The Good that Resides Within

There was something that weighed on my mind for months after Shawn died that I couldn't put my fingers on...

There were the normal expected emotions but this one had to do with the unsolvable riddle of "why did he do it?"

And then one day I realized this...although it had been many years since I had been able to access the the young man I feel in love with - the one who loved nature and animals, riding his bicycle and who had a sense of justice in the world - I still believed that this person resided within him.

It turns out this person was lost to him, too.  And that must be a pretty dark place when you can't access the things that make you who you are and that all that is left is an emptiness.

So today, my friends, I want to share something I wrote to Shawn on Thanksgiving Day in 2006.  We had been struggling with his drinking, his anger and his suicidal ideations for several years at this point.  We had been talking about ending our marriage.  I wanted him to know he was a good person despite his struggles. 

When I read these things now they still ring so true for me.  These were the things that were quintessentially Shawn and all the good that resided within him.

Dear Shawn,

On this day of giving thanks I want to share with you…

Things I admire about you…

• Your humor – even in times of stress you can make me laugh.  And you are original, too!  Not just parroting what someone else has already said.
• Your open minded view of the world
• Your love of a variety of music and that you have freely shared it with me
• Your constant desire to further educate yourself on many topics and grow
• The passion you have for your business
• The open affection you show for our children
• That you can let loose and be silly with our children
• That you are a phenomenal cook – and amaze me with your ability to have a meal be completed to an exact minute
• The pride you take in your physical fitness
• Your willingness to challenge yourself on a bicycle and in life in general – your ride in the Laramie Enduro has been an inspiration to me many times
• That you take pride in keeping our house looking nice
• That you are kind and friendly to my Mom and my friends
• That you do (and provide encouragement for me to do) things to help me better myself – like making time to exercise, allowing me time with my friends
• That you shared your love of cycling with me - and built me bicycles that are faster, lighter, stronger – better than most people could hope to ride
• That you are careful with your belongings and never seem to lose or break anything
• Your love of dogs (even one as annoying as Sydney!)
• Your ability to make conversation with almost anyone
• You appreciation for the world and its beauty and your love of spending time outside loving it
• Your ability to live in the moment – not dwell on the past or worry about the future

Thank you for being YOU!  It was the real Shawn that you presented at my door so many years ago.  No pretenses, no lies, no games.  I want to work on us – not for our kids, not for our business, not because of the complications, not because of the time invested.  I want to show you every day my respect for you, Shawn Brooks, my husband.

Let’s work together.

Love,

Jennifer

What it was like for me the day you died...

Dear Shawn,

I think I need to share with you, for my own healing, what it was like for me the day you died.

It was my 40th birthday.  Oh, how I had been dreading turning 40!  Not only did it sound old - I actually felt old, too.  It turns out that day aged me more than any other.

The day hadn't started out great.  For the first time in my life I hadn't spent the preceding weeks jubilantly announcing that my birthday is coming.  This meant that no one in the house greeted me with birthday wishes. 

And, really, this is the way I wanted it - I wanted to be mad and sulk about turning 40 and what could be more perfect than letting them know the day after that they had forgotten my birthday??  Childish, I know.   But, look at it this way, even if I was getting old on the calendar and physically, there was no reason I had to act mature mentally!!

They may have forgotten it was my birthday but I don't think you had.  It wasn't like you to forget- you were one who remembered these sorts of things.  Paid attention to the calendar, called your parents on their birthdays, made people's birthdays special.

I was sitting at work feeling sorry for myself when the text chimed.

It was from your wife.

Your wife who had spent most of the two years of your marriage speaking ill of me to anyone who would listen, your wife who sent me emails where my name in the "To:" field said, "Huge Fucking Pile of Shit" (that was your name for me wasn't it - it is quintessentially you), your wife who told the kids that their mommy "was a liar". 

It was from your wife who probably put me on the bottom of the list of people she would reach out to in an emergency.

And it said, "Have you or the kids talked to Shawn since last night?"

