Widow's Voice

100 years to live.

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This weekend I went to a family friend’s 100th birthday celebration. I think it was the first time I’d ever been to a 100th birthday party and I am so glad I was able to be there. This woman is very special to me and my family, and someone who has touched so many lives in her 100 years.

But, of course, it had me thinking about mortality and death. And Boris. Because…duh.

It has me thinking…why do some people get 100 years and some people only get 70? Or 50? Or 8? Why did Boris only get 27? Why?! Why do babies die? Why do some people treat their bodies terribly and live long lives? Why do some of the kindest, most loving people die young and the meanest, terrible people live a long time?

And, what else could Boris have done in those extra 70 years of life if he’d gotten 100 years? What other memories could I have with him? What impact would he be able to make? Who would he be at 100? And, what if he’d only gotten a few more years…what if he’d made it to his 30s? What would those years have done? How would he have grown or changed? How much more love could I have given him?

I do not believe that everything happens for a reason. I think that is just a way for people to feel better about the terrible happenings of life. Like, maybe if this is for some bigger purpose or something good might come out of it then it is ok…I don’t buy it. I think we just have to find meaning and make our way forward with what happens to us.

And I may never stop asking why even though I know there is no real answer. It is so frustrating to not understand the cruelness of loss. I wish Boris could have gotten 100 years. But, I would even take just one more day. One more moment.

About Victoria Helmly

My love story began in 2005 and though my love is no longer physically here with me, our story has not ended. I met Boris when we were 14, but it was not until our junior and senior year of high school that we became more than friends (he was my first kiss!). We went to the same college and although our relationship was a bit rocky through our early 20s, we made it through. He was my person. Our relationship grew stronger as we matured and learned about one another more as adults. I was certain that he was my forever. We talked about the future a lot and we knew we would get married, but we did not want to rush—he was still finishing graduate school and I was just starting my first full-time job. We did not realize how little time we had left together.

In the summer of 2017, Boris was hospitalized three times for active suicidal ideation. This was a heartbreaking, exhausting, and life-changing experience. After 10 months of therapy, medication, and support groups, Boris died by suicide on April 7, 2018. My life now has two parts: the one before April 7, 2018 and the one after. My very best friend, my person was now gone.

If you were to ask how I am doing now, 2.5 years later, I would say I am okay. I am living. My world continues to spin, and I continue to move forward. However, I still carry deep sorrow and loneliness. I have struggled with PTSD, anxiety, and depression. Sometimes I still cannot believe that he is actually gone. I still feel him with me, and I know that I will never stop loving and missing him.

I am currently in school for my Ph.D. and live just outside of Atlanta with our cat, Kitty Cat (Boris is responsible for the creative name). I work as a graduate research assistant currently, but I worked for three years with our State Unit on Aging prior to going back to school. I love movies, my friends and family, long walks, and traveling.