Story Categories - Suicide

I will never forget the first time I heard his voice. I just changed high schools within my city. I was new I did not know anyone. I just remember watching him and I knew something was different about him. I was 16 years old when I met Paul. All he said was ‘hi’ with a smile and since then we became inseparable. We grew together learning from each other and every day we became closer.

Our relationship became more then just friendship but something that bonded our souls for life. We were each others first, we went through so many things together. Growing up isn’t easy when you are still a kid. He took me to both the junior and senior prom and we graduated together. We made it through all the highschool challenges and remained closer then ever, we were proud we never broke up or took even a break despite our teenage hormones. We were ready to conquer the world together. We made all these plans. Our future kids names, what kind of house we wanted. But before we could have that, we knew we had to work.

I decided to go to college while he decided to become a United States Marine. At first the very thought of him being a Marine terrified me because I have never been away from him. We spent almost every day together since I was 16. Everyday I received a good morning message from him via text , phone call , or even a note at school. I was scared of the change that was about to happen. But blindly we began our journey. Not knowing what the future held, we just clung on to what we knew and that was each other. He went off to bootcamp while I started my first semester. We wrote letters, he never forgot his good morning messages I went to his graduation to Paris Island. I almost knocked him over when I saw him. His first response was “You dyed your hair” lol and so our journey continued.

I stayed here and did school while he did his required Marine training . I thought three months of not seeing him was unbearable, but I soon learned 3 months is better then not being able to see him for 6 months. His leave was taken away last moment, but after 6 months I was determined to see him so as soon as the semester ended. I flew to North Carolina to see him at camp lejune. Those were the best two weeks of my life and sadly were the only two weeks I got with him before he passed away. After I left he was sent to 29 palms he died two days after our anniversary. How he passed away is still in question, I heard different versions from his fellow Marines and on his death record it stated it was a self inflicted wound to the head. Location: porta potty.

Still to this day I don’t know what really happened. Part of me believes maybe he did kill himself . I had to wait 9 days till his body was sent to our hometown and when I finally saw him his face was distorted and his head was wrapped. I talked to him an hour and a half before he died. I didn’t know that was going to be the final time I heard his voice .

My other side thinks maybe something else happened. Paul thought suicide was wrong considering how angry he was at his cousin for committing suicide a few years prior . Less then 24 hours Paul passed my sister and I both received a strange text saying “Smile, death is coming ” from a number we didn’t know . Still to this day his dog tags are missing along with other things. We have received letters and documents where details regarding Paul has been wrong. So two years later. I am still not sure how he passed or where his stuff is , or when the investigation will be closed or if I will ever know.

It has been a struggle to keep moving forward. I was 19 when I buried him. He didn’t make it to his 20th birthday. Not a day goes by where I don’t think of him and what could have been. He broke my heart and it is hard to find closure since I have so many questions that haven’t and can’t be answered. When you love someone with every part of you, you want to be there and protect them.

It broke my heart I couldn’t be there to say bye or give him one last kiss or hold him like he held me when I last saw him in Jacksonville when he told me everything will be okay because i was with him and how he wasn’t going to let anyone hurt me. I wanted to hold him and tell him he is safe now because he was back with me. He will always be safe with me in my heart and mind where I keep him. I have days where I hate him for the pain he inflicted on me and question our whole relationship, but for the most part, now I think of him and smile . It’s hard but I try to find the good even in the worst situations.

I am glad I got those two weeks with him and I am glad I got that last phone call though the service was terrible. I could barely understand anything. I am glad his body got sent home and it wasn’t missing . Lastly, I am glad I got to experience the love he gave me. He told me he would love me till the day he died. Which he did. He never forgot a “good morning” message since I was 16 and the day he died was no different . I know the love we shared is real and something many people will never get to have. I am thankful for everything he and his death has taught me.

My life will never be the same and my heart will never be completely healed but everyday I live for us and I celebrate life. He is still with me for each milestone. Each day I struggled and still struggle, but I keep moving. Whoever is still reading this…you will have days were your heart hurts all over again like you just found out, but you have so much to live for. I am now 21 it’s been two years and I have accomplished so much and I know he would be so proud of me.

I believe in all of you!!

Rob and I met in December 1996, while we were both active in the Air Force. I was pregnant at the time, and had chosen to give my baby up for adoption. Certainly unusual circumstances, but he wasn’t like the other guys I’d gone out with before. He stood by my side and supported me emotionally through a very tough time in my life.

