The gift

It's amazing to me how intricately woven together our lives are with those we love. When they are alive, you notice the memories, but when they are gone, and those memories become like the sting of a bee, constantly chasing, hurting, it becomes hard to do anything in life without them attacking.

The why's have been consuming me lately, and although I know the truth, my heart can't help but ask the questions that have become like a revolving door.

I recently read one survivor say,

"I don't know why.

I'll never know why.

I don't have to know why.

I don't like it.

What I have to do is make a choice about me living."

Huh. This really gave me a lot to think about. It's been so hard to go on living when all I want to do is lay around and sulk. I'm not to the place where I have stopped asking, "Why did you do it??" but I know I will need to go there in order to heal, and to live fully.

I know I am not forgotten by the Lord, and it hasn't been hard to see Him all around me, but it has been hard for me talk to him. I've decided that I will just copy His word for a while, and pray it back to him. God gave me Psalm 46:1-3 "God is our refuge and our strength, an ever present help in trouble. Therefor we will not fear, though the earth give away and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though it's waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.- Selah

Life as I have known it is gone. The mountains have fallen, the water has roared and threatened to consume. But I can trust that God is strong for me when I have no strength within myself. It doesn't even matter if I "feel" it. God has given me His assurance, His gift to me.

As I pondered this verse, I started thinking about my dad and the gifts he used to give. He loved to be a smarty pants, loved to give the kids things that were bizarre, off-beat and left us all wondering. He LOVED shock factor.

I could tell many stories of his gifts, but just one stands out today.

Last year, Sabian got a package from grandpa for his birthday. We knew it would be good, at least for a laugh. As Sab tore into the box, then the wrapping paper hiding another box inside, his face became SO excited.. this box was for a throwing hatchet. A stunned silence washed over us all, Sabian's from sheer joy and Aaron and I from pure fear. My dad wouldn't have given his 11 yr old grandson, with 3 younger sisters, who has a knack for getting into trouble, a throwing hatchet... right? Surely this is just a box and the contents are more appropriate? We told Sabian to stop, while we snapped a picture of him. He continued to open the box, pull away at the bubble wrap.... we took a huge sigh of relief. Inside all that wrapping, the bubble wrap, the boxes, was a wooden flute and harmonica. Sabian LOVES playing musical instruments so his excitement was still there- but it wasn't a sharp hatchet, and we had a huge laugh.

As I thought about this memory, I began to see that life can be just like this story- unexpected things come our way all the time. God allows them. But, if we take the time to fully unwrap them, we will see something glorious and exciting, something for us to use, that brings us (and Him) joy. As I sit alone and cry, I'll be remembering that while this seems so scary and unfathomable, I need to unwrap it, and see just what gift it houses inside.

God said to me, My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefor I will boast all the more gladly about my weakness so that Christ's power may rest upon me. 2 Cor 12:9

Truth in Forgivness

Famous author C.S. Lewis once said " If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end. If you look for comfort, you will not get either comfort or truth, only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin, and in the end, despair."

Last night I had another huge breakdown.

Somedays the tears just flow. Somedays they flow on and off silently. On nights like last, the floodgates open like a dam broken, and the tears rush violently out with no mercy.

Nothing really set it off, it just happened. Unable to stop even long enough to take a breath I cried and cried.

Aaron was gone, but when he came home, he tried to comfort me with words of truth. My dad didn't know what he was doing, he didn't understand the devastation he would leave behind for me to deal with. He was blinded by his anger and bitterness. Aaron reminded me that as Jesus hung on the cross he prayed for those very people who were inflicting the worst pain imaginable on him- "Forgive them Father, they know not what they do." Luke 23:34

He told me that I could pray that same thing for my dad - he didn't know what he was doing to me.

Aaron reminded me that at some point I need to let go and forgive. If I continue in this cycle of being bitter, being so angry and hurt, I am doing no one any favors, and am instead passing along the very same thing which is eating me up inside- the hatred of my father.

As Aaron wrapped his big arms around me in comfort, I knew he was right. I do need to forgive. We hold on to anger hoping to "make them pay" for hurting us, but in reality, we aren't hurting anyone but ourselves. My dad is already gone, and me being angry at him won't do harm, but it will keep me isolated from others, it will eat me alive as I strive to hurt the one who hurt me, it will affect my children and their lives. It will ooze out of every pore in my body like a deadly acid, ready to consume anyone who comes near. I saw just that happen to my dad.

