He Chose Suicide

Jeff was born on November 22, 1950 to John and Crystal Lantz. He was extremely intelligent and earned a degree in Mechanical Engineering from GMI in 1974. He was athletic and earned letters in basketball and track in high school. He worked for General Motors for 26 years as a loyal and dedicated employee. As a co-op student at GMI he wrote his 5th year thesis on Waste Treatment Facilities to be used by the battery plants of GM. After graduation, his theory was put into practice with his waste treatment design implemented in all of the battery plants in the United States.

Jeff and I began dating while we were still in high school. He was a Senior and I was a Junior. The photo is of the two of us for his Senior Prom. He was a popular guy at our school and was a part of the King and Queen's court for his prom. He was the editor of the Class Yearbook and genuinely liked by his classmates.

We married on September 2, 1973 and began our life together. He still had one more year in college and I worked at an Insurance Agency to help support us.

On August 10, 1977 our first daughter, Stephanie Marie was born. December 11, 1980 brought us our second daughter, Erika Lynn. He was a wonderful Daddy to the girls. So loving and protective. The interaction with him and the girls would melt my heart and bring tears to my eyes.

His career at GM was impressive. He worked many jobs beginning in Plant Security while he was a co-op student. He worked in several capacities of Plant Engineering. Working in the Plant Layout department and the general office of engineering, his skills as an engineer were honed. He spent some time in a plant as a supervisor of a maintenance crew to learn management skills. He was then promoted to be the General Supervisor over Maintenance at the New Brunswick, New Jersey plant. And then he was brought back to supervise other Engineers.

We had a wonderful life together. A new car was purchased every year. We owned lovely homes. Our lives were filled with friends and activities. It seemed to the outside world that we had a perfect life.

With a life that seemed so promising and full, why was he depressed? So depressed that he chose to end it all?

There was a darkness to Jeff that most people didn't see. He had a violent temper and would battle with very deep bouts of depression and toward the end extreme anxiety attacks.

He was verbally abusive to me throughout our entire marriage and for many years I thought I deserved that abuse. He could be very controlling and manipulative. He was obsessive/compulsive about many things regarding his life. And at times seemed to suffer from a Superiority Complex. He had a way of going straight for your personal Achilles heel and attacking you with what he knew would hurt you the most. The most common threat I got through the years was that he would leave me and take my babies away from me. The leaving I could have learned to live with... but to take my babies away would have been a devastation I would not be able to handle. It brought me back into line every single time!

He suffered with severe back pain most of his life. He went through years of going to doctor after doctor telling him that there was nothing wrong with him that it was all in his head. Finally after decades of pain, depression, and stress he was diagnosed with fibromyalgia; but it was too late for him. The mental illness won and 1 day before he turned 45 years old he made the decision to take his life in our garage.

The dark side of Jeff was mean and very difficult to live with. Most people didn't know that side of him. He saved most of that for me. So why did I stay? Because I loved him very much. He could be charming when he wanted or needed to be. Honestly, I also stayed because I meant the vow I took that said "for better or worse, in sickness and in health". I spent a lot of time in denial. Pretending that the "better" far out weighed the "worse". I couldn't leave him because he was suffering from an illness. I promised on my wedding day to stand by his side through the good and bad times. I could not break that vow. I, also, could not admit to myself or anyone else that our lives were far from the "perfect" side that the public saw.

Generally when reading about depression, especially depression leading to suicide; you hear that there are warning signs. Red flags, some people call them. I was asked at the time and for years later about those flags.

Didn't you see them, Bev? Weren't you aware of what was going on? Geez, how could you miss them?

I'll be honest. The signs were there. Big bright red flags flying in the wind sometimes smacking me in the face with brutality. However, at times we are just too close to the situation to see the flags clearly. We can't step away and actually see the insanity that surrounds us. The abnormal begins to fell like normal. You don't see the warning signs for what they are because this was behavior that took decades to build. It wasn't something that changed in a few days or weeks but occurred slowly over many years.

I was busy just trying to deal with life, day to day, minute by minute. Our lives had become so awful! So ugly! He had been depressed for so long and literally consumed with his pain. Life had to revolve around him, his pain, his illness. We couldn't go places anymore. We couldn't have friends over. We couldn't have a conversation about anything other than his current pain level at that moment in time. I became numb, unfeeling, uncaring. I wanted my life back with that man that was buried so deep that I couldn't recognize him anymore. I became bitter and hateful towards him. I didn't see this behavior as a warning sign.

