7 Months

I have looked at these three pictures so many times over the last seven months that sometimes I see them in my dreams.  Every single time I see the picture of my dad walking away I think of the words to the song, 'This is where the cowboy rides away' and sometimes it hurts so bad I can barely breathe.   The day these pictures were taken was so precious to me.  I had some pretty deep, meaningful conversations with my dad as we walked around the desert, without realizing that 5 short months later his life would end here.  He was in so much pain.  Both physically and emotionally.  And I wonder why he didn't let us carry some of that pain for him.  I understand.  At least I think I do.  But oh, how things could have been different.  Oh. how I wish things were different.  Though I am not sure how I could have changed anything. I only wish I could.  What's more, I wish I would have been given the chance to try.

My dad was a cowboy you know.  A real cowboy.  The kind you find on a ranch, or a farm.  Doing cowboy things.  I wish I would have known that side of him.  He had long given up that way of life before I was old enough to know about it.  And enjoy it.  Because I think I would have very much enjoyed watching my dad do cowboy things, like breaking horses.  In my 'zone' room I have two horse shoes that my grandpa had used years ago... before I was even born.  I loved how proud my dad was of his dad, and how very much he wanted to make his dad proud.  I loved hearing about his dreams to be a rodeo clown.  Oddly enough I could really see him being a rodeo clown.  No doubt he would have been the best.  He would have probably made a name for himself, just like he did in mining.  I would have loved to see him sitting on his saddle that he cherished his whole life, with his spurs on.  The man lived and died in his cowboy boots.  I used to be a pretty fast runner.  My dad was faster.  Man was he fast!  And he always ran in his cowboy boots.  I see two of my boys in his boots now.  I catch my breath as I walk up to the door and see a pair sitting on the porch.  I will forever love a man in cowboy boots.  Because my dad was the first love of my life, and real men wore cowboy boots.  So was it any surprise when Thayne walked out of the office at the grocery store, and the first thing I saw was his cowboy boots, that I was hooked right then?!  How grateful I am that my dad was a great example to my husband.  How to be a dad, a husband, a Priesthood holder...

I think I am saddest that my younger kids will not really remember the great things about my dad.  Except of course the stories that we will continue to tell.... because a man as great as he was should always be remembered, should always be honored, and loved.  And he was loved.  I hope he knew that... I hope he knows now the hero he was in our eyes. 

I wish that there was some way that I could make a difference in this life.  That I could find a way to help others that are struggling.  I wish I could help those who are hopeless, find hope, and understand that the pain suicide leaves behind is relentless, and heavy, and leaves an ache that just goes on, and on.  I wish that never, ever has to be an option.  I read a blog post not long ago about how the person is just out of options to relieve that pain.  I agreed with many things she said in her blog, but I wanted to stand up and scream.... but what about the rest of us????  What about the guilt left for everyone to figure out???  What about the pain that simply never leaves, never lets up, never fades.  The what ifs are the worst.  What if?  What if!  The peace in knowing he is ok, and out of pain helps a little bit.  I am grateful for the knowledge of the Lord's tender mercy, and the gift of the atonement.  But that doesn't take away the thoughts that creep into your mind in the middle of the night.  That doesn't take away the fact that somebody had to find you, and deal with the scars that come from that.  That doesn't take away all of the decisions that must be made going forward.  It's true... I know the atonement is real, and true.  But the pain is still so real, and so raw.  And while you are trying to deal with the reality of the situation, you still have to deal with the pain your children and others are feeling. 

Mostly I wish I could make people understand that their actions matter.  How we treat each other MATTERS!  How we speak to each other MATTERS!  I think that we are very accountable for the way we shun others, or for the way we make others feel.  In the end we are all responsible for our own actions.  But what we do MATTERS.  Do we heap more pain on another, not understanding where their mind is?  Do we make their burden heavier because we choose to judge, or not be involved, or don't have time, or can't be bothered?  I have witnessed so much pain lately.  It seems our town has an exceptionally high suicide rate.  Too many.  Too much pain.  We matter.  We are responsible too.  As long as I live, I never want to walk away from somebody who is hurting.  I don't want to be too busy.  I don't want to think someone else will take care of it, and most of all, I don't want to miss the signs, or believe it won't really happen.  I mostly just don't want anyone to suffer this kind of pain.  I look around and wonder about the masks put on to hide ourselves from others.  Why do we do that?  Why are we afraid of being vulnerable?  I have struggled with a fear that nobody is who they appear to be.  For a while I wondered if anyone was 'normal'.  Though what is normal?  I don't think that is even real.  Normal.  Normal is a lie.  And lies hurt. 

I realized, after reading journals, that there were demons in my dad's mind, and I am amazed at all he gave to his family to give us 'normal'.   Again, I wonder how things could be different if so many people weren't afraid of anything not in their 'norm'?  I wonder how different the world could be if we understood the silent pain, and were willing to step out of our comfort zone and help each other.  Why so judgmental?  Why are we so caught up in expecting people to be better than they are... and more important, why do we expect people to be better than we are ourselves?  I have someone that I once considered to be my best friend, a sister, I love her still... yet she judged a situation and demanded action that she herself was not willing to give when she found herself and her child in the very same situation.  At church, she stopped my daughter and asked her how I was doing.... and I was standing RIGHT NEXT to my daughter.  The pain was still fresh in my heart, and I felt like she plunged the knife in and twisted... and does so every single week, and I wonder, what is causing her so much pain that she would treat another person so badly, in a place where there should be love and acceptance and a hand up? 

I don't know... there are so many emotions and so much pain wrapped up in this whole thing that I wonder when I will ever feel 'normal' again.  I have said over and over that this seems to be our normal... that nothing is EVER normal, and that we just keep going forward, breathing, hurting, aching, but standing upright.  I don't ever, ever want my children to think this is an option.  We lost another family member the same way not long ago.  Who lost his dad the same way.  I want to scream STOP!  The kids have hurt enough.  Recently Kami's friend told her she wanted to kill herself.  She was NINE.  Nine years old.  Why???  Thankfully Kami told us and we were able to talk to her teacher, who with the principal and her parents were able to help her.  But why in the world does a nine year old feel like this is an option?  What can we do to change this?  My heart hurts so bad... so, so bad!