In my sorrow last night, I told Aaron this was the 2 F's- Final and F***** up (yes I just swore). He followed by telling me it was actually the 3 F's, the two stated above,with Forgiveness added.

Deep in my heart I know he is right. I have to let this go. It might mean that every hour, probably every minute sometimes, I will need to remind myself that God forgives me everyday, and I need to walk in that same way towards my dad. He didn't understand the impact that his death would have on those of us left behind.

"The Lord our God is merciful and forgiving, even though we have rebelled against Him"

Daniel 9:9

Why dad?

Why Dad,
Why did you chose to die?
You left no note and me with why?
You thought you were doing what was best and right.
Why, oh why, did you have to end the fight?
Your pain is something I will never understand.
You must have been so afraid to take this stand.
You left me with a title I am sad to attain.
Suicide Survivor, but who should I blame?
I know your decision was painful to make.
The thoughts in your head
Must have been unbearable to take.
Now that you're gone, I think of you a lot.
You couldn't have known the suffering this has brought.
I pray you are at peace my Angel, and I am in pain.
I count the minutes to Heaven and seeing you again.

Turmoil and Confusion

"Suicide carries in it's aftermath a level of confusion and devastation that is, for the most part, beyond description." -Psychologist Kay Jamison in the book Night Falls Fast

Turmoil is a word which stirs up intense feelings in everyone. Everyone has faced turmoil in their lives at one point or another. Every one's story is different, yet the turmoil that is aroused deep within us is a somewhat universal feeling.

Up to this point in my life, I have had much turmoil. A terribly dysfunctional family growing up, horrible teenage years, 2 treatment centers before I was 17 yrs old, and numerous suicide attempts myself. But this turmoil which I find myself feeling, is different. It is final. There is no remedy for the fact that my father is gone. How do I walk through and face this? This is too much! Perhaps this turmoil is also different as it effects my children... and there is nothing I can do as a parent to protect them. They must face this harsh reality themselves... and I know they too will carry this with them for the rest of their lives.

In an attempt to help my kids, I purchased several books which were delivered last week. One of them is a workbook for kids to work through their grief as suicide survivors. 2 of them are storybooks dealing with losing grandparents and heaven. As I struggled to get through reading them without a breakdown, the turmoil in my soul sought to swallow me up. I shouldn't have to be reading these books to my kids. Dad- how could you have not thought about them? I could carry this with me- but my kids? The anger and confusion have been following me everywhere this week.

Our ritual for bedtime used to be relaxing, a story, a prayer, a goodnight kiss. This routine has now changed too.
Every night when I tuck the kids into bed, I now must answer their questions: "What does it feel like to die? Will we ever get to talk to Grandpa again? Did it hurt when he shot himself? Why did he want to die? Why didn't he tell us good-bye? Will I die?

The questions are all the more heartbreaking as I struggle within myself- these very same questions keep me awake at night, and keep me from concentrating during the day. I answer them all as truthfully as I am able, and explain that God will answer our questions when we get to heaven. Questions and guilt are two of the hardest things to get past as a survivor.

Today these words from Luke 6:21 help comfort me and give me the strength I need to comfort my children; " You're blessed when you've lost it all, God's kingdom is there for the finding. You're blessed when you are ravenously hungry, then you're ready for the Messianic meal. You're blessed when the tears flow freely, joy comes with the morning." -The Message Bible

Love Song

Today was a rough day. After several days in a row of looking up and forward, feeling like I can and will get through this as a whole person, I fell back into despair.

Tomorrow marks 1 month since my father's death. The days have been long, nights even longer. The tears seem ready to flow at any moment.

A neighbor set off a large firework next door tonight while I was outside. I jumped out of my skin and then started crying. It reminded me of the sound of my father's gun going off. Will the tears haunt me the rest of my life, I wondered?

Another reason I had a bad day- I had to make a phone call for an unresolved issue. I also needed to issue an apology to someone I blamed in the first days of my dad's death. The issue at hand is still unresolved, and lack of family support has made this much worse.

I've been dealing a great deal with abandonment. I already had issues. My dad and mom were divorced, and although my dad saw me when he could, I always felt abandoned by him. I always felt like I wasn't good enough. This decision to die has sent a catastrophic shockwave in my life that will be felt deep in my spirit for years to come. An earthquake of epic proportions- some of the structures hit by this were stable and could withstand, while others were already weakened by years of stormy weather and smaller shakes.