After two years, Rob asked me to marry him. My enlistment ended, and he decided to stay in. A year into our marriage, he got orders to RAF Mildenhall in England. Less than a year of arriving there, September 11th happened. We watched in horror, along with the whole world, the footage and aftermath. I remember looking at him and asking “What does this mean for us? Will you have to go to war?” He was an aircraft mechanic, so I’d always hoped and assumed he’d never have to see combat.

Over the remaining 3 years we were there, Rob went on quite a few missions. Several of which I was not told (or allowed to know) where. He never talked about them.

When we found out I was pregnant, after 8 years of marriage, we were ecstatic. We had been on the fence about having children all those years. So, while it wasn’t planned-I felt that God had other plans. When I was 17 weeks pregnant, I miscarried. We were both devastated.

We had our struggles. We had our issues. All married people do. I started to become increasingly concerned about his drinking. He became more and more distant from me. He decided to get help during the year we had to wait to try getting pregnant again.

He was diagnosed with PTSD. He tried several medications, and at times, seemed to be making an effort. But the drinking continued.

We suffered two more miscarriages before we became successful. During that time, Rob lost his older sister to suicide.

After our daughter was born in June 2009 (a month after our 10th anniversary), I went through my own personal struggles of PPD, and the loss of my own mother to cancer during my 5th month of pregnancy. Our marriage had reached its lowest by the time out daughter was 6 months old. I was starting to think about getting out. We weren’t talking, his drinking was reaching dangerous levels. I felt that I’d lost my husband… The man I’d married had been replaced with this shell of a man. I didn’t want me and my daughter to go down with him.

When he got orders to Washington, I decided a fresh start might be what we both needed. Unfortunately, I was wrong. On September 20, 2011 I woke up to his alarm at 5:30, but he wasn’t in bed. After a search through the house, I found his body in the garage. He had shot himself in the head with a shotgun. No note. Nothing. I was blindsided. We’d actually been talking more the week leading up to that morning. He’d stopped drinking. Looking back at it now, I can see that the days leading up to his suicide were full of delusions. I don’t know if he was trying to ask for help, and I missed it – or if he would have done it anyway. I will always wonder and regret that. I just remember thinking that as concerned as I was about what he talked about those days leading up to it – I was thankful and happy that he was finally talking to me again.

Now, I continue to live… And make sure that our daughter will always know who her father was. A kind, compassionate and caring man who loved us with his life. He will always be in our hearts.

Jason and I met through friends. His sister and my sister were friends in high school and they introduced us. I was a widowed single mom. My son’s father had been killed in a car accident when I was 6 months pregnant.

He was a wild and fun longhaired, hippy-type who was great at making me laugh. We dated for a while but never seriously. When he decided to join the Army, I wished him luck and didn’t see him again for over a year. All until I was at another party and we bumped into each other again. He was no longer the hippy I remembered, but a man serious about life. We reconnected and started see each other again. Later we were engaged. Then I found out that I was pregnant. Jason was so excited about becoming a dad. We married 2 months after our daughter was born. Only a month after that, Jason got word that he was going to be deployed and only four months after our wedding he was gone to Iraq.

I was so scared. Six long months later was R&R. Jason surprised me and came home for our kids’ birthdays. We were so excited to see him and had missed him so much. It was then that I first started to notice changes in Jason. I knew that being over there changes our vets but it was still a bit hard to get used to. He was no longer the happy ex-hippy that I remembered, but harder and more cynical about life. I was so worried when he left again. Three months later, I got news that Jason was experiencing problems and was being flown out to Germany. Jason was Combat Engineer and his duties included driving around looking for IEDs. Come to find out, Jason had been involved in several direct hits and many indirect. He had had concussion after concussion and now his mood, short term memory and coordination was being affected.

After Germany, it was Walter Reed, after that it was Fort Bragg, NC. I flew to see him there and tried and bring him home. When I got there, Jason didn’t act like himself at all. I had to be careful not to get him upset. I was there for a week and had to go back and get my kids who were staying with family. The very next day I got a call that Jason had been almost arrested my MPs on the base. He was taken to the hospital and given meds to help him calm down. I was on another flight the very next day. We stayed 2 months in a Fort Bragg hotel room full of other vets suffering from PTSD and TBI (traumatic brain injury), like Jason. We saw doctor after doctor. The A/C went out a number of times (it was in the middle of summer) and almost all of our meals were cooked in a microwave. Jason would get so angry at people when they would tell him, “Welcome Home”. He would scream at them, “I’m not home yet, I’m stuck here!” Jason wasn’t getting better, but getting worse. Finally, I told the doctors and the others in charge that enough was enough and we wanted Jason home.

