Dart Center for Journalism and Trauma

"It was a death for me," he said. "It's like I died."

Thomas sits at his dining room table on a gray January day as the horrible, inevitable anniversary of her death approaches. The table, where they once shared meals, now doubles as a desk. He shuffles through reports and articles, information he's gathered about postpartum depression, trying to make sense of the unthinkable. He rubs freckled hands over his face, and through a stubby crop of graying hair. His auburn eyes are tired.

Since her death, Thomas' friends and neighbors have wrapped their collective arms around him and the boy. There is always someone to watch Alexander, to take him to the park. Neighbors gave Thomas a jogging stroller for his first Father's Day. They bring food. They've set up a trust fund for the baby.

Alexander wants for nothing, except a mother.

The milestones tick away. In the summer, Thomas took him to Greece to be baptized.

His first word was "book."

A few weeks ago, he had his first haircut. Then came the first steps.

Thomas has sold the restaurant. The 80-hour weeks were too much, and it wasn't the same without his wife.

Now he's trying to start a new business where he can make a schedule that lets him be with his son. Perhaps a small cafe that serves just breakfast and lunch, or a catering service.

"I'm a strong believer everything happens for a good reason," he said. "I just don't know how I'm right."

He goes to St. Demetrios Greek Orthodox Church when he needs solace, especially on the anniversary each month of the day she killed herself. When things get really bad, he goes every day.

"Sometimes it is like my spirit is suffocating," he said. "How much I miss my wife — like a guillotine, it snaps down on me. Then it takes a conscious effort to open my eyes up and see the good things."

He sees Alexander.