My name is Deanna and I lost the love of my life on November 9, 2001 to suicide. He chose to let the Long Island Railroad's Montauk express take his life at 7:35 pm. He told me at 5:25 am and I spent
the entire day, along with some of his friends, trying to talk him out of this most devistating tradgedy. We thought we had succeeded, and he made us all dinner. We all thought he went to the bathroom, but in actuallity he snuck out and must have made his way to the tracks through back yards because I don't think it took my 90 seconds to realize he had left the house. His friend Sean and I started a street to street search for him and actually passed under the rail tressel seconds before the train hit him. Not knowing it had already happened, we drove the 1/2 mile home to make some calls for a search party of friends to be formed. Within minutes another friend Keith burst in with the information that the train was stopped at the Blue Point Station which had been closed for three decades. Keith and I went to the tressel and I ran Barefoot up the embankment toward the red flashing lights of the emergency vehicles where I was apprehended by a police officer who asked me why I was there. I responded by telling him my signifigant other had informed me of his intentions. He asked me if there were any distinguishing characteristics and I replied that he had a titanium wrist. He informed me that Richard J. Flanagan had perished. I spiraled to the ground; he picked me up and placed me in a police car facing the tracks where I was questioned for at least 45 minutes. My entire field of vision was of police personel picking up small pieces of the body that I slept with, fed, made love to, and gazed upon lovingly, as the put them into evidence bags. It has been 3073 days and the memory has not faded at all. I wake to it every morning, if I sleep atall, and it is with m every second of every day. As I write this, it is so mechanical because even though I Know at some level that it is true, it is still so hard to comprehend that this happened in my life and I still breathe, my heart still beats and I function at I guess at an acceptable level of competenence.
Everything about my life before is a vague, blurry vision. People are radically different to me. Friends are distant. Noone allows me to talk about it. Some of my so-called friends ook great advantage of my absense of mind. Others just walked out of my life. There is a barrier with others. There are a handful of people that have been compassionate.I spent 2 yeas in therapy that did little to help because if it hasn't happened in someone's life, they cannot comprehend the fact that you just can't pick yourself up, dust yourself off and go forward with your life. I truly know that Richard would not have done this if he knew the devastation it would have left me in. He had suffered a work related injury to his spine (he was an Ironworker and fell from a bridge with a 250 lb spool of steel cable to the net below) and after 10 months of increasing limitations had just received the results of an MRI. He was told that the progression of the injury would leave him like Christofer Reeve and he did not want to be a burden to me. He reacted without second opinions.
I am grateful that I stumbled onto this site and would appreciate ongoing interaction with those who understand the paralasis of spirit and constant anxiety that we special surviors experience daily. Thank you for the forum. Hope to hear from someone-Deanna

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