After fighting with them, we finally got them to send Jason home. Jason still wasn’t the same. We tried doctors, meds, group therapy, counseling and nothing seemed to help. Jason was so frustrated at the lack of help that he started to drink a lot. With the drinking, came the fighting. Jason was arrested for assaulting me. He decided that the best thing for him was to get sober and to go where he wasn’t allowed to drink; back to Iraq. I begged him not to go but he volunteered anyways. He was gone only 3 months this time, but the damage to his mind had gotten worse. When he got back he was arrested for DUI, assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest all on the same day. The assaults on me went on but I kept forgiving him because I knew that it wasn’t my sweet Jason that was doing it. But after another standoff with the police where he threatened suicide by cop, I knew he needed more than I could give him. All the VA could do was a 72 hour hold in the psychiatric ward. While he was there I gave the number to the in-patient substance abuse facility there at the VA. After completing their program Jason came out and started drinking again, immediately. I had stayed at my sister’s while he was in treatment. On November 11th my sister woke me up and told me to come into the living room. My whole family was there and I knew before they told me that Jason was dead. They told me that he had been drinking. Went to our bedroom and shot himself in the head. All I could think was that I should have been there with him. I felt like I failed him. That everyone had failed him. I had to tell our children that they would never see their father again. I still haven’t been able to bring myself to tell them how it happened. At his funeral, I just wanted to scream at him and at everyone. I can’t even look at his picture without crying. It’s been over 3 years and I’m still crying.
I wrote a poem to and for Jason:
I hate you. I love you. I despise you. I miss you.
Why aren’t you here so I can yell at you for this.
How could you leave us like that?
You answered the call to duty and the call to war.
Why won’t you answer my call?
You thought only of your own pain and never of the pain that you would cause.
You thought only of your own brokenness when you shattered my world.
You spoke to me once of love and forever.
Now the only thing I hear is the echo of that gunshot.
I know God forgives you but why can’t I?
I want to drag you out of heaven to answer me…
Why?

Our story started in highschool. My husband and I met after I had invited my friend Mike over for a swim one summer. He asked if he could bring a friend with him, I didn’t know his friend but said alright. From the moment we locked eyes, I felt a connection with Tim. We had a great time that day, and after they left Tim called me and admitted to me that he had asked to come along because he had a crush on me. I had a boyfriend at the time, and Tim had a less than stellar reputation at our school so I was hesitant to start anything serious, and asked if we could just be friends. Things quieted down until after I went to college. I was having lots of trouble with my boyfriend and Tim started spending a lot of time talking on the phone with me and visiting me. We talked so much that my dorm neighbors thought he was my boyfriend! I ended up breaking up with my boyfriend over winter break, and Tim was the first person I called to tell. He came over the next day and we had our first kiss.

Tim was not an overly ambitious scholar and didn’t want to go to college and was having trouble finding a job that kept him interested. He decided to enroll in the army. While he was still talking to a recruiter, his family was dealt a devastating blow in the form of his brother in law being KIA in Afghanistan when his truck drove over a roadside bomb. Tim’s brother in law was the only one killed, leaving behind his wife and 8 month old son. Tim was absolutely crushed but even more determined to enlist in the military. However his family and I were firmly against it. Finally in an issue of compromise, he decided to enlist in the Navy where it would be less likely to see direct action. Boot camp was a hard separation for us, especially waiting for those first letters. It was worth the wait though, because immediately after getting his first duty station assigned, he came home for Christmas and proposed. It was one of the most wonderful nights of my life.

We were married December 29, 2007, right after I graduated college. About six months into our marriage, Tim was assigned a submarine and began to go on deployments. His first six month deployment started shortly before our one year anniversary. Navy deployments are shorter than Army but just as hard because there is less contact. It was mostly just emails unless they stopped at a port and he could call, but email was often down for weeks or months at a time. I remember during one of the times it was down I got so lonely, I went out and bought another cat. He was so mad when he found out!

Then one night I got a call from our phone tree. They told me the sub had been in an accident but there were only minor injuries and there would be a meeting the next morning with more details. I was so scared at the meeting, wondering what they considered minor. They told us the sub had hit another of our ships and had been rolled 85 degrees, but were still operational enough to make into the nearest port. The worst injuries were actually my husband’s, with a mild concussion and bruised tailbone. They had to ride on the surface all the way home, with escorts. I was nervous but extremely relieved that it hadn’t been worse.

