Let's talk about Jim

I have abandonment issues.

This ones a doozy so get ready. People are going to get a little angry at what I'm about to write but all I can say is wait till I write the book. 
It's REALLY going to piss you off then.

My father is an asshole. Has been this way for a very, very long time. He is one of the most narcissistic people, if not the most, I've ever had to encounter.
Endure.

He left. He took everything I had as a small girl and left. My faith in men, my trust in humanity, my belief that there were other people out there not like him.

Just like Jim.

I've always thought I am an alien. At first, adopted. I had this feeling like something just didn't add up but then I found the prints of me coming into this world. Ugh.
I'm definitely my parents' child.

But things shifted as I got older and began to read more. The  possibilities of me maybe being from another planet began to sit inside me. 
It's never left.


I love my dad. I used to love him a lot more. I used to be his go to  person when he ran out of adult resources. I always ran to him because I thought 
He needs me.
He loves me.
He will change. 

This time.
This time.
This time.
This time.

Never.


I spent the first two and a half decades of my life trying to fix him. He's broken. I failed. Well, he failed. I gave up.
He has drunk, drugged, abused and used himself into a pit so deep that he's convinced himself he's a good person. 
He's insane. No doubt about it.

My brother and Christopher went hunting with Jim once. Chris had met him before because despite my feelings towards my father, every daughter should introduce the man she's about to marry to her father. 
Father.
Our Father. 
I've always been terrified of that prayer. 
The repetition. The abandonment.

Jim had no idea who Chris was. Chris even told him that he was married, with a son and in the Army, stationed in Kentucky.
Not a fucking clue.
His children don't interest him unless he benefits from it. 
He called me the day we were leaving for Mississippi. I was enduring Christopher's unit memorial at Fort Carson, about to drive across the country because my life had just blown up and I missed his call. 
Except I didn't know because his number is blocked on my phone. It wasn't until a couple weeks later when I heard the voicemail say, 

"I told Dee you wouldn't answer the fucking phone."

That is the first thing he's said to me in almost 3 years.
I have it saved if you want to listen. I have to keep it because when I tell people, it's so unbelievable I need proof. 

I found love though. And now I'm going through all of those same abandonment issues again.
Fun fucking times. 
There's been more than just this. 
Way more. 
Christopher's death was just the grand finale.
And I'm just getting started.

Beam me up, Scotty.

So many trees wasted

Christopher is here.

Not many people know this but when the mania of retrieving Christopher's body, in another box, was over,
I ran to him.

From the day I found out he had died, I was in "go mode". Every part of me, every nerve, every cell, every single part of Lindsey was, this is what we prepared for, deal with the aftermath later. Little did I know that the aftermath was a complete shit show. 
The day the plane landed at Schofield was just that. I had already done this at Dover. 
Another box.
Another day.
Another person to feel sorry for me. 

And on top of every thing else, the media and cameras, helicopters, strangers, all here. Peering, lurking, exploiting, loving, empathetic reactions to what we are, were, experiencing. 

It's such a strange feeling to have gratitude for those who took the time to care and hate every second driving past those who took the time to care. 

I ran to him. 
No sleep. Exhausted, done with the day's tasks of signing this paper or making this decision about how my husband would be memorialized. 

I don't want to do this.  

This is not us. Thanking people for attending the death of my husband? Hearing his ex girlfriend tell me "this is her worst nightmare"? 
Are you fucking serious? 

But I did. I shook their hands. Accepted the condolences. Hugged them back. And no, I didn't slap her. But I wanted to and kinda still do. Social media is a "see you next Tuesday". I'm better than that. This is not us. This is not happening. People are strange.

I ran. 
I ran.
I ran.

Everyone was done. Napping, dealing with their own lives, everything they put on pause to come and help. To just be with me. 
I hadn't slept and I wasn't going to nap.
So like Forrest and to be "that person" 

"I just kept running."

There was another family suffering a loss and I swear the entire town was in attendance. 
Don't care.
Keep going.
He's there.
You can touch him.
He's home.
He's home.
He's here.
He's home.


I was stopped at the door. The funeral directors didn't recognize me. I was sweaty, exhausted, heartbroken. I had stopped playing hostess. I just wanted my husband. This is real. This is what a life crumbling before your eyes looks like. 

