My ex died Sept. 11 of last year. We had dated for over 2 years and had broken up about 2 weeks before he died. My ex was a drug addict and used to abuse me horribly physically and mentally. I had finally gotten up the courage and the strength to leave him. For good. He had moved his stuff out of my house and I had stopped communicating with him. I was ready to move on with my life. Sept. 10, my cousin, my youngest child (at the time she was 2) and I came home from somewhere. We had my jack russell terrier with us. We got out of the car and were crossing the road to my house when my ex came barreling up the road and almost hit my dog. He took the road across from my house and circled back around and parked the car. I was furious. I was yelling at him for being so wreckless and all but when he got out of the car, I realized he was badly messed up on something. He got on the porch and pushed his way past my cousin who was holding my baby in order to get into the house. I knew then that there would be trouble. To make a long story short, we fought and argued. He threatened and threw things and, when that didn't work, he begged and cried and pleaded with me for one more chance. I was done. I knew that I was done. And I told him so. With no other choice because he wouldn't leave, I called the police who eventually convinced him to leave. I didn't hear from him anymore that night or the next day. I was thinking he'd gotten the message and I was relieved. That next day, Sept. 11 as sad a day as it already is for Americans, my friend, cousin and I were sitting in the living room watching t.v. when I received a telephone call from a friend of his. They had found my ex dead. He had overdosed. I was devastated. That isn't even the word. I started screaming and crying. It was unreal. My cousin and friend had no idea what was going on. My first instinct was to go to his mother whom I had been really close to at one point. However, when my cousin and I pulled in there his aunt came out and told me I'd done enough already and needed to go home. His sister came out and was screaming at me and crying saying how it was my fault. That was the first time the thought that I was to blame entered my mind. The next stop was his friend's where it had all happened. Those poor boys were crushed. Beyond belief. In their despair I thought they blamed me too and all I could do was say I was sorry and leave. A host of people that love and care about me were in and out of my house in the days following. It's all a blur. I was still in shock. Then I received a phone call from his aunt telling me that I was not welcome at his funeral. Wow. What a blow. But in their grief, I didn't want to add to their pain. So I agreed. My cousin and I sat outside that funeral home the night of the funeral and watched people come in and out, without being able to say goodbye ourselves. After that, he was cremated and his ashes spread in another state hours from where I live. It was so final but yet so unreal. My children, my loved ones and I have mourned and mourned. I've been in counseling, on medication, to grief sessions. I've moved on in life and am actually in another relationship with a wonderful man. But I'm stuck. I still blame myself and his family still blames me. I've talked to his friends and know that they don't but the unbearable grief, pain, and guilt I carry drives me crazy. I haven't been able to move on, to move past. I'm reaching out. Trying to find answers. Trying to rid the control this grief has on my life. I still am not 100% sure if he killed himself on purpose or on accident. There was no note or anything that I am aware of and his friends swear to me he wouldn't have done it on purpose. I'm not so sure. His family blames me for some reason. Every time I hear a siren or see something about someone on drugs, my heart stops. I imagine the pain his family feels, his friends. What he went through that night all alone. I relieve that night over and over. The night before. I want to move on. I want to be healed. I want peace.