He arrived home and life seemed to go on without a hitch. They decided to rebuild the sub and we were told it would at least be a year before they were finished. We decided to try for a baby while we knew he would be home. We tried for almost a year before finally getting the happy news that I was pregnant. At this point they were way behind on the sub repairs and didn’t know when they would get it operational. Tim was so excited about my pregnancy, but so worried too! I had gestational diabetes, as well as a blood condition that made me a higher risk pregnancy so he was constantly worried we would lose her. I gave birth to our daughter on November 11, 2010, and the look on his face as the doctor handed her to Tim is one I will never forget. You could tell it was absolutely love at first sight.

They finally fixed the sub, almost two years after they had ended their last deployment, and were going out for a week long test run. Tim was so scared, he pulled me aside the night before they left to say he had taken out an extra life insurance policy because he was so worried that they wouldn’t come back up. I got a call a week later from him saying to come pick him up, that he was off the submarine for good. During the week deployment, he said he had slept about 8 hrs total, had extreme anxiety and nightmares, and couldn’t eat. He was diagnosed with PTSD, and assigned to a land job while the Navy decided what to do with him.

From the night he came back from that week deployment, he was not the same. He had an extremely hard time sleeping, nightmares, and panic attacks. He was put in therapy and it seemed like they assigned a new sleep medication every week for him to try. He was moody, more prone to fits of anger, and seemed to draw more into himself. He had always been one of those people that seem always happy and was friends with everyone, but he became quieter and more likely to sit around and play video games for hours on end, not really talking to anybody. They ended up putting him on a narcotic sleep aid for almost three months (we found out later, it’s only recommended for up to two weeks tops). And the Navy finally decided to temporarily retire him. Basically he was retired, but they had the right to evaluate him every six months and could pull him back into active duty at any time. He was give a class on resume writing and let go in August 2011.

Being let go, even though he said that’s what he wanted, seemed to make it worse. His mood swings got worse, and he starting sleeping in a different room in order to not wake me up several times a night. He contacted the VA, but other than refilling his prescriptions, they didn’t do anything for counseling. Not until January 2012 did they decide to evaluate him. They decided that the needed counseling, but didn’t set up the first appointment until March 22.

About two weeks before his first counseling session, he was given a refill on his sleeping aid. He said it looked different, but was told that it was the same thing, just a different manufacturer. He went from bad to worse as soon as he started taking them. He flew into fits of rage that actually made me afraid to leave our daughter alone with him, I had to call people to stay with him a couple times because I was so unsure of his temperament. He was extremely nauseous and couldn’t keep anything down. He also fell in states of depression where he would lay on the couch and not do or say anything. He even admitted that he had suicidal thoughts. I was extremely worried and urged him to call the VA doctor to tell them about these recent side effects. He called but there was no answer so he left a message. He didn’t get a call back.

On March 22, he left for his first counseling session. He came back and seemed tired and quiet, but told me that it had went well, that he thought he could talk to his counselor and get help. I left for work shortly after he got back, feeling hopeful that things were looking up.

When I got home, I knew right away something was wrong. There were no lights on in the house, and I walked up the stairs in the dark, something he knew I didn’t like as the stairs were steep and two stories high. I couldn’t find him or my daughter in the house and ran back and forth from room to room calling for them. I finally called my parents, who lived about two minutes away and asked if they were there for some reason. They told me that Tim had dropped our daughter off several hours earlier asking them to watch her as he had a migraine and wanted to lay down. Feeling slightly relieved but still worried that I didn’t know where Tim was, I headed back outside to go pick up our daughter. It was then I found him. I remember screaming and not even recognizing that it was myself making the noise. The rest of the night is mostly a blur, other than a few images that stick out…. the first EMT arriving and after hurrying to Tim’s side, turning and shaking his head to say there was no hope, my father arriving and asking if I had called Tim’s parents, my friend coming to sit with me while I sat in the police car being questioned, the first thing my mother said to me “don’t you dare follow him”

Tim committed suicide. It is such an ugly word, and in the weeks and months that followed, I have learned to hate it, but there is also a slight defiance in thinking about it. When people hear I’m a military widow, they immediately ask which country he was in, assuming he was KIA. All the forms I had to fill out afterwards where they asked for cause of death, I stumbled every time. It is hard to describe the mix of grief, anger, shame, and guilt that suicide causes, I don’t even think I can properly put it into words. While intellectually I know it wasn’t about me, the heart wonders why our daughter and I weren’t enough. The one thing I will be thankful to him for is that he thought to get our daughter to a safe place first.

Since he’s been gone, I’ve heard countless statistics on military suicides, countless stories of the VA being overworked and understaffed, and countless questions of “how are you” in that slightly pitying way that people have when asking after the death of a loved one. My mother in law wants to make a difference in the system after the loss of her son, to work on making the VA and Navy more efficient with dealing with PTSD as that is who she blames the most. For me, it doesn’t really matter if there is blame or who has the most blame, it will not bring my husband back. For now, all I want to do is concentrate on living and making the best life for my daughter that I can.

