It was Monday evening on August 20, 2007. I was scheduled to work until 7:00pm. Somewhere just after 6PM, Wes called me on my cell phone. I'm not really supposed to answer my cell phone at work, but I would anyway because what if it was an emergency. It never was though, thank goodness. I always said to the kids that they should dial the work number instead, but they never did. So, I answered the call while trying to hide from the view of management and customers. He wanted to know how to get to Drop-In Skatepark. They were already on their way, but the signs didn't look familiar. He saw one that said "Butler". I told him they were headed in the wrong direction, that they needed to get off the highway, and go back the the other way. Then I asked who was driving, (some friend of their's), Sam was with them, and they were running late because they had been going in the wrong direction. Okay. All was well. Not too much later, my cell phone rang again. This time I was actually helping a customer at the front counter. So, I bent down to get my phone...so I could essentially open it to stop it from ringing so loudly. I noticed on the caller ID that it wasn't Wes or Sam, but it was Jeff. So, I opened it and quickly said something along the lines of "I'm at work, hold on"...and then I left it open and placed on the top shelf above the prescription bins. I figured he could hear me dealing with customers, but I still felt a little bad to do that to him. He also knew that I wasn't supposed to take cell phone calls while at work, but he would call from time to time on the cell anyway. Wouldn't you know it, after the customer finished, another one was waiting to be helped. So I helped that customer too. By the time I got back to my phone, Jeff had hung up. I now only had about 10 more minutes of work before I could leave, so I let it go at that. I punched out at 7:00, and went to my car. I started driving out of the parking lot when I realized I should call jeff back to see what he wanted. I dialed and it rang, but he didn't answer. I didn't bother leaving a message. It wasn't all that unusual for him not to answer. Sometimes he did, and sometimes he didn't. Oh well, I figured. There were always a few things I looked for when I was pulling up to the house. I would take notice of whether Jeff's truck was there or not. This night it wasn't parked on the street. Then I would look to see if the kitchen light was on or not, and if the fan was open. The fan being open would mean he was in there smoking a ciggarette, hanging out. But the fan was closed. As I got out of my car, I noticed that his truck was parked to my left in the parking lot across the street. I thought that was odd. I wondered why he parked it over there. So, if his truck was here, but the fan was closed, I thought, maybe he was in bed. I was a little puzzled. I went into the house, and immediately the dogs were there. Sparky went right outside, but Lady did not. (Lady was Jimmy Hughe's dog-when Jimmy died on May 20th, Jeff took her in as he had promised Jimmy he would if anything ever happened to him. Jimmy loved Lady more than anything). I put my keys and phone on the table, took off my shoes, walked through the house to check it all out. (Just the first floor.) I checked Jeff's bed, he wasn't there. Hmm. Where could he be. I guess out with his friends. Then I realized it was Monday evening. It was about 7:30pm. George must have picked him up to go to an AA meeting. They always went to the AA meeting on Monday nights in Ridgewood. George usually drove, too. That's it. That's where he must have been. I noticed that the house stunk like dogs, so I mentioned to myself that I should light a candle. Then I went to the bathroom because I had to go real bad, and when I came back out, I noticed Lady attracted to the basement door. I figured one of the cats must be on the other side, as was usually the case. So I opened the door to see, but there was no cat. Instead, in a very unusual move, Lady went right past me and went down a couple of steps, stopped and looked back at me. This was highly unlike her. She never wanted to go downstairs. I said to her, What is it? Is there something downstairs? What's the matter?" It was obvious that she wanted me to go downstairs with her when I took one step down and she bolted the rest of the way to the basement without hesitation. This is when I started getting a little nervous. Lady never liked to go down the basement stairs. She's a big boxer, it wasn't easy for her to navigate her big tall legs and frontally heavy body down those non-gripping narrow steep steps. But there she went, with a purpose, and I was on alert. I turned on the light and followed her down. I looked around and saw nothing unusual, but I smelled something different. It wasn't the usual musty basement smell with a hint of Ronnie. It wasn't a bad smell either. It was a familiar smell. Again, I was definitely on high alert. Something was different, something was down there, but I didn't know what. It's a scary feeling. I didn't want to walk through the center opening of the