Friday, April 29, 2016

I Don't Know What I Expect



Well, I guess I’m going to finally admit to something I must have been trying to hide from myself: going to the Knoxdale house is not something I’m good at dealing with.  I think I’ve only been there a handful of times since August.  I wouldn’t’ be surprised if dad feels neglected. 

I don’t know what I expect.  Here’s the reality: you still feel very much a part of that house.  You and dad decorated and furnished it beautifully.  The refrigerator still has many of Kirkland’s coloring pages, and his magnet letters, but I think “Orange Jeep” must have been buried with you (one of his first works of art).  Dad put the silk tulips in the short pots in the front window for spring, I think they look great. 

I have conflicts internally.  I almost feel “behind” in terms of the grieving process.  On one hand, I mildly regret drinking my feelings away for the immediate 7 months after you left.   I think it only delayed some of the issues, like mourning over your lack of presence at dad’s house.  Yet, I think I’m glad I was self-medicating.. because it’s a really powerful feeling to be out there and I guess I might not have been prepared to deal with that prior to this.  I still might not be ready.  Probably everyone already knew this except me… I don’t know who I think I’m fooling by just assuming I’m doing the right thing all the time.  When your kid doesn’t come to your house for like a year, she’s probably not ready to deal with the emptiness.

And then Finch and Caleb helped dad and I move the remainder of the stuff out of the flower shop basement.  So, that’s that—no more storage, no more of my stuff, no more material ties.  I ran upstairs to say hi to Brandy… and walking into the backroom of the flower shop got me right in the feelings.  I feel like, in a way, I grew up there.  It was always yours, but it felt okay for Bailey and I to walk in and out like we owned it.  You were most always busy in there… but you always gave me a big hug.  And our family sometimes congregated there.  And yesterday it just felt like a huge slug in the guts… I’ve been there once since August, and even then I didn’t try to set foot in the back.  Last night it was, all at once, an appreciation of the space and of Brandy’s care for it, and a mega-loss that felt destructive and disturbing.

I feel like so much has changed around me and I haven’t been paying attention. 

I don’t know what I expected, but sometimes when I actually let myself think about it, I am devastated because I just miss you so much.  We all do.  And I wish you were still here.

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Roommates In Heaven



In a way, I’m kinda glad you are where you are for this one.  Looks like your friend joined you.

I was devastated last Sunday when I heard the news that Sandy had passed.  I’ve known Sandy all my 28 years of life.  She and mom were best friends, her kids were Bailey’s and my best friends, and then you came along and also fit right into the best friends circle.  When Sandy was first diagnosed, I really thought this would be like a couple year battle until we just cleared it all up and she lived a basically normal, long life after that.  I suppose that’s how I thought your battle would go too. 

When you were both sick, the goal was to get better so we could all take a trip to Disney World together—healthy, happy families.  And now here we are… two husbands without their wives, two sets of kids without a parent, and both of you from basically the same circle of friends.  A one-two punch of tragedy, much too close together in time. 

I hated seeing Shannon and Brady having to go through this, knowing EXACTLY what they were feeling because it wasn’t that long ago that we felt it too.  We were just there, we just did this… why do our friends have to do this too?  I thought homecoming was hard last year—this year is going to be a disaster. 

But I’m glad you’re up there because I know that’s where Sandy was headed—I’m sure you two were very glad to see each other.  And now the rest of the team down here has some more grieving to do. 

There isn’t a point to this letter… I just wanted to say that I’m glad to have known both of you and had you in my life as long as I did.  I miss you both dearly, and I can’t wait to see you both again.  Take care of us and take care of each other.  We wish you were both still healthy, and both still here.