Well, Dad here we are, one week later. Our bodies have experienced endless tears to the point where we have burnt marks on our cheeks. We have hit our legs as we grasp for air through the crying. We've had hurt throats from the screams from the initial shock, and that doesn't begin to mention the cancar sores in our mouths, the sleepless nights, heartburn, puffy faces and so much more. And now, all the outward stress that has been witnessed by Katie has taken it's toll on Katie. She has fever, lethargic, and just feels like "sleeping, sleeping". Dad, this is deep grief and depression. When will our days get better?
We have planned out services, made slideshows, fought with one another, drank too much, shut down to no words at all, and so much more. We have seen no less than 14 people at a time in the house, endless meals, visitors of all sorts, bewildered faces and family members left with so many questions. Questions of not only "why", but also questions of why we keep talking about your faith and how you loved the Lord. You loved Him so much, but could never find that internal peace with the pathways He's allowed to come your way.
Dad, as you would expect, I am reading a book titled "The Empty Chair" and at times, I cannot believe that I am searching for ways to understand this kind of trauma, as it relates to the kind of death we have experienced. This kind of death has taken it to a whole new level, a level that can feel isolating, embarrassing, and even hopeless. What did you need from us Dad? What did you need to hear us say or what could we have done? You had text messages flooding your in-box, voicemail was full, we moved from Texas to be closer, children checking in, grandkids calling, and the list goes on and on. What else could we have done? We spent almost 17 years telling you how much we loved you and how we called you Dad. We would pull you in on happy moments and turn to you during sad moments. We loved you............heck, we LOVE you!!
I am reading that this has nothing to do with us, rather it has everything to do with you. It was your sadness, and parts of your heart that no one could understand or reach that left you feeling this way. It's odd to think of someone like you feeling like it's simply over. What do we do with that, Dad? Did you think about the hearts of everyone around you? Let's simply begin with Mom. What about a 54 year-old wife that is now titled "widow"? What about her walking through the home daily without you there? What about the bed you share and how it's empty now? How does she do this, Dad? You know the journey she has already been down, and now you have added to that. I love you just the same, but I can't believe you didn't process this one through. You ALWAYS process things through and you ALWAYS calculate the cost of your decisions. What about the boys? What about Joshua Kyle and Nick? What about Nathan and Josh? What about me? What about Katie? Brie? Sofie? Omi? Kai? What about neighbors? Church members? Co-workers?
I know that you cannot answer these questions, because if you were at a place of considering each one, you would've been overwhelmed with sadness and the course you would've chosen would have been different. So, I don't hold these things against you nor do I harbor them deep in my heart, but there are questions nonetheless.
Eighteen months of pain, they say! Dad, we have eighteen months of pain to push through, and if we try to cut it short through medication or alcohol, we push it back that much further. Can you imagine the journey ahead? It's a forced journey and we will make it through, but it's tiresome to think of eighteen more months of anguish. I wish it could hit at once, and we could feel the pain for two days and then done. I know that after the eighteen months are finished, there will still be much more to go, just not the kind of sting we feel now.
Tonight, Judy and Stan put us in a hotel to give the five us some space from everyone and everything. The girls miss their mom and dad, so it's nice tonight to not only hug one another in a cold, hotel room with great accommodations, but it's also nice to write again to you. I've been waiting for this moment and praying that I will not forget what I feel so that when I had access to the internet once more, I could remember what I want to say.
We are all so wiped! Our bodies have gone through so much, and Monday is coming too quickly. Everyone has to report to work/school and the frontage road to the highway of pain is coming to an end. We are going to have to get onto the highway and start living through the grief, while living "normal" life. I never want this kind of frontage road again, and pray for the Lord's return before I ever experience such pain.
As I am writing this, I am listening to the Pandora, and it's the instrumental praise station. The song playing is "Because He lives, I Can Face Tomorrow.....life is worth the living, just because He lives."
I'm ending on that note.....
With so much love, forgiveness, and heartbreak,
Beth
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