steel shelves to look behind them, because it was too close to whatever may have been back there. So, I walked over to my laundry area and turned on that light instead. I peeked around the other steel shelf...this one farther away from the Ronnie area. I thought I could see something. A figure. Laying down? Was that an orange shirt? It was dark. I cautiously took a few steps closer (I think I turned on the other light on my way around that steel shelf). As I got closer, I realized it was Jeff, laying down down on the Ronnie cushion. This was another unusual thing, to say the least. Jeff would have never been laying down there on that cushion. He called himself a germophobe, and I knew he felt that the cushion had alot of germs. Heck, he had found it curbside before garbage pick-up and brought it home for Ronnie to sleep on, knowing that Ronnie wasn't too particular about things like that. (When I refer to this cushion and this corner of the basement as "Ronnie's", it's because he had been staying down there for several months as he had nowhere else to live. He had been back out of our house a couple of months earlier, but the basement set up remained unchanged.) Anyway, I turned on the light right above him and and was so shocked to see him laying there, looking up at me. I asked him, "What are you doing down here?" My first thought was that he was hiding from the police. For the past few days, he kept thinking he was going to arrested, either while at work, or at home. He didn't answer me. he just kept looking at me. Then I noticed a bright pink, bruise type of mark on the center of his forehead...even just off center to his right. So, my next thought was that he had been in a fight...it looked like he had bit hit. So I said, "What happened? Are you okay?" He said simply, "No" in a strange monotone sort of voice. As I looked closer, I noticed a circular shape had been impressed in the bright pink spot. That's when I realized what it was. I looked at his hand and saw the gun he was holding. I said, "No. No, Jeff, No, No...don't do this, no. Everything is going to be alright. Don't do this." Now, I can remember things that were said, bit it's been nearly 2 months, and I'm not exactly clear on exactly when things were said. I remember him telling me this was the best way, it was the only way. I knew he was completely troubled by the incident that caused him to fear arrest. He said he had spoken to a lawyer just that afternoon, and that it didn't look good. I told him, "Just tell the truth, you didn't do anything wrong, you're not going to go to jail. And even if," I repeated, "even if you do go to jail, maybe it could take your life in a whole new direction." He told me,"I'm not going to work tomorrow, I've already made up my mind. I'm never going back to work again, and I'm not going to jail either. I'm not doing it." I tried to kneel next to him, and console him, but he said,"Don't touch me, it's cocked". I was scared. I also realized my phone was upstairs on the kitchen table. I was down there with him, and I wasn't leaving for anything. He wanted me to hide his club stuff up in the attic so that only I would know where it was. He told me over and over again to go and do that. He said it was "in the blue bin by the dryer underneath the saw horses. Go take it out and bring it to the attic and hid it where only you will know where it is. Then after everything settles down, to give it to Carlos", one of his club guys. I kept saying, "I'm not leaving you." He also said numerous times, "Just leave me alone. Let me do this. Just leave me alone. My stuff is in the blue bin next to the dryer. Take it up to the attic and hide it. Go do it now." Of course, I wouldn't leave his side. I told him," I'm not going up to the attic. I'm not leaving your side. I'm not leaving you. That would be like me giving you permission to do what your down here contemplating. I can't do that, so stop telling me to leave you alone because I will absolutely not." Then he responded, Fine, then. I'll just go take a drive in my truck, or I'll go take a walk down the tracks, but I'd rather be right here where I'm comfortable in my own basement. Just let me do this, you're strong, you can handle this." I got annoyed and said,"If you were really going to do this you would have done it already. Why did you wait until I got home? I didn't even know you were down here, Lady led me to you." That's when I thought of the connection, and I tried to tell him,"Lady led me down here to you. It's like Jimmy is coming through Lady to tell you everything's gonna be alright. This isn't the answer, don't do this." He had been sitting up at this point petting Lady. I remember he began to cry gently. I did too. I continued to try to talk him out of it, but he wasn't listening. He just kept telling me what to do. "Hide my stuff in the attic, go do it now, just leave me alone. You're strong, you can handle this, it's not gonna make a mess, that's why I'm down here. I even have the blanket here, see?" He gestured toward the blanket on the floor behind where his head was when