The day has left me wondering why I can't just write off my dad as he did to me? Why can't I throw all the photos away, stop talking, stop remembering..... and it dawns on me- because I loved him. I loved him with a love he didn't have to earn by being world's best daddy (he wasn't!), he didn't have to earn it with gifts or even with words of love returned. He had my love without condition- because God made him my dad.

Nicholas Wolterstorff wrote it best when he said, "Love in our world is suffering love. Some do not suffer much, though, for they do not love much. Suffering is for the loving. If I hadn't loved him, there wouldn't be the agony." He goes on to say, "I lament all that might have been, and now will never be."

Tonight I lament on all that my dad won't be. He won't be that loving father I've always dreamed of. He won't be that grandpa to sing "Puff the magic Dragon" on his guitar, tell them silly stories of long ago times, or teach them to love the world from the back of a bike seat, yet I know that my love for him will help carry me through this grief.

" I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do, I will not forsake them." Isaiah 42:16

Forever Changed

It has been almost a month since my dad took his life.
Life doesn't stop just because he isn't living- and that is where I am, stuck between the world of grief and the world of the living.

I have to make the choice to live-everyday. When my eyes open to the light pouring into my room each morning, I need to decide to get out of bed. Most days I feel so exhausted, so full of sorrow, I would rather stay beneath my blankets. But there are children who need me, food to be fed, clothes to be washed, laughter to be had, so I get up.

Tears still catch me by surprise everyday when they are least expected: washing the dishes, watering the lawn, or merely driving down the road.

I can hear my dad's voice talking to me about the newest vitamin, the new cure... and I cry, knowing those conversations will never happen again. Then I see the kids, and know life has to return to "normal" for their sake, I choke back my weeping.

I thought I had been doing a good job, until tonight, when once again my 6 yr cried herself to sleep. As I tried to sweeten her heart and dry up her tears she kept saying "Things aren't the same as they were before Grandpa died. Why did he die?"

My heart broke.... for my children, so young and unable to process, yet asking the same question of why? For the kids and their innocent lives now being forever marred by the cruel reality. For me as a mom, as I struggle to keep things moving, to keep joy present in my home, and to help my children make sense of this senseless death.

Memories- Laughs and Tears

Today was another better day. Life seems to roll along, and I can roll with it.

I managed to smile, to laugh, without thinking of the sorrow of my dad and his final choice.

Then something happened. Sabian (12) went up to his room while I was busy cleaning up the kitchen from dinner..... he came back down and proudly showed his arm full of loot: "Mom, I found all the stuff Grandpa Dale gave me!" In his arms he held little model cars and trucks, a baseball mitt, ball. and mini harmonica.

Instantly, I fell into tears. trying to hide my pain from the boy standing beside me in the kitchen. This little man just lost his grandpa, I thought. He has watched his mom fall apart everyday since it happened, and I have to be strong now. I quickly looked away and tried to sound happy, while I told him how great those little treasures were. He told me he was going to put them up far away on a shelf, "They are worth so much now mom!" His voice was a voice crossed with both hope and deep sadness....How can he make sense of this? I wondered, just for a minute, how my dear child would fare carrying this weight on his shoulders for the rest of his life...his grandpa decided to die. He choose to leave us all. We weren't worth living for. How will this affect him? What about the rest of my children? The questions swirling through my mind could have driven me mad... but in this moment I chose to remember the truth of God's Word, that He tells us not to worry in Matt 6:27 "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?"
I choke back the tears, and have a conversation with my son about the precious gifts he holds in his hands.

Remembering the Lord has been good

Last night I had a weird dream. I went into my dad's house after he was found, and he had laid out pictures all over his bed. They were in little packets as if he wanted us to find them. One one packet was his scribbled handwriting which read, "To my daughter Ivy, who I love."

Of course, this was just a dream. In actual life, we found photos, and notes, but none of them professed the love of a father for his daughter. When we first started looking through dad's house I was sure I would find something, somewhere. I went through every pad of paper looking for a piece of love-anything. Nothing.

As a parent myself I cannot fathom not wanting to leave your children with your deep love. I guess my dreams show my subconcious desire to have that last assurance that I was loved.

Needless to say, my day started off on the sad side. My hubby left his One Year Bible on the floor, so as I sat down I began to read- and guess what? God had something just for me.
Psalm13:1-6
How long oh Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and everyday have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;
My enemy will say, "I have overcome him",
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
for he has been good to me.

The truth of my day that I am rememebering- The Lord has been good to me!

