My husband committed suicide… Graham Thorpe’s death brought it all back

NEARLY nine years ago, when her husband Adam committed suicide, Melissa Todd felt shock, guilt and, most of all, anger.

When she heard the news this week that former England cricketer Graham Thorpe – a beloved husband and father – had also committed suicide, her feelings came flooding back.

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Author Melissa from Broadstairs, Kent, describes her struggle with Adam’s death.

My husband committed suicide on New Year’s Eve.

I got home around 5:00 and found a note that said, “Don’t go upstairs. Call the police.”

Even though it couldn’t have been clearer and I knew what it meant, I just stood there, unable to figure out what to do next.

Finally, a neighbor came by and suggested that I do as I was told.

I heard my voice explaining very calmly that my husband had a history of mental illness and that I suspected he had committed suicide.

They told me to wait on the sidewalk.

Soon sirens sounded.

Two female police officers went upstairs and came back to report that there was a dead man in the hallway.

That’s how I found out I was 39 years old and a widow.

After he was identified, I was no longer allowed into the house.

It was a crime scene.

I sat in the police car and watched as they searched every room for evidence of foul play.

They asked if I wanted his wedding ring or watch taken from him.

I had to gag at the thought.

Everything he had ever touched suddenly seemed tainted and disgusting.

It was 2015 and we had been together for 14 years.

Raised a child together.

That’s a lot of memories to erase.

I went back to my mother to make a statement: where I was at that moment and how the day had gone.

They were nice, but still I felt accused.

We had had an argument before.

I was angry and left the house.

What kind of woman goes to work and stews about nonsense, while her husband sits at home and plans suicide?

The next day I went home.

He had had a beer and a pastry, and the newspaper he was reading was open.

I threw the beer bottle in the trash and then the favorite snacks he had bought for Christmas.

His wallet.

After that I emailed everyone who needed to know.

I explained that he had been unhappy since his parents died, that things weren’t going well for us, that we had just bought a music therapy practice, and that he was struggling with stress. It sounded plausible, but I had no idea if it was true.

When I was done, I had to go to the airport to pick up my 14-year-old son and tell him.

He spent Christmas and New Year’s in Montreal, Canada, visiting his grandparents.

That’s undoubtedly why Adam chose that moment.

He had the house all to himself.

Scolded for my anger

During that ride I experienced all the emotions: intense, overwhelming sadness, joy, despair, longing, anger.

Fury felt the best.

That’s what I’ve decided.

And I’m not the only one.

Research has shown that 45 percent of survivors experience feelings of anger after losing someone to suicide.

For months after his death, I continued to text him.

Adam was a smart, sharp man, whose natural humor had been honed over the years, and his death made me long for him more than ever before.

I was always aware of his psychological problems.

He spent two years in a psychiatric institution in the 1980s.

He could never keep a job.

For us, the normal activities that other couples take for granted were impossible.

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I would send angry messages: “The boiler is broken. No, don’t worry, I’ll fix it, you’ll just stay dead, I’ll fix everything, forever?”

But people don’t like angry widows.

I was yelled at for my anger.

I told a friend how angry I was and she was furious with me. She said it wasn’t his fault, he was depressed, how could I be so selfish and insensitive?

Of course I was angry at myself. How could I not guess what was going through his mind that day?

Melissa

I should cry softly into a handkerchief.

But I felt angry.

Of course I was angry with myself.

How could I not guess what was going on in his mind?

How could I leave the house?

Why wasn’t my love enough?

Graham Thorpe’s wife Amanda said that despite having a wife and children he loved and who loved him, he believed they would be better off without him.

I know how hard it is to accept that.

Why did death seem better than life with me?

It took me six months before I could read a book or listen to music.

I couldn’t stand it when people made me think or feel.

Sadness strikes

I worked as much as I could and when I got home I drank until I fell asleep.

Eighteen months later, I moved away and married a man who was nothing like Adam: carefree, sociable, cheerful, and not at all troubled.

He knew my background, held me when I sobbed and listened to my tirades and rantings.

It worked, I’m happy, my son is happy.

Nine years later, we don’t talk about it anymore.

I stopped being angry, but then the sadness really hit.

I miss him every day.

I miss his cheeky humor, the way he could fix anything and make me feel better instantly, but most of all I miss the happy, innocent feeling I had before he died.

I will always blame myself.

And I will always miss him.