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Please....Shut the "F" Up.

Updated: Mar 23, 2022

Why do people always have to have answers? Can't it be enough to just sit with someone in their pain? To not have an answer as to why something happened right in that moment?

This is a poem I wrote 6 months after my husband died. I just wanted the world to go away and leave me alone. "I don't have the answers you're looking for. You want me to tell you why this happened so you can make sure it doesn't come into your bubble and pop it. I'm sorry, but I can't help you."


By Angela McConnell

So many questions asked of me.....

Ma'am, whose children are these?

Do you live here?

Can I have your full name?

Your husband committed suicide.


How did he do it?

Did He leave a note?

Why did he do it?

How are the kids?

Is there Life insurance?

Why did he do it?

Do you want it in the paper?

When do you want the memorial?

Do you want a showing?


What picture do you want to use?

What songs would you like?

Where do you want to sit?

Why did he do it?

Do you want something to eat?

Are you ok?

Why did he do it?

Are you ready to go home?


Wasn't that a wonderful turn out?

Did you get a chance to eat?

Why did he do it?

Do you need a Xanax?

Do you want to lay down?


What are you going to do?

What about the house?

What about the truck?

Are you sleeping?

Why did he do it?

Are you back to work?

How are the kids doing?

Why did he do it?

Do you need anything?


Aren't you angry?

Don't you want to hit him?

What was he thinking?

Why did he do it?

Didn't he stop to think of you and the kids?

How could he do this?

Are the kids mad?

Do they like their new school?

Why did he do it?



So many answers given to me.....

Ma'am, you should probably call someone.

Your husband committed suicide.

You need to get out of bed.

You need to come downstairs.

You need to talk to the detectives.

Ma’am, your husband committed suicide.


You need to eat.

You need to rest.

Why did he do it?

Take a Xanax.

You need to pull it together, the kids are watching.

You have to do it.

You need to eat.

Why did he do it?


You need to sit.

You have to sign this.

You should go.

You better stay.

Why did he do it?

You need to sleep.


You can't say no.

You can't say yes.

You have to be angry.

You're in denial.

Why did he do it?

Take a Xanax.

Don't feel guilty.

Be more gracious.


You must be mad.

You're doing too much.

You're not letting us help.

Why did he do it?

You can't be everything.

You shouldn't try to escape.

You need to get out.

Why did he do it?

You need to take care of the kids.

You need to take care of yourself.


You need to save.

You need to work.

Why did he do it?

You can't do that, you have the kids.

Stay the course.

Why did he do it?

You need to move forward.

You need to be patient.



It was maddening. All the questions and directions. I knew they were just trying to help, but I didn't care. I just needed space. Please. Let me breathe. But those close to me, couldn't. Fear had taken over and they were clutched in it's grasp. They were terrified that I would not recover; mentally, emotionally, or financially. And if I didn't recover, then my kids weren't going to either. That fear made for widespread panic among those who loved us. And that panic led to an insatiable desire for answers. Any answer, even the wrong one, was a coveted prize that, then, needed to be shared with another. Somehow, they thought, an answer would save us all from the pain; like some type of ointment you rub on a cut. But there simply were no answers. There was nothing that could fix, change, remove, or ease the suffering. I figured that out right away. So, while everyone else scurried around searching for the magic pill by asking questions and dictating directions, I tried to find my breath.

I hated God. But I also knew He was the only answer that was viable. And I hated Him even more for it. There I sat in complete devastation: my best friend and love of my life - dead from suicide, my dream house that we had poured our savings and our souls into - sold off at auction, my kids - left without a father to raise them, and many of those close to me throwing Don under the bus because they needed someone to blame. How dare God do this to me after all that I had done for Him. There were plenty of people I knew that needed a wake up call, it certainly wasn't me. Yet, here I was.

So, I did the only thing I could do, I collapsed into God. I became completely desperate for Him. It didn't matter that I hated Him. I needed to be saved and since Jesus said He was the Savior, He was the only answer there was. I reasoned that either He rescues me from this inconsolable grief and desolation or He clearly wasn't who He proclaimed to be. The onus was entirely on Him.

It was at that decision marker, that I became free. I didn't need to have any answers....for anyone. That was God's job. Others could walk around in their cloak of fear, pestering me for answers to their hopeless questions until the cows came home, but I didn't have the moo's they were looking for. Nor did I need to. That was their quandary. I had been paroled from the stockyard and granted permission to just breathe.

Be still and know that I am God...

Psalms 46:10

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