I went to see the marble slab for Ian's tombstone today. While it's not the best day starter, I thought it was beautiful and was relieved, feeling it was the right choice. (Too bad it was cracked and another has to be ordered.)
I've been fighting an urge lately. I told a friend about it today and she said it wasn't creepy--said it made perfect sense to her, so who knows, maybe I'll act on it, to what extent I don't know. At the hospital, Keith made all the calls and informed everyone that Ian was gone. When we got home, Keith sent out an email to let others know and tell them--I don't know what. It's a blur. I didn't want to call anyone. I didn't want to talk to anyone. In fact, truth be told, I don't think I would have let anyone know until the next morning. When I finally did tell anyone, it was a couple sentence email saying Ian's finished fighting heart disease and I don't have anything else to say. Wow, that doesn't really proclaim my eternal love for him, does it?
So here's the urge: I want to know what everyone said. I want to know if they gasped. I want to know if they cried. I want to know who they called and what they said. I want to know how they felt when my world ended. Creepy, right? Someone told me they knew when the phone rang what had happened. I want all those connections now. Did they make 10 calls or did they sit and stare? I'm sure it's another thing I feel guilty for. I couldn't even call my own parents. Maybe I'm thinking about it because it's over for most of those other people and I don't want it to be, because it isn't over for me. It's not going to get over. I want to talk to all the people I didn't get to talk to at the funeral and hear all the incredible things they have to say about my son.
Part of me thinks it's the dumbest thing in the world and would just make everything even fresher and more painful-- I should just stop thinking and analyzing and replaying and bawling, but I can't. Another pare of me knows no matter how much information I accumulate, there will always be a hole that never fills up and there will never be an explanation good enough to make me not wonder and question and want more. He's not here. That's not going to change and even if I could stop time and go to that precise moment in the 5 o'clock hour of August 2nd and see what every single person on the planet was doing, it still wouldn't make any sense. I still couldn't be convinced that he needed to leave me.
1 comment:
I realize you wrote this over a week ago. I'm reading this just now. I want to tell you what I felt and said. I didn't get Keith's email. I got yours. I sat and read it twice, once out loud and then a third time a little louder because I wasn't sure I was interpreting it correctly. Then I read it 20 more times during that day. There was a pit in my stomach. I cried when I told Mike about it. I cried when I told Jessamyne. I called my mom. I called my sister. I looked at flights to Sacramento. I looked up your parents' number. I didn't have the guts to call. I finally sent an email. All I could say was, "I'm sorry - I'm here when you need me." I'm not very skilled in this area. I thought about you every day after that - always a pit in my stomach. I thought about you when I was sitting in the hospital with my daughter, thinking that you weren't taking your child home. I cried more then. To be honest, I was surprised at how much it has affected me and changed me. I expected to feel sympathy, but I have felt so much pain and sorrow for you. I still have that pit sometimes. I hope this helps, hearing how much I was affected when your world ended. I can't possibly know how you feel, but I was very affected.
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