he was laying down. He laid back down again, and I got really scared all over again. I did not want to see him do this. But I couldn't leave his side either. He told me he didn't want the boys to find him, that's why he waited until I got home. He wasn't sure if it was me or not though, until I came down and found him. He told me to "take those boys to church. You raise them good, you're strong, and you make sure you take them to church." At some point he also said, "You and the boys don't need me making your life miserable anymore." And again, he continued with "Just leave me alone, let me do this, go hide that stuff up in the attic." I realized I wasn't really getting anywhere with this, so I finally said, Fine, I'll go hide your stuff in the attic if you come with me." I think he was getting frustrated, so he got up...seemingly unwillingly, and walked toward the laundry area. I think he pee'd in the slop sink, while I tried to get the bag of club stuff out of the bin. I needed his help because the saw horses on top of the bin were heavy. Then we went upstairs, and I shut off the basement lights as I followed him up. We walked into the kitchen where I placed the bag right on the floor. He opened the fan to light a cigarette, and he opened the cabinet and took out a small, nearly empty bottle of vodka. He told me to go the store to get him a bottle of booze. (Earlier when I first came home, I took notice of the fact that he had not been hanging out by the stove/fan smoking and drinking at all that day, because there was absolutely no mess, no empty cup with melted ice, no ashes. I t was untouched. So I assumed he was sober. He seemed 'all there'. Just different.) When he told me to go to the store, I knew he was trying to get rid of me again. I said, "No, I'm not going to store to buy you booze. I don't do that, and besides, you don't need any, you have alittle left there." I had gestured to the bottle he was holding. I always wanted him to quit drinking. I actually had stopped purchasing his alcohol for him back in January after his time with the carrier clinic. It was during that time that I began to learn alot about alcoholism. I had also attended two Alanon meetings after that, which he strongly urged me to stop doing. The only reason I did stop was because i started working full time and couldn't make it to the meeting any more. I reiterated that I was not leaving his side, I was going to shadow him. I simply wasn't leaving him. So, he took the small bottle of booze out of the cabinet, held it up to examine it's meager contents, made a disgusted sound as if to say,"that aint nearly enough", and proceeded to make himself a drink. He was standing by the fan smoking his cigarette, but he never took one sip of the drink. I assumed he he hadn't drank at all that day. he didn't seem drunk, his eye's were fine, he seemed level headed aside from the fact that he was contemplating suicide. I stood right there in the doorway, right next to him. Cassie, the cat was meowing. I tried to ignore it, but she kept on whining to go out. I didn't want to even turn my back for 2 seconds to let her out...but after a bit more of the meowing, he started to get frustrated, so I let the cat out and got right back to Jeff. I recall some bits of the conversation we had. He told me that he had already made up his mind. He was going to do this. He reminded me of how he always said," If I'm ever a vegetable or a quadriplegic, I would hope...no, I would EXPECT you to pull the plug. I deserve that much..." and then he said, "Well, I'm a quadrapelegic now." He said it with firmness and decisiveness in his voice. There was a finality to it. Then I remember him saying, "Just let me go be with my good friend Jimmy. Just let me go be with my good friend Jimmy." He said it twice like that. For a moment, I didn't understand what he meant, because I wasn't thinking of the same 'Jimmy' that he was. When I realized he meant Jimmy Hughes, who passed away May 20, 2007, then I understood what Jeff meant. He still wanted to die. Everything he had been saying was still to that same point. He also still had the gun in his front pants pocket (not cocked anymore). It was during this time in the kitchen that he went over to the telephone on the wall. I thought he was going to make sure it was unplugged as he always did when talking in the kitchen. He always feared that it was bugged or tapped and that any conversations could be listened to through the phone receiver, even if the phone was hung up. Instead of unplugging it though, he took the whole thing off the wall and wrapped the cord around the broadband filter (which is on every phone jack in the house as part of our internet service) and I think he put it in his pocket. I'm unclear on this. I do know that it wound up downstairs though. He had also taken my cell phone which had been sitting on the kitchen table, and put that in his pocket. I pleaded with him not to do that because it was the one way the boys would reach me if they had an emergency. I always feared a broken bone or something because of the nature