I never thought Id ever have to reach out to people for help, and it took a long time for me to put my pride aside and seek help. Any little bit counts. Take the time to read my story.
Its every parents worse nightmare. I wouldn’t wish it on my worse enemy, but sometimes life throws us to the wolves.
Hello, my name is Aaron. I am 32 years old. I Have 2 daughters, one which is biologically mine. There was a time not too long ago that the world was in front of me, i had a home an excellent career and a supportive and loving family. I worked hard everyday and came home to be happily greeted by my wife and children.
My wife became pregnant after trying for a fairly long time to have a second child. We were hopeful, excited and started buying everything we’d need once we found out we were going to be having a boy. I was ecstatic, we both were. She carried him inside her almost full term.
Three Days before his due date. He was born. Stillborn. Still can’t say that without crying. :'( We were devastated. I spent the next 7 months buried in my work and consoling my broken wife. I had to stay strong. I tucked my pain inside and just found the strength to be her rock, her protector.
Then I broke. Work became unbearable, my boss for lack of a better term became a ignorant asshole. I quit my job, and started to plunge into the darkness that now consumed me. I became extremely depressed, I started to blame myself for the loss of our child and just lost sight of everything. I eventually tried to take my own life.
Now this puts us about 20 days from Christmas. I’m sat alone, locked in a room in the basement shut out from the world with a shotgun in my hands loaded, tears streaming down my face. The phone rings, I’m startled by the ring and answer it, don’t know why I just did. Its a crisis negotiator advising me the tactical unit is deployed and they have the house surrounded. I look at the monitor for my surveillance cameras to see the street blocked off and about 30 men in full military armor with assault rifles and i can see 3 sharpshooters across the road.
After a couple hours I surrender. I exit the home and am directed to place hands on my head and walk backwards. I am then forced into the ground and zip tied aggressively. I have one request before I get hauled away, and that is to speak to my wife. They tell me they will arrange it but never do. The officers then take my house keys and 2 members of the SPCA to enter the house, to carefully restrain my dog, Tyson; a Cane Corso and retrieve the shotgun from the basement. I’m brought to jail, in the morning I attend bail court I am denied and deemed dangerous. I am also told that the police shot my dog and there is now a No Contact Order stating I am to have zero contact with my wife and kids. I sit in this horrible place. Sleeping in an overcrowded dorm on the floor with no way to be a father to my children and a provider for my family. I was incarcerated for almost 7 months.
My wife couldn’t stay at home. Not after all the bad happened. The house gets robbed not long after my arrest. Almost all is lost. Police refuse to help. Im released and sentenced to two years probation and No contact continuing until the end of the two years.
I move in with my grandparents. I start to build my life back and start a small business woodworking in the garage. Life starts to look up. I’m on path to build a new life for my family when we can reunite. A year passes. I’m starting to feel normal again and my grandfather and I have a disagreement, we are very close. Hes like a second father. It turns into a bad fight, words are exchanged and I’m told to get out. I leave with nothing but my backpack. Thinking I’d be able to return when cooler heads prevailed. Wasn’t the case, my grandfather grows ill and passes away a few weeks later at 75.
Now i’m sleeping on a garage floor to be awoken to the news of his passing. I am at a loss for words. I visit my grandmother the next day. Only to realize my family blames me and our fight for his sudden passing. I spend the next 2 months in the garage. Living hopelessly, eventually i am told the owners are selling the house. Im now homeless again. After a short while i find a room, in a cold basement, in a house full of junkies. I rescue a dog to help keep me sane. You know, a friend and something to distract me from all the loss I’ve had to deal with. His name is Dexter.
I am trying to raise money to get back on my feet. To rent a small shop so I can start building things to make an income and get a better place to live for April when i can be reunited with my family. I don’t expect anyone to understand what I’m going through or the pain I carry. But any little bit helps. Thank you.