There is a quote “Suicide does not end pain, it simply passes it on to the living”, and I quite agree. I have my own counseling sessions now, and my own PTSD and sleeping problems. But that will not stop me from living my life and trying to be happy and enjoy what I can.

My husband was medically retired from the Army on March 28, 2011. He had severe PTSD and a TBI caused by an injury in Iraq in 2005. He had undergone brain surgery in 2008. From the moment he woke up, he was in debilitating pain from a severed nerve in his abdomen. He struggled to live his life as a civilian for nearly a year after his retirement. He was only 26, walking with a cane and unable to do any type of physical activity beyond walking short distances (generally just to get from point A to point B). He was unbelievably intelligent. Maybe even too smart fro his own good. He often over analyzed things, but always amazed me with his point of view. His view point was always completely different and far more thoughtful than others. It was impressive to say the least.

Friends described him as smart and noble. Everyone agreed they had never met anyone like Trey before. Truly one of a kind. Honestly, an amazing human being. He was weighed heavily with the guilt of the things he had to do as an Infatryman while in Iraq. He always said that they were just trying to provide for their families just like he was. These men were killing his brothers and trying to kill him and, even though he carried out his duties, he was sympathetic to these men. Over the course of the year after retirement he became more hopeless. As a young man who couldn’t live life very effectively, let alone like a 26 year old, who now felt like he was achieving nothing and would never amount to anything because of his injuries. He had recurring brain surgeries to look forward to every 5 years to replace the shunt placed in 2008. He felt like a burden and carried guilt about every instance of losing his temper or being unable to complete a task or fulfill a promise because of his inability.

On March 26, 2012 he was preparing to put gas in his car so he would be ready to go to school that afternoon without rushing. He ran upstairs to change and came down the stairs smiling telling me he’d be right back. He kissed me three times, like he always did, holding the third a little longer than the first two. Then the last thing I remember was seeing him walk out of the front door. He spent 4 hours that morning playing Mario Brothers with our youngest son while the others were at school. About 15 minutes after he left I felt sudden anxiety and called his phone 5 times with no answer. I then sent a text telling him we were coming to search for him as I feared he was in an accident. As i opened the front door to load our son into the car, an officer was walking up the driveway. I immediately started crying and asking if he was okay and if he was in an accident. The officer ignored my question as he talked to another officer on his cell phone confirming the situation. In the middle of me asking, again, about if he had been in an accident the officer said to me “Ma’am, your husband shot himself”. I later learned that he was found barely alive, gasping for air and was kept alive 15 minutes after reaching the hospital before succumbing to his injury. From the moment he was pronounced dead I was never angry with him the way everyone expected. I felt tremendous guilt that I couldn’t be there for him in his most desperate moment. He died alone. He died unhappy. He’s in a better place now and I wouldn’t change anything, as I know his death was ultimately freedom from his anguish. I wouldn’t change anything except having some way to comfort him as he slipped away. I can still see his back as he walked out of the front door and me sitting there with absolutely no idea what was about to happen.

I miss him every second of every day, but am comforted by the knowledge that, whether you believe in God or not, he’s happier now. Be it in heaven or just for the simple fact that he’s no longer suffering. I still sleep with his cologne soaked sweatshirt and the boys and I talk about him everyday. I have a framed poster size picture of him from our wedding, in his Class A’s and talk to it often. He was an incredible man and changed a lot of people’s lives. He now has a scholarship named after him and a fundraising walk for TBI that was started by his friends in his name. It’s good to know I’m not the only person who will know how truly amazing he was.

I first met Allen, Al to his friends, in the fall of 1991. I was dating someone else, and he was friends with my brother and his first wife. I would try on outfits and ask him what he thought. He was brutally honest! I immediately liked him for that! I was told by my brother’s wife that Al liked me. I had just broken up with the boyfriend and didn’t feel I was ready for anything more. Fate had other plans.

Al was working as an electrician’s apprentice and asked me out. Our fist date was us driving around the suburbs of Chicago while he showed me all the parking lot lights he had put in. I loved it. His enthusiasm was infectious. I was hooked! We married in ’93 and had our children in ’94,’96, ’97, and ’00. 2 girls and 2 boys. He said we had an heir and a spare for each! He was feeling burnt out as an electrician, so he joined the Army and left July 4, 2001. He was 34.