of their skateboarding. He agreed to take it back out of his pocket for me, but said, "Don't you dare call anyone, Don't you dare pick up that phone and call anyone." I agreed. Then he heard a noise outside and turned to look through the exhaust fan. You could see right through it if it was open and on. I remember my first initial thought was of annoyance at his paranoia...he was always paranoid. But almost immediately, I realized that paranoia was much better than suicidal. And after he looked through the fan to see what made that noise, he snapped it shut. I thought he was closing it for privacy or something. Then I thought he was going to look out the bathroom window, or the side door. It would have been common for him to investigate this noise. I wonder if I let my guard down for a second, because this paranoia was alot more normal for him, and I think I felt a little relieved. But then I heard the basement door slam, and I realized that he wasn't just going to look out the side door, but that he was going downstairs again. So I got up and went to the door, opened it and started calling his name, "Jeff. Jeff? Come on Jeff. Jeff?" But he didn't answer. I was way too scared to follow him downstairs. I was afraid to see what he was maybe going to do. I was also afraid to get hurt. I called again. "Jeff! Jeff..." and then I heard the 'pop'. I was so scared to go down there. I knew he fired the gun. I had to go down there. I kept calling his name, but he still didn't answer. I thought to myself, "So what he's not answering. He didn't answer me before the pop. Maybe he just shot at the wall or something out of complete and total frustration. He's so freaked out, maybe he just shot at something in the basement, because how could anybody actually shoot them self?" I got to the bottom of the steps and I could smell the strong odor of the gunsmoke. This was real. I kept calling his name. "Jeff? Jeff?" I didn't hear him respond. I had to turn on the lights again as I made my way to the laundry area. I remember seeing him lying there on the matress as he was earlier. So, I still had hope. He still wasn't answering me, but there was still hope. I was so scared. I kept calling his name. But when I got closer and turned on the light above him, I could see that he actually did it. I started screaming. I stepped out behind the steel shelves so I couldn't see him lying there with the blood pooled in his eye and down the side of his forehead near his temple. I was freaking out and screaming and crying. I couldn't believe he really did it. I had my cell phone in my hand, and after just a moment or two, I dialed 911. --------------------------------- Today is now technically November 11, 12:15 am. (Sunday) I just watched some home videos that I took back in 1992, 1995, 1998. Jeff seemed to be so happy in those videos. It is hard to see them and then know what he did on August 20. I guess I don't understand. I only know that there were always the bad times as well as the good times. I think life is subliminally a harmonic balance. There is always bad and good that counterweigh each other. The thing is, we need to keep that fact in mind. When we feel imbalanced (whether or not we actually realize it) that's when things seem extreme. When a person is so focused on the bad, the negative, what they don't have, that they have a hard time seeing the other side of it, the good, the positive, what they DO have...(their blessings)...maybe there's some sort of explanation or understanding of why Jeff ended his life. Maybe I have a hard time understanding it because I take note of the positives, I'm thankful always for my blessings and I see them as just that. Blessings. Jeff was a blessing. I miss him. But I'm glad I got to share so much of my life with him, and I'm glad we had our family together. I hope he's okay. I hope he's in heaven, and I hope I get to be with him again someday. ******************************************************* ******************************************************* This was my Visit that I'm so thankful for....plus some other thoughts on the bottom... Just a few days before Thanksgiving, 2007, I had a dream. It was a visit from Jeff. I knew it immediately when I woke up. I was so excited, and in awe about it. I When I woke up, I thought to myself...I was just with Jeff...just a second ago...now I'm here alone again...but I was literally "just with him". It was wonderful. It was like being on one side of a wall of water, and on the other side was another world where Jeff was. Is. In my dream, I was standing outside of a big brick school building underneath a big shade tree. I was leaning on the trunk watching a strange truck speed down the street. That was part od the first part of the dream, and how it segwayed (sp?) into the visit. As I watched that truck go down the street, it was driving to the left, I saw in the distance another truck coming toward me. As it got closer I realized it was a Glen Rock DPW truck. I felt a little melanmcholy about it, because I knew Jeff wouldn't be in it. When he was alive, and I'd see