Shawn, my heart instantly dropped into my stomach.

I knew right then.

I knew it was really bad.

I knew that your wife had to be desperate with fear before she typed those words on her phone.

I knew that fear too well. 

I had been through it with you before.  I had called your friends with the same question.

Of course, we hadn't talked to you.  I hadn't talked to you on the phone since the time you made me cry after I got laid off.

We hadn't talked to you because you didn't call.

I wrote back immediately and let her know we hadn't heard from you and asked, "Is everything okay?"

The reply came quickly..."NO!  Can the kids stay with you tonight?"

They were supposed to see you that night.  You were supposed to have dinner with them.

And now you were missing.

And I knew how bad it really was - I knew that if it was just a Lover's Quarrel between you and Amber where you had gone to sleep on a friends couch.  She would have never texted me for that.

Now you were missing and suddenly my pathetic little birthday pity seemed very small.

Shawn, my thoughts immediately turned to the kids.  I had just dropped them off at school a few hours before.  You would never hurt them, would you?  You weren't that far gone, were you?

Do you have any idea how shameful it felt to call the school?  Did you know I was still protecting YOU and your image when I didn't tell them the details of my concerns and simply instructed them 3 times in a very firm voice that NO ONE except me should pick up the kids and that if ANYONE - even another family member came to pick them up that they should call me and the police.  What kind of person has to make this call?  People with "normal lives" don't have to make calls like this.  And I thought I was done with that life when we divorced.

I don't really remember the rest of the work-day.  I do remember texting Amber and telling her to look for you in the Buckhorn Canyon - it was your favorite place and where you had gone the "other times".

At 3:30 I picked up the kids.  They were surprised to see me.  They were expecting you.

I put on a smile and told them, "Daddy and Amber had some things going on tonight and thought it might be nice for you to spend my birthday with me."  This seemed to make sense to them and there were no further questions.

The plan had been to celebrate with my Mom on the weekend but she had quickly run out to the store for some food and a cake - I think she had sensed I was shutting down and needed to be there with the kids for the distraction so...it was an impromptu birthday party!!  Hooray!

Except I kept checking my phone.  And we all kept faking a smile for the kids.

Around the time my Mom was putting the candles on the cake I received a text, "They found his truck in the Buckhorn but he's not with it."

I shared my screen with my Mom and John and then everyone sang Happy Birthday.

What else were we supposed to do, Shawn??  We had to protect the kids as long as possible.  Maybe this wasn't heading towards where it seemed to be.

Driving home my phone rang right as we turned on to County Road 5.

The kids were in the back seat laughing riotously.

It was Amber.

As we crossed the bridge she said, "They found him.  He killed himself."

There were no other words said.  We just hung up.

My Mom was the first person I called.  She answered on the first ring with a hopeful, "Did they find him?"

I was still in the car.  The kids were still being silly in the back seat.

"Yes."

"Is he okay??"

"No."

"Did he...?"

"Yes."

"Oh, God!  Oh, God!"

And I knew at that moment that there was no way I could tell these happy, silly children what had happened and then send them off to bed.  They needed one last night of being children.  One last night of restful sleep.

I felt like I was going to puke.

I told the kids "Mommy isn't feeling well and needs you both to do exactly what I say when we get home and go straight to bed."

Somehow I found it within me to maintain some semblance of a normal demeanor as I supervised PJ's and read stories.

And then I went downstairs and cried and cried for them.

And then I switched into the mode I've had to maintain for this year.  Taking care of the kids.

I called the Counselor at the kids school.  She already knew.  She was crying for your kids, too.

We knew your suicide would be prominent in the newspaper.  You were well known in the cycling community.  We talked about a strategy for letting the L's classmates know that you had lost your father and help them know how to help you when you returned to school.

And then I waited.

Goddammit, Shawn!

I waited up the whole night!

I waited for morning so I could wake your children and tell them that you were gone.

Fuck you!

No one should have to do this.

It made me old!!

It changed me!