What goes up.. must come down

Sacred memories- by Lyndie Sorenson

Memories are so sacred
also bittersweet
for with those sacred memories..
was your life left incomplete.

Some smiles and some heartbreak
a double-edged sword.
When you only have your memories
tears can never be ignored.

Memories are a blessing
also painful to one's heart,
for with those sacred memories
comes knowledge we're apart.

Living life without you
forever, will be hard.
To wake each day to memories..
leaves me feeling very scarred.

Most people are just clueless
that I travel down this road...
where memories are so sacred
to this tragic life bestowed.

In a moment grief can grab you
as your memories appear
a special smile or occasion,
an anniversary of a year.

I'm grateful for the memories
for the life that we did share,
although with those sacred memories...
in sorrow I must bear.

The poem above came through from a new group I am a part of- a survivor group.It's a group of people from all different walks of life, and backgrounds who have one painful thing in common.

Every time I say that word... "suicide" I want to cringe- to run away. But the more I say it, the more my heart is understanding exactly what has happened and what will be our struggle from now on.

The last 2 days were pretty good. Of course, tears fall everyday, but they seemed to fall less frequently the last couple of days. Just when I felt like there may be hope on the horizon, I was filled once again with sorrow, and not just sorrow but also anger. Unfortunately it seems to come out at those stuck living with me now.

I can't say why I have been so upset, only that there is a deep-seeded, deep rooted anger- at my dad for causing all this pain, at my extended family for not being supportive, at God- why me Lord?

What went wrong?

I have spent the last few days going though all dad's old e-mails to me. Searching for the moment that sent him over the edge. You see, my dad's note left to me wasn't one of "I love you daughter", or "Take care of those grandkids who I love so much", but one of anger, rage and hate.
Growing up, I knew my dad loved me. I was his only child, and he was proud of me. Every time we rode on his Harley to meet his friends at the shop, go out to eat.... anywhere we went, people knew me already because my dad never stop talking about me.
He burned with anger when my mother got re-married and I had another dad in my home. I was his- and that's all their was to it.

When I had children, my dad was just as proud of his grandkids. As I wrapped up issues in his town, all I heard was how often he spoke of us, how much he loved us. I had to stop myself on several occasions from screaming back, "Really he loved me?! This isn't love! He did this to hurt me!!"

Our relationship had become strained over the last 6 months. All this time I thought it was me, I had done something wrong. I'm starting to see that simply isn't the case. My dad had become so hard to talk to. You couldn't say anything without him getting angry and going on a rant.

Looking back through my email I could see his disposition had fallen slowly over the last couple of years. I found my last email to him, which told him how much I loved him and desired to help him, yet had to walk on eggshells around him. I begged and pleaded with him to see life through different eyes. To enjoy what God had given him, instead of always looking at his broken dreams. His response was hard, calloused and out of character for him. I know know that was his deep sorrow speaking. He was standing in a pit looking up at me, and although I tried many times to throw him a lifeline, he just couldn't hang on- his hands were too slippery, perhaps caused by his self-induced sweat caused by his own fears that were trapped in his mind. If only he had wiped his hands off on his sides and grabbed hold of that rope!

I closed my inbox feeling a little better- in this moment- right now- I understand that nothing I could have said or done would have changed his mind. He chose to abandon me- but it wasn't because of anything I had done. He was trapped. He couldn't see the light just beyond the top of the pit. He couldn't see the love that swelled up in me as I looked over the edge at him.

A wonderful sister in Christ wrote me encouragement today that although my dad had self-inflicted injuries born of his anger and sorrow- directed at me, Jesus has scarred hands, proof of His dying love for me. That thought will get me through today.
Jer.31:3-4 "I have loved you with an everlasting love, I have drawn you with lovingkindness. I will build you up again and you will be rebuilt."

Broken

When someone you love chooses to die, you are left broken into a million pieces. You want to pick up all the pieces and glue them back together again as quickly as possible. You yearn for normal. To feel normal, to see the joy in things again. To not have your mind consumed with the thought that this person is gone, and you didn't help them when they needed it most.

Last night I slept a little better although I was awakened after a strange dream that left my heart pounding. In it, I was walking through a cemetery with my family. I have no idea why we were there. All of the sudden laying on the ground was a baby- a dead baby. Everyone else wanted to walk past and leave it it be, it was none of our business, after all, but I couldn't. I stopped to touch it and felt a faint heartbeat- I started screaming that the baby was alive and tried to get others to help me.... I woke up startled.

