I heard a lot of words of comfort and caring at your funeral, and the days surrounding it. Someone you and I both love said to me God doesn't give you anything you can't handle.
I thought, yes he does. He gave Neil something he couldn't handle. If you can't handle it, it breaks you. I know this isn't going to break me, maybe that's what she meant.
It's similar to what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Right. Or it kills you.
Wow, I'm a real pick-me-upper tonight, aren't I?
I'm tired, Neil. These days are so surreal. I've figured out the morning routine. I've gone back to work. I've attempted to be productive during the day. I'm slowly working on an evening routine. What I don't have is a minute to breathe. When I add in all the minutes I spend thinking about you, thinking about those days leading up to your last one, or the years. Well, there's nothing left.
Nothing else is getting done. My mom does our laundry. We eat take-out or leftovers. And yet, I still feel like I'm not doing enough with the kids. G is acting up, acting out. He purposely peed in his pull-up right after bathtime last night. He got in big trouble for it. The boys have been wrestling too much, listening too little. I think at one point, when they'd gotten in trouble for it, I even said it's just me now, guys. You have got to start listening to me.
Good job, Heather. Remind the children that you are all they have left, that will help them grow to be well-adjusted adults.
Well-adjusted adults. What does that even look like anymore? Every single person who came to your funeral save a handful thought you were a well-adjusted adult. Your sister and I were the only two people who had seen what was happening to you. I hope my writing about you doesn't hurt her, doesn't hurt your family. They've been hurt enough.
I found a hand-written letter in the foyer today. It had obviously come through the mail slot. I thought you'd like it.
So many people, Neil. So many people are stepping up to tell us they care about us. So many people came to tell you they loved you. Three hundred and twenty-two people signed the book.
Three hundred and twenty-two, Neil.
darling lady - i have been reading your other blog for a while, and tonight found this. i can not imagine your heartache. i have no words of wisdom i'm afraid, but i wanted you to know that here at my desk i am thinking of you and yours. much love.
ReplyDeleteHi Heather, Just came over for the first time yesterday. I hope this is a great outlet for you and, someday, some help to the boys. We don't "know" each other, but I know you are strong. Strong enough to be a hero to those boys and raise them up to be good men. The note from your neighbor is lovely.
ReplyDeleteOne of my 10 y/o's friend's father ended his own life last year. The memorial service was overflowing with people, just covering the sidewalk. I didn't want him to go, but his whole football team was, so I let him. When he came home he said, "You know - if I'm ever really sad and thinking that everyone hates me, I'm going to make a list of who would come to my funeral and I think I will feel better." And David? The trampoline kid? What an outstanding person to make the effort to let you know that. I hope your meeting with the pastor goes well... xoxo
ReplyDeleteI can't stop thinking about you and praying for you. You're honestly on my mind constantly. The note from the little neighbor boy was so precious. I hope that there are many things like that to help you through all of this.
ReplyDeleteHeather, I love you. You are such an amazing person. I've been thinking about you non stop. Please let me know if I can do anything to help. That letter touched me.
ReplyDeleteLove.