I didn't sleep.  I didn't cry.

I sat on the floor with my head on the bed.

And I waited.

At some point I thought I felt your presence and I was filled with rage.

"Go AWAY!" I commanded you. 

You had no right to be there.

I didn't need you.  You had done this and it was me, on my own, who was waiting.

It was sunny and quiet and calm when I called L. into his sister's bedroom.  They had just woken up but I couldn't wait any longer.  It had to be done.

I think I handled it well.

I let them know I had something very difficult to tell them and then I said it.

"Your Daddy died last night."

Their wails slammed up against me like a brick wall.

"How?  What happened??"

Shawn, I learned after the fact that you had asked in your angry, blaming suicide note that the kids NOT be told how you died.

You don't get to make choices like that when you commit suicide.

I told them.  It was the right thing to do.

"He took his life."

They would find out someday.  Why grieve twice - once for the loss and again when they find out how?  And would they trust me to tell them the truth if lied about this?  And would I send the message that your choice was the shame of others?

Shawn, my Birthday is approaching quickly.  I want you to know we are doing okay.  The kids miss you.  I am still angry at times.  I still miss the young man I fell in love with.  I am sad that you didn't find a way to ease the pain after so many years.  It wasn't the right choice.

Jennifer

Always on Our Minds

I've noticed that there is this undercurrent of Shawn present in almost every moment of the day.

I guess maybe he would have liked that.  In his sickness.

It seems to be the same for Lily.

And, of course, when it's right there below the surface it can easily be dug up by the smallest thing.

Like tonight when Lily looked at the catsup on the meatloaf and laughed and said, "It looks like blood".

And then she got all serious and said, "Was Daddy bleeding when they found him?"

"Yes, Sweetie, he was."

"Was he bleeding a lot?"

"Yes, I think he was."

"Where did he shoot himself?  Did he shoot himself in the heart?"

Pause...dinner is about to go on the table...she is only 9...she has spent the past year believing he shot himself in the heart (that would make sense if someone was sad, right?)...there is time to learn details when she is older.  I read the death certificate and I know the truth.  He shot himself in the right temple with a 9mm handgun.

"I don't know for sure, Sweetie."

A Letter

January 1, 2009

Dear Daddy,

You’ve been gone for…25 years.

After you died I wasn’t sad. I was relieved. And angry with you because I felt like, one last time, you had to mess up a chance for me to have a friend. To not be alone.

I was supposed to spend the night with Lisa the night you died. When Mommy picked me up at school and told me you had died my first thought was, “I’m not going to get to send the night with Lisa. I shouldn’t even bother asking because the answer will be no and I will look like I don’t care that you died.” Even though I didn’t care.

I spent so much time alone the first 12 years of my life.

You liked people.

Do you know what it is like to be isolated?

How empty it feels?

How lonely?

How unloved you feel?

I just wanted to be with you. To be part of something. To feel loved.

I can still feel the hollow, lonely, empty place in my soul.

What you did feels like it took part of my soul.

Before you died you asked for me to come to your hospital room – you wanted to give me your parting words. The wisdom of your life. Your hopes and dreams for me.

It meant nothing.

And I feel guilty for that.

I wanted to care. I didn’t want to be angry at you. I wanted you to be the Dad that I could trust.

And I didn’t trust you. I believed through your whole illness. Through all your apologies as you grew weaker and weaker and closer to “God”.

That if the doctors found a way to make you better that things would be the same.
This is the only thing I believed.

I didn’t understand how you could be such a hypocrite and “repent”. Did you really believe that all you have to do is say you’re sorry and then it goes away?

It doesn’t work that way.

And anyway, you never apologized to me.

You only apologized to Mommy after we had been summoned to the side of your bed to read the scriptures to you.

And only once as I recall.

And, from my perspective, you were sorry because you knew what you had done was wrong and now you were dying.

Convenient.