I couldn't see those red flags - I was too busy trying to see a light at the end of the tunnel instead of looking up. Man, that tunnel was dark and very scary!

Did I still love him? Yes, I did but I didn't show him in the right ways that I loved him. I so desperately wanted the man that I fell in love with back. I wanted that loving Daddy for my girls back. I wanted a real life again. All that, became more important than looking for those awful flags.

I knew he was depressed, but I did not see that he was suicidal. He was under a therapist care. He was difficult to live with but I honestly didn't believe he would make the decision he made. I think it is difficult to realize that a person feels that way when it is never verbalized.

Life was a roller coaster of emotions for me at the time. I would go from being a total witch to very loving and compassionate. He stopped going to work in February 1995. Just wouldn't go anymore. I tried to be patient, believing he would snap out of it.

By June 1995, he wouldn't leave our bedroom. I carried 3 meals a day up to him and would be chastised for the effort. It wasn't what he wanted. He wasn't hungry. Get this for him, get that for him. He would throw things at me and call me names. He refused to go to our daughter's high school graduation and wouldn't come downstairs for the reception or see any of our guests. I would beg, I would plead, I would cry. Nothing worked. I knew then that there was something seriously wrong. Getting him to seek help was an impossible task. He would not cooperate.

I was working a full time job, raising our daughters, taking care of the house and the yard, and trying to take care of him too. I was so tired! It never occurred to me that he would be less than honest with his doctor. I trusted that he was working through this all with the therapy.

By July 1995 he stopped eating and wouldn't bathe or change his clothes. I called the therapist and voiced my concern. It was July 4th weekend. The therapist told me he wanted me to write down any odd behavior, conversations, anything not normal for the weekend and get back with him after the holiday. I won't go into the ugliness that happened that weekend here, but things got terribly worse. I called the therapist in tears and demanded that he help my husband. I had to have him committed to a mental health facility. He was in really bad shape. The insurance company decided after 8 days that he was well enough to come home. I had my doubts, the therapist had his doubts, but he had to be released the insurance company said so.

It did appear that a little progress had been made. He was still fragile but seemed to make some progress for a while. I thought I saw a bit of light way down at the end of that tunnel. I tried so desperately to help him through this. I wanted him to get better.

By September, he started to decline. The verbal abuse from him started again. I tried so hard to just take it. He was fragile, after all. He needed my love and compassion.

October brought him back to not wanting to leave the house even for doctor's appointments. He would have severe anxiety attacks at even the mention of leaving the house. Looking back now, I can see that I should have just called the ambulance and had him taken back to the mental health facility. I talked to him kindly about trying that again. He exploded! I also didn't realize that he was stuffing his medicine in a chair and not taking them. I found those later when it was too late, much too late.

We had a fight before I left for work that morning. It was over something silly but angry words were hurled by both of us at each other.

At noon, I got this overwhelming feeling that something was wrong. I was supposed to stay after that afternoon for a staff meeting. I went to my boss and told her that I wouldn't be able to stay. I needed to get home right after work. I couldn't tell her why. I just knew that I needed to go home.

I left work, drove the 3 minutes home feeling this sense of foreboding. Something was wrong. I hit the button for the garage door and pulled inside. Immediately my windshield fogged up. What the heck? I shut my engine off, but I could still hear it running. "No, that isn't my car", I thought. I looked over to my right and saw him sitting in his car with the engine running. I got out of my car shouting, "Jeff, for crying out loud! What is wrong with you! Do you know how dangerous it is to start the car before you open the door!" I opened his door. He doesn't look at me. "Jeff, honey what are you doing?", I said as I bent to touch his hand. It was cold. Reality smacked me so hard in the stomach I almost threw up! I ran inside to call 911. He had placed a rug at the door so the fumes wouldn't hurt our dog. "Aw Jeff!" I was almost knocked over with the reality that it wasn't an accident at all.

The coroner told me later that night that he believed the time of death was close to Noon. So that feeling I had at Noon was him leaving me. The feeling was my heart breaking. If I hadn't gone home right after work, our youngest daughter would have found her Dad.