He was allowed to keep in touch during basic because he was so old! This was the first time we had ever been apart for longer than a weekend. We both never realized how hard it could be. I fell down a flight of stairs and broke my leg and needed a new knee. When he found out, he said I’m coming home, you need me. I said, “No ,because you’ll have to start basic all over again”. We got through it. Our first duty station was Fort Polk, La. He made friends quickly. He was a Geronimo. That unit, 509, was his favorite. We were there for 6 years. Then in 2007 we PCS’d to Fort Campbell, Ky. 2 BN 327th B. Co. No Slack. He deployed 3 months later. I wrote everyday. He did as well. We had weekly phone calls.

He kept losing his buddies. I tried to keep the talk as normal as possible. When he got home he had changed. Gone was the sparkle in his wonderful brown eyes. He was haunted. He screamed in his sleep. His smile was not the same. We weren’t the same. We argued all the time. He wouldn’t let me in his world. No one would help me. No one would help him. On Saturday, January 29,2010 Al hung himself in our garage after an argument. Our children were home. I was home. Our oldest had just had her 16th birthday on the 22nd. Our second oldest had just had his 14th birthday on the 28th. He found his father in the garage. I’m 5’4″ and couldn’t reach him to cut him down. My oldest had to do it. I had given him CPR but it didn’t work. He died that day. We all did.

The kids all see a therapist now. I do too. But we miss him so much. There is so much responsibility I feel over this. It has gotten better, but it’s slow going. My heart aches for his hands in mine. My soul aches for his laughter and his presence. All I can do is wait until I can see him again. I have coffee with him every morning and a cup of tea or glass of wine with him at night. He will always be my best friend and soulmate. Thank you for allowing me to get this out. I’m crying as I type, but it’s not the sad, pathetic tears that they normally are. I will be fine, I have to be, for me and our 4 children.
Mrs. Allen D. Corwin

My name is Adela Veguilla-Shapiro and I am the proud Military Widow of Pfc. Steven Shapiro, and this is our story.

I met my husband through a mutual friend in the summer of 2003. Steve was 20 and I was 17. We were both young and at the time trying to find ourselves, and our lives had taken us to opposite sides of the state. We continued to stay in contact with one another and after six years, we re-united.

I remember the first day we we’re able to get together. It was a beautiful day in San Francisco, May 2009. The sun was shining and the sky was clear. We made our way through the city, stopping at Dolores Park, The Sutro Bath House and ate lunch in Japan Town. He was impressed that I insisted on paying the bill and saying to him “I’m a working girl, I have my own money.” We ended the night with a simple good bye and I began my drive back home, two hours north. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I was praying that he would want to see me again. And, sure enough, I received a text message. My heart skipped. Steve wanted to make sure I made it home safe and told me he had good time. I immediately replied back with a “we should hang out again sometime.” The following week, I took the two-hour drive south, to San Francisco to be with him. This time, it was a date. We went to a movie in Daly City, and in the parking garage we had our first kiss. He surprised me while I was digging through my purse looking for my glasses, I felt him come closer and before I knew it, his lips were on mine. I felt my face get hot and became embarrassed. I remember thinking to myself “oh my god.” That feeling of being embarrassed and uncomfortable quickly went away. There was something about Steve that always made me feel at ease. Perhaps it was because we were friends for so long, we already knew one another that taking our friendship to the next step just seemed to come naturally. On May 13th, 2009, we were official and I was his girl. From that day on, we became inseparable. Steve and I would constantly call one another, texting each other throughout our workday. And on our days off, I would stay with him in San Francisco, so we could be together.

A couple weeks into our relationship, I knew he was the one. Steve was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. And in true traditional fashion, I brought him home to meet my Father. The two-hour drive to my house, I was prepping Steve on what to say and what not say to him. Because my family means everything to me, and if they didn’t approve of Steve, that would make our relationship very difficult. Again, I prayed, hoping they would see the Steve that I loved and accept him for the man that he was. When we pulled up to my house, my heart began to race. I ran a million scenarios through my head. The first one, was of my Father cleaning his pistol as we walked through the door. I hoped that I was exaggerating this moment, and thankfully that was the case. Before I could even open the door, my parents were already standing in the doorway, smiling. “How embarrassing” I thought to myself. To my surprise, that night went smoothly. Steve and my Father became close. Night after night, they would reflect and converse over things that I didn’t much care for and he quickly embraced my family as his own.

