This week was a rough one. I have struggled with whether or not I wanted to write about it, to even think about it. Now here I sit on Friday, with the week coming to a close, no closer to absolution.
10 years ago, I lost someone. Someone who meant a great deal to me. 10 years ago, my friend Patrick took his own life and sent mine into a spiral. It was 10 years ago. Sometimes that amount of time just doesn't seem possible. It seems like it was just yesterday. I planned a full day on Tuesday. And tried to ignore the other days. 10 years.
I will remember that week forever. I will remember the argument. I will remember the tears, the fear, the emptiness. I will remember the disbelief. All those feelings, so many feelings, most of which I never knew were possible. I remember the anger, so much anger. So many tears. The guilt. Oh. My. God, the GUILT.
So many phone calls. I was mad. That day, all I wanted to do was sleep and cry. And I had to spend it telling people. I will absolutely never, never forget the moment that I had to tell his best friend at school. No one should have to do that. The look on his face. That made me the most angry. I was mad because because of his decision, I had to be the one that hurt his best friend. I know I wasn't the one, but I was the messanger. That was wrong. I was mad.
I remember the long drive to the funeral. I remember how my wonderful friends pulled together for me, and showed me support. I remember turning up my headphones in the back seat and pretending that we weren't driving to a funeral home.
So many explanations. I felt like I needed to have a statement to hand out to everyone. Or at least signs. My friends sheilded me. They ran interference.
After the first viewing, I stayed behind. I stayed so I could have a minute, just me and him. I remember looking down at him, wanting to punch him in the face for the hurt, for the guilt, for the person he made me into in a split second. I wanted to hug him. More than anything, I just wanted to shake him and wake him up.
I remember him. I remember his voice, his eyes, his laugh. I catch glimpses of him in different ways. Sometimes, it just slams into me like a mack truck out of the blue. It leaves me breathless and like I have been suckered punched in the gut. I see things that I know he would appreciate. It's like an endless black pit. Last night it hit me so hard I had to sit down. I just sat and cried. Isaac crawled into my lap and wiped away a tear with his little hand. He let me cry.
How are you supposed to be after 10 years? What are you still allowed to talk about? What kinds of feelings are acceptable? Where should you be? What's acceptable? It seems so taboo, like you have a timeline for grief. I know people would never tell me that. At the same time, I don't know how healing it is for others to see me broken. It was a ripple effect. My husband for example. I know it makes him uncomfortable for many reasons. Foremost that for 5 minutes 10 years ago, there was someone else in my life that meant something to me. That that person hurt me and that as my husband he can't make it better. Sometimes the silence is better.
10 years later, there are still no answers. Can you ever really get over something when you don't know what it was in the first place? The pain is still there. There is still no absolution. But there has come peace. Acceptance. And resolution that I will not be broken anymore. I am more than that week, than that person he made me into.
10 years later, I still miss Patrick.