a DPW truck, I always looked to see who was in it, because it might have been Jeff. Sometimes it was! That was always a cool thing :-) Well, as I bummed about the fact that he wouldn't be in it, the truck got closer, and I looked in the passenger side and it was Jeff! I was so surprised and happy...it really was jeff this time! he got out and came to me by the tree and gave me a big, nice kiss. Then he gave me a big, excellent hug...one of his really good ones:-) Then he said, "I gotta go poop" and started to walk toward the brick building away from the tree, and me. Immediately, I started to cry very hard...there was no thought involved, it just came on that fast. And then I woke right up. As though I stepped through that wall of water and was on my side again. I knew right away how special the dream was, that it wasn't just a dream ata ll, but a real visit from Jeff. So I let it resonate. I didn't want to forget a single thing, and usually, the way dreams work, you forget about them completely as the day goes on. No matter how vivid it was. I didn't want that to happen at all, no way. So I stood in my bedroom thinking about, forcing myself to really be awake and focus on the memory of it. I was under the tree, I saw the truck drive down the road, then I saw the DPW truck driving toward me, I was bummed, then I was amazed and surprised and happy to see jeff really was in the truck, then he got out, kissed me, hugged me, said he had to go poop, and started to walk toward the building. I thought about it for a while, and as I did, I realized the messages I got from it all. What I learned was that Jeff is okay. He's fine. (I had been pretty worried and just always wondered if he was okay.) He still Loves me. He's at peace now, but he's not resting. He's working. And that he's not watching over me all the time. I am on my own right now. I don't know if he is with me sometimes, or not. There are times when he pops into my head to say something, and I am not sure if it's him or if it's just that he became so much a part of me that I just think of what he would've said in a situation. I have no problem with the latter, because I believe that's one way in which a person lives on. This reminds me of the time I was listening to his voicemail on my cell phone. he left me a message once that said "uh-boyy"...nothing more. It was so cute, I had saved it. With Verizon Wireless, you're only allowed to save a message for a certain period of time...apparently they don't let you keep it indefinitely. So every time I listened to it, I'd save it again...but then the recorded lady voice would say that message would saved for 10 more days, then down to 7 more days...then it went back up to a higher number once, then she said 3 days. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to it, but I figured I would just keep listening to it and re-saving it. Well, a week or two after jeff's death...I was trying to listen to the message again. I had been doing that at the same time I was letting the dogs out, and waiting for George to arrive. It seemed to be taking a long time for the message to play...I didn't know why. So, I had the phone to my ear, pressing whatever buttons I was supposed to be pressing, and wondering why it wasn't working the same way it usually did. At that point, I hear/see a motorcycle ride up the street, and I realized it was a Hawthorne Police bike at the very same time I heard..."uh-Boyy". Can you believe? It was so totally Jeff, and I knew it. I don't even need to elaborate any further on that one. :-) Shortly after that, I lost the message on my cell phone. I was bummed about that, but not that bummed. I feel as though it served it's purpose well. Then there was the day after he died. Maybe two days after, I'm not positive. But people were all around at the house, which was a good thing. I had gone into the bathroom and I looked in the mirror and was a little shocked at how bad I looked. So I said to myself (outloud, as I have a habit of doing), "Geez, I look like shit," and literally in my head, (on the right side of the inside of my head) I heard Jeff say, "No you don't, you look beautiful". That was another time I really thought it was Jeff and not just me. But I'm not positive about that one. it could just be that he had said that to me many, many times before. He was such a good guy...so wonderful and generous and giving. Also, thoughtful, strong, yet tender and sensitive. Very manly, yet very boyish. Very agressive and bold, then very cute and funny. I was and am very blessed to have had him in my life, as my husband, my best bud. I miss him so much. I think about the hard times we had...those times that caused me to hurt so badly inside. I don't miss that really...but I was dealing with it okay, and I always had hope that things would get better. I just always felt he needed to quit drinking, and that alot of his emotional problems would ease up a bit. I don't really know any answers, and shouldn't try to analyze it anymore. I miss him alot. I wonder if I'll see him again sometime...somewhere...in a dream maybe.