kids and I hope, no, I'm sure they'll do well in the long run."

I went home and called Dr. Ellis, Christine Ellis, PhD, as the card said. I got a voice mail and left my name and the issue at hand. Within thirty minutes my phone rang with her caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Yes, Dr. Ellis calling for Mr. Avery."

"Yes, that's me."

"I understand from your call the nature of your concern. First, let me offer my condolences. I know professionally this can be devastating not only for kids but also for spouses. My job is to help your kids but I want to urge you, as I would any surviving spouse, to get some counseling also. If you want, I can give you some names after I've seen your children."

"Uh...I've kinda thought that might be a good idea, too. When can you see them?"

"I have an opening tomorrow afternoon. First, I want to see you for fifteen minutes or so at noon, then I'll see them at three thirty. I'll spend an hour with them. Later on, thirty-minute sessions are the norm. I'll see them together tomorrow and after that, I'll see them individually. How old are they?" After I told her, she mentioned that even though they were fairly close in age, their therapies would be quite a bit different. She also mentioned Zoey was on the cusp of puberty and might have some additional issues in the upcoming years.

Then she went on, "And I'll need to see you privately a few times, depending on how they progress. I have to walk a fine line between honoring their private feelings and your right as a parent to know what's going on with them. We'll work it out as time goes on."

We broke the connection and I prepared the first meal for the kids since their mother died. Up until then we were eating warmed up food friends had given us. Once Zoey and Luke were home, I asked them how school had gone. They each said "OK" and that their teachers were nice to them. Zoey went on to say her teacher was going to give the class a math test the next day though Zoey was not expected to take it. "I think I'll try it, anyway," she said. "Maybe if I study some tonight, I can do OK. I don't want to just sit there while the others are taking the test."

I congratulated her on her attitude and told them both about Dr. Ellis. The school counselor had already told them this would be coming. There was a lot of eye-rolling but I stood firm and told them this was the way it was going to be. I encouraged them to be open with the doctor, tell her what was going on, ask her any questions they might have. Afterwards, they went upstairs to do homework and go to bed.

For me, sleep was still a major issue. I had the most trouble sleeping in the master bedroom and ended up in our small guest room most nights. I refused to let alcohol be my sleeping medication, but I would still have my nightly shot of scotch, as I had always done. That evening I drifted into the master bedroom and bath. After looking at myself in the mirror, I opened the medicine cabinet and slowly started to remove Emily's things. Pill bottles, make-up items, creams and such ended up in the trash. I went over to the bathroom closet and removed her favorite towel, an old worn-out beach towel she'd had for years.

I felt better getting rid of her things from the bathroom, but I knew tackling all of her things in the bedroom and the rest of the house would be a major undertaking and I'd have to be careful not to throw out something which might have meaning for the kids. Finally, I went in and collapsed on the guest bed and slept fitfully most the night.

At noon the next day I arrived at Dr. Ellis' office. It was a fairly modest office and the waiting room was filled with various toys as well as posters of comic book heroes on the walls. Dr. Ellis was an attractive brunette woman, perhaps half a decade younger than I was. She had on a professional appearing but loose dress which looked comfortable and I noticed she sported a wedding band on her left hand. She ushered me back to a tiny consultation room with two chairs. I gave her a brief outline of our family and what had happened and agreed to have the kids there later in the afternoon. She gave me paperwork to fill out in the meantime.

For our first session, I was asked to be with them. Dr. Chris, as she asked them to call her, was genuinely warm and sympathetic, but still carried a professional air. Rather than have them sit in chairs in the main consultation room, she offered them and me cushions on the floor.

As she took one for herself, I could see why she wore her loose dress as she sat down on her cushion.

The session was fairly straightforward. She engaged them in simple conversation and I could see how she was picking up bits of information that way instead of firing a whole series of questions at them. There was a lot of crying, particularly by Zoey, and Chris reached over and gave her a gentle, one-armed hug to reassure her. At the end of the session, she made appointments for the next several weeks, some with the kids together and a few individually. Over the next few months, she saw them regularly and let me know privately she was optimistic about their progress.

I won't say the kids or I, for that matter, bounced back quickly, but as time went on, I realized they were doing way better than I was. I eventually called Dr. Ellis for that referral to counseling. I ended up with a grief counselor named Ben Wilson. He was an MSW with specialty training in grief and its management. I spent several visits with him during which we discussed the issues of anger as well as simple grief. I had unresolved anger towards Emily for what she had done to the kids and to me. Ben helped me understand how overpowering depression can be and how most suicide victims simply see no alternative for ending their pain. With that in mind, I was able to finally forgive Em and eventually I was able to look at her death as if she had died from cancer or an auto crash.

Second Summer

After ten months of their counseling, I received a call in June from Dr. Ellis asking me to come in for a parent visit. When I arrived, she ushered me into the small room and we sat across from each other. She was smiling, fashionably dressed and I noticed her wedding band was missing. We chatted briefly about a few recent developments in the news and a couple of school issues. Finally, she brought things around to Zoey and Luke.

"Adam," she said, "I'm quite pleased with how your kids are doing, especially Luke. Now I know they'll have setbacks now and then, such as with holidays, but overall, they are doing rather well."

"You mentioned Luke, but what's the story with Zoey?"

"Zoey has additional issues to deal with. She's a girl, she's now eleven, and she's at the beginning of puberty. And kids, particularly girls, in middle school can be vicious and mean. She's got a lot on her plate, not just her mom's death."

"Do you think she needs extra counseling?"

"No, not formal counseling, but what she needs is a surrogate mother. She needs someone she can turn to, ask about changes her body is going through, ask about periods, even talk about sex."

"Yeah, I could talk about some of that, but I'd feel a bit uncomfortable doing it, and I'm not sure she'd open up to me either."

"Are there any close women in your family she could turn to?"

"No, not really. No sisters, my brother's wife is an alcoholic and not at all a good role model. Emily had no sisters or brothers."

"Any close neighbors?"

"Nah, they're all pretty much older and she doesn't know them at all well."

"Hmm, I see. Well, let me think..." She sat there a few seconds before she cleared her throat, looked at me and said, "Adam, I'd like to volunteer."

"What, more counseling? I thought you said she was doing well."

"No, I'm volunteering to be a friendly woman she can hang out with. I know kids will often drop big questions in the middle of a casual encounter, so she needs those casual encounters. I can be that person."