Friday, September 19, 2014

Four weeks...

Four weeks.  It has been four weeks since the last time I would ever hear my son's voice.

The worst four weeks of my life.

August 22, 2014 - 8:35 PM I remember the exact time because it had already been a bad day.  I had been at the Bone Marrow clinic with my sister all day.  She was diagnosed with Leukemia a few weeks ago and is going through treatment.  They had been unable to get her platelets to come up.  She was in very real danger of a brain bleed or a stroke and at 6:00 PM they finally admitted her to the hospital. 

I stayed with her until she was settled in and her husband arrived and as I was pulling out of the parking lot I checked and saw a missed call from Brian.  I called home to let my husband know I was on my way.  I looked at the clock - 8:30 PM I told him I should be home by 9:00 "and if I am not there by 9:30 come looking for me!"  I hung up and returned Brian' s call.

He was in a pleasant mood and said he had called to see what time we would be home on Saturday, he planned on bringing "The Boy" as he called him, by to see me.  He said the only thing they had going on Saturday was a Birthday Party for the little girl next door.  He called to his wife "Hey, Kara what time is the party again? 3:00 - she says it's 3:00 so we should be done by 5:00 and we will see you shortly after that."  He then told me a cute story about how Alisa was refusing to attend her own birthday party at Build-A-Bear unless Paxton could come.  Then we hung up.  Oh God, we hung up.

Nothing was wrong.  They had plans.  They had plans for the future, plans for the next day.

They had a new home.  They had their miracle baby.  They had a new dining room set.

He had just finished building a wood shed which was stacked high with firewood he had cut and split all summer long.

How do you plan to go to a child's birthday party, call your mom to arrange a visit and set a time, bathe the baby, go to bed and get up around 4:00 AM (more on that later) and walk over and shoot your beautiful wife one week shy of her 30th birthday then proceed down the hall to the bedroom decorated in the CARS Movie theme and shoot the baby that you absolutely adore and then turn the gun on yourself?  How?

How do you get from Birthday Party to Murder-Suicide in a matter of hours?

I cannot get there in my head in the four weeks that it has dominated my every thought.  As hard as I've tried - it will not go there. 

I heard what the detective said: "Ma'am, I'm sorry but this is what happened.  I see no sign of a struggle; no sign of forced entry, nothing appears to be missing.  Murder-Suicide.  End of story."

End of lives. 

Many lives.  Like Dominoes.  We all fall down.

This is where my story begins.  Not a story about how to survive this horrific tragedy as I am not sure at this point that you can.  It is the story about the struggle to get up everyday and postpone "not surviving it" as long as possible.

This is my therapy.  I need to tell it.  Somewhere there is someone that may need to hear it.  This story is for my sanity and you...


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