My dear friend, Sean, ended his life last week. In the days that followed his friends stumbled around in a daze, trying to make some sense of something so senseless. Andrew and I packed up the kids and drove to Calgary (12+ hours), then left the kids with my parents and sister while we did what we could to get some closure. This entailed spending the days getting to know Sean's friends and packing up most of his material possessions. We cried a lot, fought a bit (he and I argued once or twice, which is pretty rare, then the night before we left, I had an argument, followed by a very good conversation with my mother), cried some more, laughed a whole lot, and the packed up our car and headed home.
Since we got home on Monday night, things have been a blur. There are bills to be paid, kids to be fed and entertained, unpacking to do, and this unshakable numbness that hangs over everything. Questions and ideas are swirling through my mind at breakneck speeds, slowing just long enough to completely disorient me before moving on.
My place in my family right now is as the rock, the anchor. Andrew has had to return to work (we like eating and having a place to live) and I know that dealing with work and his grief leaves little room for much else. I may not like it, but one of us has to keep us from falling to pieces, and where Andrew was my rock 9 months ago, I need to be his now.
I just wish I knew
I don't really want to see people right now. But it has been two days and I think it is time I started out of this slump. I made plans to go to a movie tomorrow night with a girlfriend and on Friday morning I am hoping to get together with a mama-friend. On Saturday we'll (hopefully) have friends over for a BBQ - one of whom knew Sean and was the whole reason those three crazy guys came out to Vancouver eight long years ago.
Looking at that list fills me with apprehension - I feel so raw, but I know that it will do me good, which means I can be