“October 3, 2018.
We met. We started talking and, at first, it was nothing but friendly. We were learning all about each other. The things we wanted to do in life, the thinks we liked, what we didn’t like. We learned about our pasts and all the things we’ve been through. I knew then that you’ve had a really hard last few years.
November 8, 2018.
We started dating, going out on dates. Spending time with each other. Planning out what we wanted to do with our lives together. You moved back to Georgia soon after. We FaceTimed everyday. We talked about me and the kids moving down and all of us just being a family.
January 1, 2019.
You were coming home from your New Year’s party. You told me you hadn’t been drinking. Your truck hydroplaned off the road and you hit a tree. You were so upset, you didn’t know what you were going to do. Months later, you admitted to me you drove off the road. You tried to hit a tree, but the ground was wet and pulled the truck and you struck the tree in a different way than you wanted. You had lived when you didn’t want to.
January 13, 2019.
We split up. We lived 1,000 miles apart and we lived two different lives. You needed time to heal your mind and you weren’t mentally capable of maintaining a relationship while you where trying to build yourself up.
March 28th, 2019.
You called me. We FaceTimed for 3 hours because you weren’t doing okay. You were sitting in your car with the garage door closed. Your car was on. I made you open the garage door and turn your car off. I talked to you until you felt okay again. That night, you promised you would get the help you needed and we got back together.
April 20, 2019.
I came to see you. We drank wine and made cookies. We got wine drunk in your kitchen. We talked for hours about how you weren’t okay. We talked about how in every relationship there’s a gardener and a flower and you needed to be the flower for a while. We held each other close. I realized that day that no matter what issues we could have, you were the one.
May 14, 2019.
You came to New York to spend a week with me for my birthday. You were there for Addy’s diagnosis. You climbed most of the way up Blue Mountain with me. We got engaged and then we got drunk on my birthday. You went home after that week and started work at your new job.
June 14, 2019.
I move down to Georgia. It was an extremely exciting time. We found out I was pregnant. The excitement of being a parent was all you talked about. You helped me to be the parent I always wanted to be, you showed me a different side of me I never knew was there. We spent every night in each other’s arms, everything seemed okay. I knew you still needed help, you gave me little cues all the time. You left the house a few times with your dad’s ashes and a pistol, but I always talked you down and convinced you to come home to me. You never went when I asked you to, but I kept asking, kept reminding you how important it was.
August 13, 2019.
We had a fight. It seemed like a big one at the time. You made me go take a shower to rinse off the negative energy. I took a bath instead. You wrote your letter. You came in to check on me, pulled me from the tub. We cried. You helped me get dressed and we laid in bed. You held me all night long. You cuddled me like you had every night. Things felt like they could work.
August 14, 2019.
You woke up to your alarm. You got up and did your usual routine. You gave me a kiss and walked out of the room. I tried to fall back asleep when I heard you car turn on. I immediately sat up and looked around the room. Your work clothes were still where I left them the night prior and your boots where by the bathroom door. I ran downstairs and turned your car off. I took the keys, opened the garage door, and made you come inside. You blankly looked at the ground. Tears silently falling from your face. I told you I loved you. I hugged you. I asked you if I should call for help, I was worried. You told me no and that if I did, you’d kill the EMTs and then yourself.
Owen came downstairs and saw us crying. I made him hug you. He told you he loved you. You hugged him and didn’t want to let go. I made you get up and help me get the kids ready to take Owen to school. You didn’t want to, you wanted to be left alone, but I couldn’t. I was scared of what you might do. I tried to hold your hand as we drove Owen to school, but you wouldn’t let me. You wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t look at me. You walked Owen into school and told him you loved him. Came back to the car and continued to ignore me as I told you about what we had to do that day if he was going to be home.
We had an appointment to find out what we were having. We got home, you held Addy and put her in her jumper. You let the dogs out, played with Gunner as I tried telling you to go shower and rinse off all those bad feelings. You sat at the bottom of the stairs and I asked you if you wanted me to shower with you. You were still looking at the ground and shook your head no. I kissed your head, I rubbed your back. I told you I loved you as I ran my fingers through your hair. I took your truck keys from your pocket because I knew you had a pistol and didn’t want you running while I wasn’t paying attention and hurting yourself. I put them in the garage.
I came back inside and heard our bedroom door shut. Relief came over my body. I thought you were just going to shower. I went to try and find my phone and I heard you. I heard your body hit the floor, hit the door, you were struggling. I ran upstairs and the door was locked. I tried to kick it in. I was begging you with all of my might to unlock the door. I begged you to let me in.
I ran downstairs and knocked on the neighbors’ doors. They didn’t answer. I took Owen’s tablet and begged all of my friends on Snapchat to call 911. I ran back upstairs and kept kicking and kicking on the door. Throwing my body into this damn door that seemed to be so damn strong. ‘How the hell do other people do this?’ I was out of breath, I was tired, I was terrified. 911 came.
I escorted the police upstairs, and watched them kick our door in the first try. I saw you hanging there, in our closet doorway, from the pull-up bar you had. You were tall enough, all you had to do was stand up. I didn’t want to believe what I saw.
Before I could even react, EMTs were rushing upstairs. Firefighters, more police officers. I was being rushed outside. They asked me a million questions before telling me they did everything they could do, but you were gone. You had my phone, you took it so I couldn’t call for help. I couldn’t call anyone. I so badly wanted to talk to my mom… I watched everyone come in and out of our house, the police stayed. The EMTs tried so hard to get me to go to be seen. I sat for what felt like hours before they brought you downstairs. I gave you our last kiss. They put the flag over top of you and left with you. That was the last time I saw you.
August 15-19, 2019.
I laid in the spots of blood you had spit up during your struggle. I had a hard time eating, sleeping, or even understanding what was going on. I kept hearing the police officer’s voice in my head, seeing you everywhere I turned. I was dreaming of you, and it was like I could feel your hand on my back every time it became hard to breath from the crying. I saw you in open doorways, even in the passenger seat of my car. I moved back to New York and I saw you everywhere I went. Every place I would go to, I saw a sign that you were there.
October 1, 2019.
I miss you. I think of you constantly. I see you everywhere I look. I’m getting big, and Ryder is always moving around. You were so excited for this part of the pregnancy, but you didn’t make it to this part. I carry your ashes with me everywhere I go, I cuddle with them every night.
Nicholas Joachim Lazar
March 22, 1997 – August 14, 2019
22 years old.
The stigma of it being ‘weak’ for men to get help needs to be broken. Mental health is so important.”
[If you’re thinking about hurting yourself, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or visit suicidepreventionhotline.org to live chat with someone. Help is out there. You are not alone.]
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This story was written by Kaitlyn Platt, and originally appeared here. You can follow her grief support group. Submit your own story here and be sure to subscribe to our free email newsletter for our best stories.
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