December 5, 2021, a seemingly normal day, turned into the worst day of my life when my partner of three years, and the father of my four-month-old son, stepped outside for a cigarette and, without warning, shot himself on our back steps.
He exhibited no signs that stuck out to me as suicidal, as we both were adjusting to new parenthood roles. All the things I can look back at and question were easily chalked up to being a new parent.
We didn’t argue.
He spoke to my mom three hours earlier about our son’s doctor appointment that next week.
He made himself little smokies as a late-night snack.
He said he was going to have a smoke, and he would be back in so we could put our son in his crib and go to sleep.
He never walked back in the door.
I’ll never know what happened in his head within those few minutes, but I can’t help but think that if he didn’t have a gun, he would be here and my son would know his father. In an impulsive act, my world was destroyed, and I am not the same woman.