OP-ED: Sharing Troy's story to raise awareness of suicide in Idaho

My husband, Troy, was the last person anyone would think would die by suicide. But that’s why I share the story of his death.

Troy’s troubles started when he was involved in a bus crash in 2001 that killed the Kellogg High School’s wrestling team’s beloved driver, who suffered a massive heart attack and died instantly while driving the bus. Troy and one of his wrestlers ran to the front to keep it from crashing. It all happened too fast, and the bus ran into a tree. Upon impact, the engine came up through the bus, smashing my husband’s head between the driver’s seat and a half wall.

That was the first time I thought I lost my husband, and in a way, I had. A 10-year study that concluded in 2014 found that while suicide risk was greatest in the first six months after a traumatic brain injury, beyond that, it was double or more. Even seven years later, patients are 75% more likely to die by suicide than those who’ve never had a brain injury.

Unaware of any of this, I spent the next four nights sleeping at Troy’s bedside in the hospital as doctor’s struggled to get his pain under control. Once home, getting Troy to rest was a struggle. Growing up in St. Maries, our role models were loggers, truck drivers and mill workers — men with a tremendous work ethic and a lot of pride.

Despite the accident’s aftermath, Troy went back to school to become an educational administrator, and was offered a job as assistant principal at Coeur d’Alene High School. After several happy years, marred only by his worsening back pain, he became the school’s principal, a lifelong dream. Doctors didn’t have a solution to his pain, and he didn’t want surgery. Instead, Troy took Ibuprofen daily, and every few months got painful injections for temporary relief.

Troy joked to me that he had an old grandpa body, and he was just getting old. He also said he was done having surgeries. At this point, my husband had been living in pain for almost 17 years.

The day he died, we hugged like always, but I noticed he held me and kissed me longer. He looked me right in the eyes when he said, “I love you.” Then he walked out of our bedroom, started his truck and left. That was the last time I saw him alive.

The police found Troy behind the woodpile by our house with a self-inflicted gunshot to the head. Troy had called his school resource officer to make sure my son and I were together when we found out and that we wouldn’t be the ones to find him. He took care of us, in his way, until the end.

Most people who die by suicide don’t leave a note, but I knew Troy would.

Troy wrote, “Ever since January 22, 2001, I have not been 'right.' My body aches continuously, but my headache never goes away.”

I share Troy’s story because I want more people to understand the link between traumatic brain injuries and suicide. The government needs to do more to prioritize mental health. Nobody should be ashamed to admit that they are struggling. My husband had money, insurance, support and love, but pride, and the way we were raised, prevented him from getting help.

When people ask me how my husband died, I say he died by suicide. But the truth is, he was killed in that bus accident in 2001. It killed him slowly over 17 years.

I try to be grateful. Had he died on that day, our son would have never known his dad. Had he died on that day, he wouldn’t have given our daughter her high school diploma or walked her down the aisle. I am grateful that I had a loving relationship for 20 years that some people live their whole lives without.

I also know that if he had to do it all over again knowing how it would end, he would still run to the front of the bus to save his wrestling team. And he did. Besides the driver and eventually Troy, nobody else died that day.

• • •

Saprina Schueller is a teacher at Canfield Middle School in Coeur d’Alene. Read the full story of her late husband’s life and death at troysstory.com.