He Took His Life, and It Changed Mine

Robyn Doolan
7 minutes ago
6 min read

Grief, Guilt, and the Aftermath of Suicide

Trigger Warning: The following article discusses suicide, which readers may find distressing.

For over a decade I lived and worked across Europe in the travel industry, from summer campsites to snowy ski resorts. I took on many different roles from tour guide to resort manager, met people from all over the world and absorbed the richness of different cultures. Those years shaped who I am and gave me a love of people’s stories, which is part of what later drew me into nursing. I am writing this piece now as a reflection on that journey and how one devastating event in December 2020 altered the course of my life and deepened my understanding of mental health.

What a fabulous playground this Earth is. I worked in travel across Europe, seeing things I’d never dreamt of. It also led me to meet Stefan in the summer of 2016, a French man who became my boyfriend and would change my life in more ways than I could ever imagine.

But this dream life had to end at some point. Returning to the UK to change career paths to something I’d always dreamed of, I packed my bags and went in a completely new direction. Starting education again at the age of 29 was certainly a challenge, but one I was thrilled to take on, as it meant beginning my nursing studies and finally working towards my dream of becoming a nurse.

Of course, I missed Stefan, but I was enjoying life in my new bubble at the same time. It was a whirlwind, working hospital placements and meeting so many more new people and learning new skills.

One night, whilst sipping a glass of vino with my friend, I had no idea my life was about to be turned upside down in a matter of seconds. My phone kept ringing, and I ignored it, thinking it was Caroline from university. After the third call in a row, I decided I should answer, wondering why she was calling so persistently. When I picked up, I realised it was actually Stefan’s sister, also called Caroline. The words I heard will never leave me.

“Stef’s dead.”

Grief

There was no warning. No signs. No nothing.

For the first time in my life, I was speechless. There were no tears. No emotions. Just a mental block.

Is it real? Am I imagining it? He was here. He was fine. Now he’s… dead. Where is he? How? Why? What happened? Is it real?

It transpired that he had got up that day and decided to walk in front of a train. A sure way of ending things. There is no coming back from that.

In the years I was with Stefan, he sometimes seemed a little down, as we all do at times, but nothing ever suggested that he might take his own life. Looking back, I realise that some of his past challenges may have shaped him, though I could never have imagined this ending. To those who knew him, he was full of life, humour, and kindness.

It’s well documented that suicide is a leading cause of death in young men. It also leaves countless families and friends broken by loss. But suicide won’t affect me?

The next few weeks were a blur. To this day, I can’t really tell you what happened. All I remember is sleeping with his hat. Almost like a slightly less sexy Miss Havisham, the character in Great Expectations who was jilted at the altar and never moved on, I didn’t have a wedding dress, so that was the best I could do. Being a 29-year-old widow isn’t as glamorous in reality as Holly made it seem in P.S. I Love You. There were no love notes, no pre-booked holidays. Just a single hat.

Not wanting to face questions about how Stef and I had been or what had happened, I put an announcement on Facebook after his death, not for attention, but to get it out the way in one go. The messages of “sorry” came flooding in. It annoyed me. Why were they all sorry? What did they do? My boss brought me flowers. Why flowers? What are they going to do? Death flowers – great. I put them on my windowsill in the plastic, not wanting to kill the flowers. My dad brought shopping round. Shopping? What do I want that for? What’s the point in eating? Why would I want to enjoy food? What was left to enjoy in life? Life sucked.

My bubble had been burst and washed away.

Guilt

Weeks went by. Questions kept cropping up in my head. At one point, I called the police station in France to confirm he actually was dead. Then the guilt started creeping in. Unsurprisingly, a strong feeling of guilt is often felt by survivors of suicide. And I certainly felt it. I kept going over and over what happened leading up to that tragic day.

I had spoken to him the night before. He sounded grumpy. He’d been to a party the night before, so I just assumed he was tired from that and thought “whatever”. But should I have recognised there was something truly wrong? Was it my fault?

Had I dismissed his grumpiness when I should have checked in with his emotions? Could we have avoided this?

Numerous studies have found that attempts of suicide often occur within a short time frame of the thought being had. So, could I have intervened? Could I have called him that morning? If I had, he’d still be here. One message or phone call could have disrupted that pattern. But I was too busy. I was too busy with the friend I’d been drinking wine with.

He did it in the morning. I spent that entire day with no knowledge that he’d departed this Earth.

Anxiety

Months passed by. It was suddenly January 2021. The numbness lifted a little. And then it was replaced by another delight…

Anxiety.

A study was done on anxiety and grief, and it was found that young women who are widowed, particularly if they experience acute grief, are likely to experience prolonged and significant anxiety.

Bingo!

With constant feelings of dizziness, not being able to breathe, thinking I was going to pass out. I was convinced there was something physically wrong with me. Doctor’s visits were unproductive, “everything has come back normal”. Surely not when my heart is regularly beating out of my chest and I feel like I’m going to faint?

“It could just be anxiety”, they’d say.

But I don’t have anxiety. I spent 11 years of my life travelling around Europe on my own. Now I go into a supermarket, and I feel like I’m going to pass out.

I mean, come on? There must be something wrong.

Turns out they were right.

It took me a good 8 months until I finally decided to (mildly) accept it as a possibility.

Hope

Throughout the whole process, I had hope. I didn’t want to waste the rest of my life being a grieving widow. He’d gone. He decided that, not me. He wasn’t coming back. Life is short, and I wasn’t going to waste the rest of mine because he’s not here.

Mindfulness practices mysteriously sprang across my pathway one evening while I was with my new boyfriend. He was watching a video about the meaning of life and the afterlife, and something clicked for me. Looking it up, I found a study suggesting mindfulness practices can be effective in reducing symptoms of anxiety. Why not give meditation a whirl, then, eh?

At first, I’ll be honest, meditation felt strange. Maybe a little woo-woo, maybe even a little pointless. But over the months and years, it helped me find myself again. It taught me to notice and appreciate the small things, to see the beauty in life even when it seemed impossible. You could say a little bubble started to grow inside me again.

Now, five years on, I have the most loving partner and a beautiful baby girl, and I thank Stef every day for putting me on this path.

Here’s to you, Stefan. See you again one day.

P.S. Thanks for all you did. I love you.