I have never felt your presence since you died. I know it is because I have shut you out. I’ve felt Joel and Lauren’s presence – anytime you’ve been on the periphery I’ve closed myself. It probably hurts you. I’m sorry that I haven’t forgiven you.

It’s still the same. I want to care about you but, really, I have to protect myself first.

If I allow myself to care about you then I will get hurt.

Not by your fists – that was never what really hurt.

But by the loneliness.

By the withdrawal of attention and love.

So here I am now. I’m 37. I just got a divorce last year and not a week – sometimes not even a day - goes by where I don’t think, “Thank God I’m not married to that man anymore”.

I want to be happy.

Mommy lives close by.

You really did a number on her.

Did you love her?

Why did you hurt her?
She is kind.

She used to plead with you not to hurt her.

How do you think it feels to hear your mother beg like an animal? Beg not to be beaten?

I can still hear her voice pleading with you.

I wanted to kill you.

Do you remember when you made her take off her clothes so she couldn’t run away from you while you beat her? And she was so afraid that she ran out of the house naked?

Why did you do that to her?

I hate you.

I don’t want to hate you.

I hate you!

And here I am again with that hollowness in my soul.

Is it the spot in your soul where you are supposed to feel love for your father?

On the day of your funeral I remember riding in the hearse. As we drove through downtown Des Moines I saw one of your students, a young man who you had mentored. He had been late for the funeral and as the hearse drove by he realized he had missed your service (very touching – the dutiful daughter had to read a poem – everyone was so touched because I read it without even crying). The instant of this realization, this young man crumpled to the sidewalk in anguish.

You see, you had made a difference in his life. And he was sad that you were dead.

And I wanted to feel that…

A Big Responsibility

Watch very carefully, Jenny. If you make a mistake Daddy could die.

Mommy is showing me the two insulin bottles. She is normally the one to "draw" his insulin each morning and leave it sitting next to his breakfast.

This summer she will be at work and I will be staying home with Daddy to work on the cars. It will be my job to draw his insulin in the mornings.

It's very important to tap the bubbles out of the syringe. If there are air bubbles in there and he injects them he could die.

Why is she telling me this (it turns out it's not even true)?

Why is she making such a big deal about this? Is she really worried he will die?

Or does she want me to kill him?

I would do it if she wanted me to. I'm not afraid. I wouldn't even feel bad.

What am I thinking? It's not normal to think about killing your Father is it?

I'm only 8. Other 8 year olds don't have to think about this stuff. I can't tell anyone how I feel.

No one.

Do I ask Mom if she wants me to kill him? Do I tell any of my friends that I think about killing my father? How about a teacher? Family?

No. Just file it away. Accept that you are different. That no one can understand.

Why would they give me this responsibility for my Father's life? I'm only 8.

Finally

The call I've been waiting for came today.

Channon and I were sitting in Mrs. Zittergruen's class talking about the frogs we would be dissecting next week when the office runner came in with a slip of paper asking me to come to the office.

When I walked in the door and saw the look of pity on the Receptionist's face as she softly said my Mom was, "on her way to get me" I knew that it was only a short while before I would get the news.

I felt completely blank. How was I supposed to react when I heard the news? I forgot. I guess I should probably cry. It wasn't too long before Mommy pulled up in front of school.

She was crying when I got in and then she said it...

"Jenny. Daddy died this morning."

She cried more. I felt like a deer in headlights.

Act sad! Quick!

But I was supposed to spend the night at Lisa's house tonight! Do I dare ask if I can still go for the sleepover?

We walked in the door of the now even more haunted house just a little while ago. As soon as I saw all the crying people I knew...

Don't even bother asking. She'll NEVER let you spend the night at Lisa's house. If you ask she'll know you're not even sad.

I'm in my bedroom now. The place I've spent most of my past 12 years. My room is usually safe. I will stay here and let everyone think I am too sad to be around them.

If I stay here no one will know how mad I am. I'm so mad. I really wanted to spend the night at Lisa's house. Why did he have to ruin one last thing for me when he died??

It's not fair.

How long