Over the last few days, I’ve been writing about my husband.

Not about the day I lost him.

About the man he was.

I’ve been remembering how he would tell me stories about DJing as a teenager, spending hours searching record stores in Hillbrow for imported vinyl, and how music lit up a part of him that nothing else could.

I’ve remembered the husband who always wanted me and the girls to have more than he did.

Whenever he received extra money, whether it was a tax refund, commission or a bonus, he would smile and say,

“Babe, I’m just going to buy myself a pair of shoes… you and the girls can have the rest.”

I argued every time.

He always gave the same answer.

“You and the girls need it more than I do.”

That was Noel.

So today, as I sat reading through my journal, I found myself asking a question that has probably been living quietly in my heart all along.

If he loved us so much… why did he leave us?

It’s a question that hurts to write.

Because it feels like I’m questioning the man I loved.

But I don’t think I am.

I think I’m simply being honest.

For a long time, I believed I had to choose.

Either I could remember Noel as the loving husband and father he was…

Or I could feel angry that he took his own life.

Today, I realised something.

I don’t have to choose.

Both can exist.

I can love him with every part of my heart.

And I can still be angry that he’s not here.

I can understand that he was suffering.

And I can still wish with everything in me that he had stayed.

Those feelings don’t cancel each other out.

They exist together.

That’s what grief has taught me.

I’ve also realised something else.

Depression lies.

It doesn’t just make someone feel sad.

It can distort reality.

It can convince someone they are a burden when they are deeply loved.

It can make someone believe their family would somehow be better off without them, even when the opposite is true.

I don’t know what Noel was thinking that night.

I never will.

But I do know the man he was for the fourteen years we shared.

The husband.

The father.

The man who put us first over and over again.

One terrible night does not erase a lifetime of love.

His final decision does not erase the thousands of decisions he made before it.

The breakfasts he made.

The school events he attended.

The hugs he gave.

The sacrifices he made.

The laughter we shared.

The life we built together.

That was Noel too.

Maybe that’s what healing is slowly teaching me.

Not that the questions disappear.

Not that the anger goes away.

But that I don’t have to choose one truth over another.

I can carry both.

I can love him.

I can miss him.

I can be angry.

I can understand that his mind was fighting a battle I could not see.

And somehow, all of those things can exist in the same heart.

If you’re reading this because you’ve lost someone to suicide, maybe you’re asking yourself the same question I asked today.

“If they loved me… why did they leave?”

I don’t have an answer.

But I hope you know this:

Your love for them and your anger at what happened are not enemies.

They are both part of grief.

And you don’t have to apologise for feeling either.

One day at a time.

🤍

Natalie
Still Here, Still Mom