Karen Marie Smith

 They say you killed yourself, but don’t we all


The pain thickened when your first husband called you fat even after you had the surgery he insisted upon. 


The pain intensified  by your second husband loved you so much and worked so hard that he didn’t have time to be with you. And when you wanted to finally give him a child. He dropped dead of a heart heart attack. 


The pain deepened as an alcoholic after the stomach surgery, which you were warned about. 


The pain darkened because your mother needed assistance and you couldn’t give it 


Then as your third husband used PTSD as his excuse for his affair and you finally came home to help — everything was already taken care of. 


Everything except you.


So as you tied  to piece together a life with the car given to you  in the home given to you, and the jobs given to you, your life became disposable. 


Like all of ours. 


For me, I give mine up little by little one hour on the couch at a time. For another it’s diet when heredity says you will have diabetes. For another, it is blood clots from driving too many miles in a truck. We each take our own lives little piece at a time. None of us are immune to the suicide we were born into. 



Karen Smith

2/28/1972 - 2/28/2022



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