“That Easter was scorching hot. I lay in the inflatable kiddie pool in my dry California yard, squinting at the sun flickering through the palm trees. The sound of the garden hose flowing into the pool was like a fountain. I dreamed of my future: a spacious adobe house in a sage and cactus-dotted desert, kids grumbling for breakfast, the smell of espresso brewing in a new moka pot, and the tenured position I had worked so hard for. But those dreams died by lunchtime. By the end of the day, I was face down, shattered on my dusty grey carpet, a fragment of the person I had been that morning. That day, my life changed irreversibly when I found out that my husband Stanton, whom I had left just four months earlier, had died by suicide. This is the story of how his death shaped my life.
While this story isn’t solely about Stanton, it cannot be told without him. We met on Craigslist when I was looking for housing before starting my PhD in the United States. After moving from England in 2013, I found a listing by a sociology graduate student that matched all my criteria. Our rapport was immediate, and I moved into his house. Stanton and I had an innate understanding, spending our days discussing everything from sociology to supernatural creatures. Our lives meshed together as we explored each other’s interests and built a strong friendship. Eventually, love blossomed, and we impulsively eloped in Vegas, starting a simple and happy life together.
Stanton was charismatic and intelligent, with a fan club of students who admired him. He had a diagnosis of generalised anxiety disorder, but he rarely showed his struggles. I remember a conversation where he expressed thoughts of wishing for a sudden death, but I didn’t fully comprehend the gravity of his words. As his depression grew, it began to overshadow our relationship, with his focus shifting entirely to me. I felt burdened by the weight of being his sole source of happiness. Eventually, I made the difficult decision to leave, believing it was best for both of us.
That night, as we sat under the stars, I knew I had to go. I couldn’t bear the weight of being his reason to live. Leaving was my way of giving him a chance to find himself again. It was a tough decision, but I believed it was the right one for both of us.”