Strange dreams like this have been haunting me at night since my dad died. But this one seemed too real, to close to home. Why couldn't I have seen through my dad's anger, to see that he was barley clinging to life? If only the clock would turn back and I could know the despair he felt, and I could have traveled there for a visit, or convinced him to come and live with us? Maybe then he could have seen that life was worth hanging around for.

My dad chose to leave, and he accomplished what he wanted to accomplish in those final minutes of insanity- shattering my life as a mirror shatters when dropped from a 2nd story window to the pavement below.

Am I beyond repair? Most certainly not. It feels that way today, but God promises me in Genesis 50:20 "You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good. He brought me to this position so that I could save the lives of many people." (NLT)

Proverbs 3:25 spoke to my heart today as I listened online to a Beth Moore study, "Have no fear of sudden disaster, or of the ruin that overtakes the wicked, for the Lord will be by your side,and will keep your foot from being snared."

Anger and sadness

It's after dinner now, and I decided I needed to write some more. It has been a rough day. I decided that I needed to find some Christian books on the subject of survival- I already know that I need to draw near to God, but I also need to know how other's who have gone before me, made it through!

After a long morning (all days seem long now) I packed up all the kids, plugged in an address of a Christian book store to the GPS and went on my way. I had looked up a couple of titles that I was interested in.
On my way, driving down the road, for no reason at all, I was overcome with sadness and started crying. Then, I saw it: a blue Ford Falcon- 1968. My dad had one IDENTICAL to the one sitting at the side of the road. My weeping turned into anger- how could he have left me with all this pain? Why wasn't I enough to live for?

The bookstore turned out to be a trip indeed. I couldn't find anything on the specific subject of suicide, and I knew I wasn't strong enough (not on this day) to go up and ask for help. My anger still burned and now I wondered why the Christian community didn't have help for me when I felt like I was drowning?

The grocery store came next, and the kids seemed unruly. My husband came home very late from work, leaving me alone for longer in my silent grief then I wanted on this day.

After dinner, I put the kids in the bath and opened up the Word hoping to find a snippet of something to help me feel better- there it was: Ecclesiastes 3:1-3 "There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build."

For nearly 3 weeks I have thought this must be a bad joke, a mistake, a dream. But God has assured me tonight, it isn't. It didn't sneak up on Him like it did me, and He is giving me permission to grieve my loss, to be angry, and to heal. I didn't ask for this, but I can be assured that Jesus is with me every step of the way wiping my tears, calming my anger and soothing my soul.

I'm a Survivor

Survivor.... it's a term that elicits a TV show about people who "survive" in the jungle, tough situations. It also brings to mind people who have been through something awful- like war, and survived. For me now however, it has a whole different meaning. The day my dad decided he would no longer live, he propelled me into a world I would have never chosen- that of a survivor. We are mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters, grandparents.... people who are experiencing, against our will, the aftermath of someone else's terrible decision.

I'm told that survivors most of the time have post traumatic stress disorder- the same thing our military suffer from once they return from war. I'm also told that because someone close to me has died this way, my family is 5X's as likely to have another person do this.

My goal as survivor, is to pick up the shattered pieces of my life, allow the Lord to heal and put them back together. To have as little trauma as possible passed on to my kids, and to not get swallowed into the deep dark pit of depression that seems now like it lurkes just beneath the surface of my skin ready to envelop me in the blink of an eye.

As a survivor, I have been unable to sleep. Instead I lay awake at night, trying to shut my mind off- the questions swirling around nearly drive me mad. "Why did he do it out on the porch? Why didn't he call to say good-bye, at least to his grandchildren who he loved so much? Why did he not leave a note of love, but instead of shear anger? Why wasn't I enough to live for?"
Once I fall asleep the dreams are no better. So far, I have dreamt that I am trying to push through a door- my dad on the other side of it pushing it closed. He yells at me and won't let me through. I wake up, and remember that this isn't a bad dream- it's my life now.

As a survivor, I am trying to live my own life, I'm not dead! It has however, been crossed with the ugly reality of being changed. I've been walking through the motions of living, but in my head- all the time- is the thought that my dad is no longer here, and he chose it! At the grocery store the cashier asks the common question, "How are you today?" and although I respond normally, although I want to yell out "I've never had a worst time in my life- my dad died by suicide- I don't know why he wanted to leave me!"