Over a series of conversations with my Father, Steve became inspired to enlist in the U.S. Army. One day after class, Steve had decided he would speak with a recruiter. It was a spontaneous action. I wasn’t aware that Steve had taken interest in joining the military. I remember asking him over and over again “are you sure you want to do this?” And he would reply each time with “yes, I want to do this.” Hesitantly, we met my Father at the Army Recruiting Station in Santa Rosa. A series of meetings would take place in this office with his recruiter. Together they would discuss the benefits of joining the military and all it’s glory. What took over a course of weeks, seemed like hours, and with the blink of an eye, Steve had signed the papers.

Every girl dreams of the day when they’re proposed to, their wedding day and so forth. My dream was just like any other girl, wishing for a fairy tale. Steve was a romantic man, and he proposed to me, with no ring, while driving in my Honda, down Geary Street in San Francisco. And, it wasn’t even a “will you marry me?” it was a “well, if we get married, we’ll be able to live together.” Did I mention Steve was romantic? In all honesty, I didn’t care how he asked, whether it was on one knee or not. So I said to him, “I’ll marry you with a ring from a Cracker Jack Box.” And in less than seven months, I went from girlfriend, to fiancé, to wife.

December 31st, 2009 Steve and I became husband and wife. We decided to not have a wedding, nothing fancy, just a civil ceremony at the Napa County Court House. On our drive back home, we kept saying to one another “we’re married!” — “you’re my husband!” — “you’re my wife!” After so many years of friendship, knowing that he chose me, out of all the other girls, he chose me to be his wife. I was honored, honored to be his.

March 1st, 2010 I drove Steve to the recruiting office, where I’d have a few moments to say goodbye before he left to basic training. I tried my best to hold myself together, to be strong for him, to not allow myself to cry. I kept thinking to myself “it’s just four months, four months will go by fast.” I kissed him goodbye and then he left. I stayed in the parking lot of the recruiting office. Alone in my car, I cried. I highly underestimated how long four months would take. Four months seemed to take forever! Graduation day finally came. It was the end of June 2010. I found myself in Fort Knox, Kentucky and I had butterflies in my stomach while I watched him march around in his Class A’s. I was so happy to finally be with him. No more letters, no more missed phone calls, I could finally kiss my husband.

July 9th, 2010, Steve reported for duty at Fort Hood, Texas. We were both tired and anxious from the two thousand mile drive from California. It hit me. Steve finally made it. He was now a soldier and I was an Army Wife. We lived together less than a year as husband and wife before he received orders for deployment.

February 2nd, 2011, my husband deployed to Iraq.

The families were allowed into the company, to spend the last remaining hours with their soldiers. Steve and I were quite. We didn’t say many words. I knew he wasn’t looking forward to leaving me, and again I tried my best to hold in my tears. I had to be strong for him. I didn’t want him to feel guilty for having to leave me again. It was time for final goodbyes, and my heart dropped to the floor. I didn’t want to say goodbye. He walked me out to the front door, and I kissed him, smiled then said “I’ll see you soon.” He yelled at me “I love you” and my tears began to poor, without turning around I said ”I Iove you too.” I knew if I turned around I’d become hysterical. So, I continued walking to my car to cry alone. I cried the entire way home, I cried myself to sleep, and throughout the entirety of that day. I felt really ill, but it was different this time.

February 3rd, 2011 the morning after my husband had deployed, I continued to feel really ill. I went to the bathroom and nearly vomited and thought to myself “there’s no way.” The pregnancy test was positive. I didn’t believe it. I called my Mom right away and in the middle of my confusion, Steve called. He called to let me know that he had made it safe to Kuwait, and that he would call me the next chance he had. I surprised him with a “guess what!” I told him then that we were expecting and that he would be a Father. He yelled out to the person standing next to him, “my wife is pregnant!” And on the other end of the phone I stood there smiling.

September 27th, 2011 I picked up Steve from SFO for R&R. I was so happy to finally see my husband. He was more handsome now than before he left. “How is this even possible?” I thought to myself. It must be the water! He would always talk about how great the filtered water was in Iraq. I thought he was crazy. Whatever it was, it did him good. I was more in love with him than ever before. And let’s just say our first night together was great.

September 29th, 2011 I was induced at St. Helena Hospital. My husband never left my side. Granted he did mostly sleep, but I have to give him credit for spending every waking moment with me. The following day at 3:54 PM, Steve and I welcomed our Son, Micah into this world. Aside from the medical staff, Steve was the first person to hold our son. While I recovered in the hospital, Steve stayed with me every night. Due to medical complications, our son and I were admitted additional days to the hospital. Which meant half my husbands R&R and his 29th birthday was spent in a hospital room. We made up for lost time, and went out everyday meeting with friends or spending time alone, together as a family. I cherished every moment.