I'm Lindsey Wilbur. My dead husband is in there. Let me in. 

I'll huff and I'll puff. I'll blow this motherfucker down.


It was a full house so they had moved Christopher to the hallway, near the kitchen in the back of funeral home. 

Some would be appalled, I was relieved. 

FINALLY!

A moment. A breath. 
Just him. Just me. A coffee pot. A refrigerator. 
Things that were real. That made sense. 
Holding and clinging to a dead man didn't make sense. 
I kept expecting him to wake up. I kept begging him to wake up. 
I did everything I could to get him to wake up. 

He didn't.
So I read.
I read. 
People came and went, hours passed. I kept reading. 
The Alchemist is art. Prophetic and poetic.
I read. 

I held his hand and I kept reading. 
He pestered me the entire time. Probably to say that he hated the book. I felt this tickle. Constant and persistent, I thought I had bugs crawling on me, as hard as I searched there was nothing. Just Christopher. Just me.  
But it was him. In whatever form or fashion he is capable of now, he found a way to let me know that he was there. 
I hadn't felt that since. Until tonight. 
All of our life, our stuff, everything we collected together arrived today.
He's here. He's tickling me again. 

It's annoying as hell. 

But I'll take a lifetime of annoying tickles from a ghost of a man that I know loved me with every ounce of his being, a man that I loved and love more than most will ever experience OVER a lifetime of never feeling anything or just some loser with a sheet over his head.

BOO!

The world may never know

Last week the bottom fell out again. There was another death and this time, I have no idea who this person is. Except I do, in a way. It's a demon I've been battling for a long time. I thought I was strong enough, diligent enough, loved enough to defeat it. 

It won. 

I have no answers. 
I have science.
I have evidence.
I have facts.

I have no idea what I'm really thinking right now. 

Lost on a straight path that keeps getting narrower and narrower. 
Lost in my mind.
All while searching the whole time. Searching for the truth, for some resemblance of what I thought my life was and would be. 

My mom mask fits perfectly. It hides my pain and gives me the courage to face the day. 

Most days.

Not days like last week. 
The kids are adjusting as well as can be expected. They both panic when they need me and can't find me. I have to reassure them that I'm here. I have to bathe and prefer it didn't include them. I can't promise them that I'll be here tomorrow, they know that and it eats me alive. I've blamed myself and gone back and forth with what I could have, might have affected, it's a labyrinth. I've tried to be gentle with myself. Rationalizing and compromising, knowing it makes no difference because I'm bartering with myself. I have been thinking about how I treat and speak with my kids, I'm gentle and patient with them so why am I so hard on myself?  
So I've been imagining little Lindsey. 
6 or 7 year old Lindsey. 
How would I explain this? How could I comfort her? 
Here it is.

Dear little one,

This is weird and silly, I know. Me writing you, who is actually me, it's nuts!?! 
But here it is kiddo, I'm older now. 33, actually and I don't want to scare you but this life, our life, it gets scary. There are some major bumps and we are going to make messes and get hurt. More than a bandaid can fix, a lot of the time. You're going to feel your heart break and I can't explain to you how that feels because until you feel it in August 2016, and then again in January 2017, it's not worth knowing. Because despite all of that, you are going to shine. You are going to be loved and love so much that it is going to fill 100 swimming pools. 

You will get to do and see some incredible things and I only know what we've seen so far so who knows what's to come? 
You will laugh so much, even during the scary moments. 
You will dance, even when you're crying. 

You will get to marry someone that fills your dark sky with never ending shooting stars. He will help your light grow even brighter. 

You get to be a mama. 
I know that's a bit strange to think about but you do and I can promise you this. One thing I know that is true, without a doubt, they are awesome kids. They will guide you back to your light. They will love you fiercely and you will love them just as much.  

Remember to be brave. Remember to be kind, even when you want to punch someone (trust me, you will). Remember to stop. Just stop and take a breath. Look at the sky, it will remind you of home. Our heart is in the sky, little one. Never stop believing, in yourself or the magic of a life filled with possibilities.




I have to just remember that I'm still that little girl. Not everyone who wanders is lost, right? The path will be clear again.