I'm also learning that suicide is something that makes people really uncomfortable. People don't know what to say or do and therefor they avoid talking to those left behind. I was pulled over while in UT dealing with my dad's death. My rental car was from one state, my license from another, and my address in still another. When the police questioned why I was in UT and I responded the reason- an awkward silence followed.

As a survivor, I need to talk about not only my dad's life but also his death. It helps my brain understand as I already know it has cushioned this blow by denial- it all seems not real. Talking about it helps my brain understand that this is real. My dad is really gone.

As a survivor, I will make it through this just as I have the other hard times in my life... relying on Jesus to give me peace. His word to me is a comfort, his hand always on me, his arms holding me tight.

My dad decided to die

It has been a little over 2 weeks since my nightmare began- my dad chose death over life.
He leaves me, his only child, and my children struggling for answers, trying to understand and make sense of it all.

As I have been attempting to understand and pick up some of the pieces, I decided it would be good to document my journey, in hopes that through writing, I can heal or perhaps help others going through the same thing, or help someone who is hopeless and in the same place as my dad.

I'm going to begin by telling my dad's story. My dad was born in 1952. He was a cute kid with eyes that smiled all the time and a grin that was irresistible. When he got older, he fell in love with a few things, drinking, ladies, and motorcycles. He met my mom and they married- then I was born. Their love affair was short lived, and they divorced when I was still very young.
My dad found relief from drinking when I was only 5 years old. He had over 25 yrs clean and was very active in AA and an inspiration to those who also struggled.
He worked for the Union Pacific Railroad, for over 21 yrs.
My dad was a hard man and rough on the outside, but had a big heart along with those rows of tattoos on his arms. He just had a hard time expressing his feelings.
In recent years, dad had become ill with MS and his legs weren't working like they used to. Instead of moving to where my family lived so I could help, he chose to stay states away.

When dad had to sell his motorcycle, he was crushed. They were his life. He would buy them, and eventually get a new one.. but this time there was no new bike. This is where I think the beginning of his end was.

Dad's mood changed, and he was very irritable. It didn't matter what I said when I called, everything was always wrong and he always complained about everyone and everything. In the last 6 months the kids even had a hard time talking to him... if only we had known that he was so close to the end, I would had forced him to move with me.

On June 23,2010 my dad took one of his guns (he had many) went out on his porch, and shot himself through his mouth. He seated himself in a recliner, and sat there for 1/2 a day before his caretaker found him.

I received the news of his passing from my uncle. The police had called him as they found several things around the house listing him as a contact. I thought he had died of a heart attack and was shocked to find he had died of his own hand.
Our family packed our bags, and began our 26 1/2 hr (Straight through!) journey from Michigan to Idaho.
Once there, we had so much to do. Immediately I found a few pieces to the puzzle- my dad had booze and weed all around his place. This explained the mood change within the last year.
The mortuary was compassionate, but I found out that I was to be burdened with the expense of his death and body. I had to write his obituary, plan what to do with his body and for a service, and at the last minute I asked to see him. I just wanted to hug him one more time.

We went through my dad's things for a few days- my uncle looking for all the legal paperwork (everything in the will had been left to him in the will), and I was tirelessly looking for something, some clue as to what my dad was thinking. I collected a pile of memories, clothing, small clocks, flashlights, pens- to keep- I wasn't ready to let him go! My kids enjoyed playing at grandpa's one last time. They did much better then I thought they would, but little did I know the tears that would flow later.

The police were less then nice. They explained the note they had found, where my dad had said awful things to me. This final act for him was a direct attempt to devastate me. He succeeded. I wanted every single detail from the detective. When they told me dad used his left hand to shot the gun, I thought for sure someone had murdered him- he couldn't have done this to me!!

My dad's memorial was small, but nice. Since he wasn't affiliated with a church, and a mortuary was stuffy, we did it at a park. His buds rode their bikes from dad's favorite shop to the park, and I set up pictures along with some of my dad's things. His ashes sat on the table in the middle of it all. If only he had been able to see how very loved he was before it was too late!

The week was one big exhausting blur. I half expected this to be a big joke on me- to have dad pop out of somewhere saying this was his way of getting me to Idaho. However, it was no joke. It's my life now.

2 weeks later, I am burdened by wondering why? I go to sleep every night thinking about him in that chair. He'll not be there for my kids next birthday's, their graduations, or their weddings. He took the most precious thing he could from me- and I am left to deal with all the hurt, with all the questions, and with all the tears.