October 13th, 2011 I drove my husband back to SFO. This time, I couldn’t be strong. I cried quietly in the car, hoping he wouldn’t notice. I’m not sure if he did, because he didn’t say much. I stopped at the terminal and cried even harder. This time, he saw me. He kissed me and said “goodbye. I’ll be home before you know it.” I told him I loved him and didn’t want to let go. I sat in the car and watched him walk away. He turned around to wave and I knew that was my signal to drive on. I cried all the way home. He called me a few times between flights and would text me, to make sure I was okay. I wasn’t okay. I wasn’t okay with our family being torn apart. Only having two weeks together. It wasn’t fair. I wanted my husband home with us, so we could be a family. When Steve made it back to Iraq, he would call me several times a day to make sure I was doing okay. I couldn’t stop myself from crying this time. Every time I heard his voice, I felt my heart break. I couldn’t stand being away from him any longer. Then the following day, I received good news that Steve would be expected home from his deployment the first week of November. I remember thinking “he’ll be home for the holidays!” I immediately e-mailed Steve with the good news, and he was just as happy as I was. Every time Steve called, we would count down the days, making plans for my move back to Texas.

The early morning on October 21st, 2011 my husband called me. He answered with “I miss your voice.” I didn’t think much of it because I was half asleep and exhausted from caring for our son. Steve said that he’d let me rest and call me again in a few hours. And, he did. He kept his word and called me again later that morning. This time we were able to talk on video chat. I was able to see his handsome face. Looking back at it now, something in his voice sounded different that day. He said to me “I love you and Micah so much, you have no idea how much I love you.” Our conversation was brief and we said goodbye, blew our kisses, and then told each other “I love you.” I continued on with my day, sorting through our things, and packing boxing, preparing for our move.

The late evening on October 21st, 2011 we receive a knock at our front door. I assumed it was the neighbor kids, doorbell ditching again. My dogs wouldn’t stop barking. Whoever knocked on the door, didn’t run off, they were still standing there. My Father answered and I heard a mans voice say “is Mrs. Adela Shapiro home?” and my Father replied with “Why?” Just the tone in my Fathers voice alarmed me, I ran from my room and made my way to the front door, looking in the eyes of two men in Dress Blues.

Time stopped. My heart dropped. I knew.

“On behalf of the Secretary of Defense and the U.S. Army, we would regretfully like to inform you that your husband, Private First Class Steven Shapiro died in Tallil, Iraq on October 21, 2011.” I’ll always remember those words.


I remember screaming at the Chaplain “no, not my husband!” – “there’s got to be a mistake!” – “I just talked to him!”

I swear that I heard my husbands voice say, “I’m sorry.”

I became numb, my mind went fuzzy and some how I made it to my couch. I sat there as the two men approached me, then I asked “how?” There was a long pause, the Sergeant answered and said “ma’am, your husband was found in his room with a gunshot to his head.” I had to take a moment to take all of that in. “Suicide?” I asked. The Chaplain immediately answered, “the cause of death is under investigation.” I recall thinking to myself “my husband wouldn’t kill himself” – “he wouldn’t do that to me” – “he wouldn’t leave us.” But he did. Steve left us. He was gone.

After my husband’s funeral, I was informed that he had left a note. And in this note, Steve said he was sorry, that he felt like a failure, that he failed his unit and his family, and that he loved me. He never gave a reason for these feelings. Now I’m left with wanting to know why. Why did he choose to end his life, to leave behind our son and I? My husband had just one week left before he would return home to us.

Although my husband made a selfish decision, I’m not mad at him. I’m disappointed that our son won’t grow up with his father, that we didn’t get more time together. I feel robbed of the life I deserved with him. We had made plans for our future. I was looking forward to having more children, watching them grow, and growing old together. I never thought my husband would take his own life. There was a side to my husband that he didn’t share with me. He knew all of my deepest darkest secrets, and I thought I had known his. All this time, I did my best to be strong for him, but I wasn’t enough for the both of us.

Pfc. Steven Shapiro was more than a soldier. He was my best friend, my husband and the father of my son. I’m going to miss looking into his eyes, his smile, his laugh, the way he would pick at his fingers when he was nervous, waking up to him and kissing him goodnight. I never thought I’d love someone the way I loved him. I’m lucky to have had him in my life. Granted it was for a brief time. We spent many moments together that I’ll always cherish. I love my husband and will continue to always love him. I’m thankful for having the time we shared. I thank God everyday for giving me my gift, our son Micah. When I look at our son, I see my husband. I’ll always have a piece of him.

I am the proud Military Widow of Pfc. Steven Shapiro. Remember my husband for the man that he was and his service to this country.

-Mrs. Shapiro