A friend had suggested I start an anonymous blog to “talk” to you (Meaning: do writing therapy and give you hell as needed) but I’m just going to put it out here in my real life. Moderation of comments is on, so all you big bad boys who wear girl panties that want to insult a grieving family…good luck with that, let me know how it turns out for you.
*Disclaimer: This is not going to be pretty or easy. Read at your own discretion.
Our death is not an end if we can live on in our children and the younger generation.
For they are us, our bodies are only wilted leaves on the tree of life. ~Albert Einstein
You have an outpouring of people who have wonderful memories of you and who are wanting to ease your childrens suffering. This alone is helping me put one foot in front of the other. I hope that wherever you are you realize the love being shown to your girls that you can’t provide any longer.
Your daughters are indeed suffering greatly. I can only thank you that for the past two weeks of being out of work, you choose to spend so much time with them. Their memories of you will be of a man who bought them new bikes, went swimming with them, bought puppies, played tag and suffered through hours of Dora to their delight. (Yeah, that Dora thing…could have had a great hand in what you did to yourself)
We spent hours yesterday going through all the photo albums and gathering every picture we could find of you to separate into three albums that they can carry around and talk to you. There weren’t that many pictures of you. I hope to go through some videos today and maybe you made a few more appearances there so the girls can hear your voice. I never got it with you and pictures. It wasn’t the paparazzi…it was making memories that could be revisited. There are so few. Thanks a lot for that, jerk.
Annie sleeps with your picture that was in that 8X10 frame. I check in on her and she’s clutching it even as she sleeps. She climbs in her closet and cries to you. Can you hear her pain? How could you not know that you were going to destroy such a tender heart?
We were renewing my Driver’s License yesterday and some kind lady remarked that Isabella must look just like her Daddy. All hell broke loose after they screamed and cried that their father was dead. That he was frozen (which is their term for rigor mortise that they have witnessed in countless frogs and fish that never survived being stuck in tupperwares or having their fins brushed with electric toothbrushes) They get death. They get your dead. When I see you in heaven I am going to kick your kneecaps…you’ve been warned.
As anyone who has been close to someone that has committed suicide knows, there is no other pain like that felt after the incident.
I can’t even describe to you how I am feeling right now. I hope you heard me screaming at you in front of your casket, because you deserved to hear it. Sadly, I would gratefully receiving your looming rage in my doorway rather than sinking you in the ground. Yes, I wanted the abuse to stop, but at your hand of getting help…not actually by your hand.
My sisters collected some of your items yesterday for me. After seeing the carnage you left behind, I couldn’t go in there again. Kinda strange for being such an anal neat freak that you would leave that mess behind. I told them to leave the children’s clothes that were hanging right behind where you did it. The wonderful cleaning crew had taken them to the dry cleaners and they looked perfect, but I can’t bear to see them on the children knowing what was on them. I don’t understand how you could have possibly stood in the room that contained your children’s clothes and toys and not seen what you were leaving behind. That it couldn’t have made you pause for just a moment and consider your three girls.
Dan, even in light of the divorce; I loved you. I will always love you in a part of my heart that shared life with you for 15 years. Yet, right now…I am hating you. Hating you for what you left behind. How am I possibly supposed to provide for these kids. Not just financially; but emotionally. How does someone broken repair the broken?
Many blame me. I’ve received the anger voices, messages, etc. letting me know that they believe it was my fault. You know what though…regardless…this was your choice. YOUR FAULT. You pulled the trigger and made your choice. I know you were breathing and heart beating for a little while after you did it. I hope a few words crossed your mind…”OOPS” and “SORRY” I also hope you know I forgave you right then and begged God to show mercy on a man who was sick.
You left us nothing. Not a single blasted thing. Thanks for that. Thanks be to a God who loves me that he gave me a heck of a backbone, sense of humor and amazing family that is going to superglue this crap back together into something changed but so much more beautiful. I hope that you do look down on me and realize that I am amazing. That will stand firm in every storm, protect those that I can, sacrifice whatever I have to and I will be happy. I will continue to love life and laugh at its weirdness.
As much as I am hurting, haunted and sometimes broken down…I am alive and breathing life in deep.