When Jim Shot Himself

There has been much discussion lately, on one of the crime forums, of a person's behaviour on finding a body.

Let me tell you something.

When I heard that shot, I went directly outside. I did not stop to think there might be a crazy person out there with a gun. I went outside, saw nothing, and came back in to get some shoes and a flashlight. In the hall, I met my son, who also knows a gunshot when he hears one. Once again, not considering the possibility of danger, I didn't try to stop him from going outside, either.

I had seen my husband loading the gun shortly before he went out. I had thought he was going to put the gun in the bedroom somewhere, as I had been nervous about the possibility of home invasion. I did not connect his loading the gun and his going outside until I heard the shot. I had had no idea that he was contemplating suicide.

I asked Brendan to call 911. He was bordering hysterical, and I was shaking very badly. I wanted him to back away from Jim, but I had to try and stop the bleeding and hold him.

Something else, relating to the 911 call make by the woman in North Carolina who had just found her sister dead, and her little niece alone with the body: there was a distinctly separate part of my mind that was dealing with Brendan. I know he is 17, and not a toddler, so that is different, but the fact remains that I was doing my best to hold myself together for his sake. Seventeen is such a vulnerable age. He wants to be so adult in a situation that part of him wants to scream about like a little boy.

It sounded to me as if Brendan was being clear on the phone, but, one way or another, the dispatcher heard something different. She heard "front yard" and "gun" and thought there was a hostage situation. That's why the first responder was an officer on foot, with a bullet-proof vest and an assault rifle. Then came another from the other end of the street, and the street was suddenly full of police cars and a fire truck. Eventually, an ambulance got there, and the EMS people began to look after Jim.

Brendan and I were questioned at the scene. The police were polite, but businesslike, and it crossed my mind that they might have thought I killed him.

I rode to the hospital with the nice policeman, and Victim's Services sent a car for Brendan, who hadn't wanted to go to the hospital.

At the hospital, after I gave permission for them to stop pounding and let Jim go, Brendan and I were questioned again, separately, and required to make written statements.

The next day, there were more questions when I was asked to come down to the police station to pick up the notes Jim left, and his Will, which the police had seen, but I hadn't.

I found out later that the police had, indeed, thought for a nanosecond that I might have killed my husband, but the Will and the Farewell, plus the fact that it must have been pretty obvious that Brendan and I were telling the truth, added up to the final determination of suicide.

I have to say that all those who think a certain 911 call sounds flat and hinkey need to find themselves (God forbid) in the unenviable position of having to make such a call at some time in their lives and then see what happens.