By DiaryofaMadWoman on July 06, 2012
I couldn’t do it. I can’t post the note. I wrote it and timed it to post at 5:08, and then my top advisors told me “no the fuck way.” Various reasons. It’s too personal, it’s not right, it’s between us, save it for the book. I love my friends, I’ve been friends with some of these muthas since the tender age of 5, and I respect that right now I’m not the sanest bitch in the bunch. When you are outnumbered, you don’t buck the system.
So I’m sitting in a hotel with a bunch of rednecks popping fireworks. We swam and went to the beach and hung at the pool all day. Tonight we go to the circus. My kids have never been to the circus. They are oblivious to the day, I presume. Many of you have texted me, sent me cards and emails and brought us dinner and phoned to send love. And to you, I say, we are alive because of you. Because there was a time, a year ago today, when my plan was to park my SUV in my neighbor’s tiny garage while they were on vacation, and I was going to put a long ass Disney movie in, some horribleness where the mom or dad always dies, and we were going to just all go to sleep and never wake up. That was the plan. But then I googled it and found out cars have catalytic converters on them, and that doesn’t even work anymore. You can’t commit suicide that way. You have to do all this crazy shit with a bbq pit inside your house. I quit reading when I got to that part. It seemed way too complicated and I knew there was no way to get my big pit up the stairs. No one would leave us alone for that long anyway.
And the real truth was, is, that I don’t want to die. I love life. I love my kids. I knew there was no guarantee that we would all die simultaneously. There is no way in hell I would take the chance that one of us would be left here…and my fleeting moment of life just being too unbearable to live drifted away into the universe. It was at that moment that I realized how painfully and dreadfully and horribly sick Dave was, too. Because in the single most awful moment in my life, in a moment that I had every right to wish death upon all of us, I still couldn’t do it. Still couldn’t fathom it. Still knew deep down I would never, could never, go there. People don’t do this unless they are way the fuck sick. Sicker than any of us alive can ever imagine.
I remember every moment of this day, and I feel at moments like it’s happening all over again. This is when we got dressed for eye doctor. This is when we left. I didn’t kiss him goodbye. I was angry. We texted from the office. Then he stopped texting. We got the call, we couldn’t get out…whatever. I’m trying hard to live THIS DAY. I’ve looked into the eyes of the most beautiful and precious and wondrous kids I’ve ever known all day. I’ve stared deep into their souls. In my heart, I know we are happy. We laugh, we dance, we sing. We act crazy silly. We shake our booties and convulse like crazy people and throw our heads back and giggle until we choke. We didn’t do that when Dave was here. And I didn’t even realize it.
Would I trade it, to have him back? The truth is, I don't know. Because I choose happiness and because what I know is that you can’t change a person. We all are who we are. And I’m one badass mothafuckaaaa, ya hurd me? I am bound and determined to make this the day that I spring forward once again. The day that brings more closure. The day that brings more peace. The dreaded anniversary that is spun into goodness, spun into healing magnified by a trillion. The day that puts just more than 365 days between D-Day and THIS DAY. I look at the healing that has occurred. I’m blown away by the progress. I think back to the early days, and I’m blown away by my community. By the muthas, the big daddies, the teachers, the principals, the Men’s Club members, the Mom’s Club members, and just some of the people I barely knew at the time…the people who made a tight circle around us and said, “These people are ours. We got this.” And they did. They do. We made it. We made it because of them. And mostly, because of you. Because I didn’t know I was a real writer. I thought I was just a girl who wrote shit in a journal. Don’t all girls do that?
In five months, over 172,000 people have read my words. And have been touched by them. Healed by them. Affected by them. I’m blown away that my status as a shit magnet has pushed the human race forward, if only just a tiny fragment. From the bottom of my heart, thank you all. Thank you for reading, for connecting, for loving, for caring, for praying and for allowing it to affect you positively in some way. It takes a village, they say. I needed a real fucking big one. I somehow managed to create an even bigger one in the virtual world. People send me messages from Zimbabwe and Egypt and Australia and crazy corners of the world that we never even think about. We all want the same thing. Goodness. Peace. Love. Friendship. God Bless you all and thank you a million times over for participating in this journey with me. I couldn’t have done it this well without you.
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