Ramblings of a Reluctant Widow

I'm still at a low ebb. Heading into week five of this current dip. It started with the inquest advanced disclosure arriving in my inbox and just hasn't lifted yet. I thought it would have by now. I'm not even sure it's just the inquest any more.  I've done enough depression score questionnaires over the years to recognise that if I did one now I would probably score in the range of moderate depression and slight anxiety. I'm functioning, but not really enjoying life too much.  I'm wanting to avoid people for the most part;  Today I considered eating my lunch in the heat of my car because I wasn't sure I could deal with a staff room full of colleagues.  I'm struggling to concentrate on anything at work. It took me much longer than usual to work through a list of reviews this morning (fortunately just reviewing diagnostics so nobody was kept waiting). This afternoon I sent a child home after I'd finished with her forgetting she was supposed to see

'It is my conclusion that he wanted to end his life' That's what she said, the coroner. A kind way of putting it, avoiding the word- suicide.  But also a brutal way of putting it. I nodded. Yes, he did, didn't he? Afterwards I barely saw or heard the volunteer offering a room to sit in.... No thanks.  I just needed air before I passed out. It was only half an hour. 30minutes to read out the evidence that indicated and summarised my husband's intention to die. I knew what the documents said, I knew what the conclusion would be. The evidence was unequivocal. And yet. Somehow it was still shocking. This is case closed, but there is no closure. What happened to him? Why? Why? Why? 

The water running down his gravestone matches the tears running down my face as i wonder, did he think about me at all? Did he imagine me kneeling at his grave as he had watched me do countless times for Bertie? Did he not think of what his choice would do to me, to his son? Ive had the evidence pack through for the inquest. This includes the post mortem in all its gory glory.  Guess what? Turns out he was perfectly healthy, apart from being dead. What a waste. Of his life, of our future. Someone once asked me if I thought suicide was ever forgivable. No, i dont think i can forgive him. Tell me he was mentally ill, he died of mental illness, however you want to phrase it. No. He chose not to get help. He chose to hide his demons. He chose to leave us. I can't forgive him.