July, Friday the 13th was the worst night of my life and I’m about to tell you why. Imagine this, you wake up to what feels like the perfect day. Sun shining through the windows and the birds chirping a tune that for some reason sounds familiar. I look to the right of my bed and there I see Patricia, my beautiful wife. Seeing her makes my heart melt like a popsicle on a hot summer day. Or at least that’s what it used to feel like. 

Patricia was always happy and very kind hearted. She wouldn’t even hurt a fly. So when it was announced on the news that she committed suicide, it was a bit of a shock for everyone. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start Wednesday the 11th, I woke up to the smell of bacon and pancakes, my favorite. I go downstairs and breakfast is served with apple juice on the side. All I could think was wow, I’m really blessed to have this girl in my life. She starts to tell me that she has to go on a work trip this weekend. I didn’t think anything of it so I said have fun. I wasn’t aware of the amount of fun that she was going to have if she had gone. My schedule is pretty much the same everyday, I leave at 6:30 A.M and I don’t get back home until 10 P.M. I like sticking to that schedule unless I am really tired and just want to go home but I usually text Patricia beforehand so she can have the food ready. However my phone had died so I didn’t tell Patricia anything.