Sometimes the hardest truths hide in the places we least expect.

When Jennifer Maedge’s husband, Richard, called to say he was coming home early, she thought it was just another ordinary day. But when she returned to their Illinois home, his car was there — and he was gone. For eight long months, she searched, prayed, and hung on to hope.

As the holidays approached, Jennifer decided to decorate — a small act to lift her heavy heart. “I was looking for the Christmas ornaments,” she said quietly. “That’s when I discovered him.” Her husband had been in a cluttered closet all along. The same home where police had searched twice, dismissing a strange odor as nothing more than household waste.

The coroner later ruled his death a suicide, saying his body had “mummified,” explaining why the smell eventually faded. His sister Marilyn said softly, “It’s not the ending we wanted, but now we can put him to rest.”

Jennifer met Richard more than 20 years ago. She remembers his kindness, his humor — and how deeply he cared.
Now, she’s learning to live again, knowing love doesn’t end where life does.

Because sometimes closure doesn’t bring peace — it simply lets you start breathing again.