These are the Facebook memories most people hide...

The ones that remind you of people who are gone…

The ones that remind you of better days…

The ones that rip your heart wide open.

Ever since losing my husband to suicide just days after asking him for a divorce, I’ve considered using the mute feature so that memories from around this day (the anniversary of his death was yesterday) no longer show up on my timeline.

But then I would miss these gems; reminders of this life changing moment when I used everything within my power to lovingly share the horrific news that had found its way to my doorstep. I really feel like this is the day that I became a writer, four years ago today, trying to put my husband‘s death into a Facebook post.

“On this day: 4 years ago

Mindy Deane May 22, 2021 • ©

To all of my friends, family, loved ones: I sincerely apologize if you end up finding out this news here on Facebook, please understand I am not fully capable right now of individually contacting each and every person who deserves to hear this news in a meaningful way. So just know that I truly appreciate and care for you and I hope you Understand. I've carefully thought out what I wanted to share as these last several hours have unfolded and I hope you feel my love as you read this.

To Jason: "If only I could put into words 17 years worth of you by my side... it would be the sweetest song I could ever hope to sing.

You were the first person to show me who I truly was.

Nearly half my life I had you with me and I will forever be grateful for all of the time and experiences we shared.

For so long, you were mine. Now I must find a way to make it in this world without you. I know you're going to still be near me in spirit but l'll miss all the world traveling and rollercoaster rides, all of the movie trailers you forced me to watch and soda cans on your nightstand, late night video gaming with your brother, our date nights finished off with a latte from Starbucks, weekend mornings snuggled up with the kids in our bed, slow dancing with you in our kitchen, watching you teach Chloe to skateboard, sledgehammering toilets in the alley with Logan, radio blasting jam sessions with our kids and all their friends, not to mention so many other things that escape my mind right now.

We shared countless memories and I will cherish them all, even the tears and the hard times. Even though you and I didn't always see eye to eye, we never stopped loving each other. I will forever miss you and I promise that even though your earthly journey is complete, I'll do everything in my power to keep your memory alive for our children.

Until we meet again, I pray that tomorrow will be kinder to us all."

We appreciate your thoughts and prayers... the untimely passing of our sweet Jason is very shocking and devastating for all of us. My husband was one of the most big hearted, caring, loving people l've ever met. Many of us deal with internal struggles in our lives and he was no exception. Although his life was ended too soon, our family finds solace in knowing that his soul is now at peace.

We are going to be processing as a family in the coming days, and we will reach out when we're ready for more support. Please keep my entire family in your thoughts and prayers as we navigate this difficult time and we ask that you respect our privacy and understand that I won't be available on social media in the days to come.

And please, if you're EVER having any thoughts of ending your own life, reach out for help. People in your life love you, they need you, and will do whatever it takes to help save you.

Rest peacefully.

Jason Matthew Deane

07/30/1984 to 05/21/2021“

Grief is weird, messy and muddy. My kids and I spent yesterday doing things that felt healing. We started off with family therapy then had lunch at a place that reminds us of him.

“We don’t go there often because it was one of our favorite date night places back in the day,” I told them as we drove there. “We used to order ‘Big Red-aritas’ and split them cause they were so huge. I even have a picture of us on our first date there in 2020 after restaurants finally opened up after Covid, sharing one of them.”

And then today when I went to reference this Facebook post, the memory right underneath it was from May 22, 2020.

At the same restaurant, on our first date after Covid, when all the restaurants were back open. Sharing that Big Red bottle shoved into a frozen margarita inside a giant fishbowl with two straws.

Staring, so hopefully into the camera.

I was a whole other person back then, looking forward to our future together. We’d be through so much at that point, and made it out as happy as we had ever been.

Little did I know that 364 days later, he’d be gone.

Obviously, there was a lot that went on between that photo in 2020 and the day he died… but I don’t know that I can explain it all here in this one newsletter.

So for now, here’s the picture and the poem that I read a few days after he died when our friends came over to pay their respects to him and drink a shot of whiskey in his honor.

“Death is nothing at all.

It does not count.

I have only slipped away into the next room.

Nothing has happened.

Everything remains exactly as it was.

I am I, and you are you,

and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.

Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.

Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.

Put no difference into your tone.

Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.

Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.

Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.

It is the same as it ever was.

There is absolute and unbroken continuity.

What is this death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you, for an interval,

somewhere very near,

just round the corner.

All is well

Nothing is hurt, nothing is lost.

Own brief moment and

all will be as it was before.

How we shall laugh at the

trouble of parting

when we meet again.’