Fishing

At night, I put the kids to bed, and then if I'm lucky I come back downstairs to talk to you. Usually as we're telling bedtime stories or talking, that's when my brain turns to you and I wonder how you're doing. I wonder what you would do differently if you could do that morning differently.

Tonight the boys wanted to talk about fishing. I told them Uncle Greg wants to take them fishing, but all I could think about was how much you loved taking them fishing.

They talk about you more every day. C hit his head on the table last night and was crying for you. I want daddy. I said I know, I want him too. I'm sorry honey. Every day they talk about missing you, wanting you. With G it's very matter-of-fact, but he says he wants you all the time. How am I supposed to answer them?

I know you didn't want this. I know that in the deepest part of myself. You told me that, the day of your funeral. The only time I've ever heard from you. I walked into the chapel at the funeral home and I heard you as if you were right behind me.

I didn't want to be here.
I know, Neil. But man you really messed this one up.

I told my therapist that you had always had trouble making transitions. Change was terrifying for you, so instead of making a choice that might be wrong, you'd choose nothing. The ostrich approach.

She said wow, for a guy who had trouble making transitions, he made a big one didn't he?

I knew what she was talking about. That fucking doctor. So many people have asked me about him, have expressed their concerns.

I have been thinking of writing Dr. P a letter, letting him know just exactly how bad I think his decisions were for Neil.
Heather, I think you're well past a letter.
You think this is malpractice?
I think you need to look into what happened. Get some professional help. The choice of medication, the dosing, the fact that Neil was calling Dr. P every day on his cell phone and he didn't bring him in to check up on him.
And his therapist knew he was having suicidal thoughts. Dr. P told me the two of them coordinate the care of their patients together. Wouldn't she have told him Neil was talking about suicide?

I don't know, Neil. It doesn't change anything, I get that.

G had the stomach flu today. It started at 5:00 a.m., when he woke up and told me he wanted to throw up. Now that you're gone, it's just me and them, so we all ended up in the bathroom together while G threw up. C's such a light sleeper, he wasn't about to be left alone.

It's strange, but this is a milestone I'd been dreading. When one or both of the kids get sick and it's just me. So, check. I've handled that now.

My next scary milestone? When I get sick and it's just me. What if I'm up all night throwing up, who is going to make sure the boys get breakfast and dressed and off to school? Who is going to make sure the dogs are fed and walked and pottied? That kind of stuff is overwhelming.

I'm sure people think well, she wanted a divorce. She should have thought about that. I'm sure people blame me. It's just so much more complicated than that. I wanted to live in a separate location so I could get away from what was happening. I didn't want you gone. I just thought you'd be living somewhere else.

Four weeks today, Neil.  Four weeks?  God, that's insane.

I miss you.