November 21, 2014

Dearest KerrBear,

Today would've been Allan's 47th birthday.  It's crazy to think he's been gone 11 years.  Crazier to think how much the boys act like him only having known him for such little time.  They look just like him, too.  What's crazier is I'm telling you this via a blog.  I couldn't text you today in my usual manner to just say "hi" and then casually address the day even though you clearly already knew what today is.

You're gone.

The texts to you no longer exist, but the natural desire and thought to text you hasn't gone away.  The desire, instead, adds to the hole which now exists in my heart and in my life without you here.

You died 9 months ago tomorrow - November 21, 2014.  It is a day I'll never forget, but wish I could.  There are memories of that day which replay in my mind far too often.  The day itself plays on repeat sometimes.  I want to tell you about it.   That my seem strange but you are my best friend and you tell your best friend the most important and the most mundane things.  Well this is important.

Strange?  Yes.  All of this is strange.  I've been going to therapy now for 8 months and at the beginning when I discussed missing our every day interaction, she suggested writing to you in a journal, but I couldn't quite get myself to do it.  I would pickup the journal and a pen, but it never felt right.  Then she suggested simply trying to speak to you but that didn't feel right either.  When I was telling Erin about this, she said something which resinated: it's never going to feel right; it's not right that she's gone.  She went on, though, to discuss the possibility of a blog.  This seemed like more of a possibility for me.  You found comfort in blogging, and maybe I can now, too.  My plan is to write you and tell you about my life and the boys and the family and then probably really unimportant stuff too.  I want to be able to talk to you.  I'm not ready to have you out of my life.

So ... the day you died.  I woke up that morning and got a couple hours of work done.  While working, I received a text from you.  You told me you fell.  I asked if you were okay and you said yes, just a little sore.  I figured you were clumsy or tripped.  I told you I was going to get Erin's shower gift that day and did you still want to go in on it together.  You said yes.  That was it.  I left it at that.

I then went to Bar class.  After class, I called you to find out which gas station I should get the gas gift cards from for Andrew's birthday dinner that evening.  You didn't answer.  I remembered it was 1:15PM so you were at work.  So I called mom to ask which gas station but she didn't answer.  I then called Mac to brag to him I made it to Bar class.  While we were on the phone together, Dad called him.  I told him to take it because it seemed strange he was calling.  I went into the BP station at Diversey and Sheffield, proceeded to buy the gift cards, and while waiting for him to load them, Mac called to ask where I was.  I began to hysterically cry & couldn't remember or figure out what intersection I was at. The attendant told me and handed me paper towels for my tears.  I moved my car to the street and waited for Mac.

While waiting, I got ahold of Ilyssa and told her I didn't know why I was crying and explain what had happened to get me there.  Mac, oddly enough, was in the city and near me.  He got to me quickly.  I begged him to tell me what happened but all he would say is "it's Kerry".  Dad made him promise to tell me nothing.  I called Dad and he said "Kerry died".  I kept screaming no and beating the car door.  How?  Why?  It can't be? How? No!  But how?

The ride to Glenbrook Hospital took forever.  On the way, I got ahold of Jordan.  We both knew.  We had no words.  He was, oddly enough, right near the hospital.

Mac and I parked on the opposite end of the emergency room.  The walk to it felt like the halls were growing longer as we made our way down them.  And then the moment which crashes through my head on repeat - we got to the ER and I told the nurse I was there for Kerry Klein Butman.  She said, "I'm so sorry."  I let out a screaming cry and collapsed on the ground.  It was her 3 words that made my world crumble.  It's as if I hadn't believe Dad; I felt he had to be wrong.  Then her words brought reality upon me.

Mac helped me to my feet and when I turned, I saw Steve.  I asked what happened? How did you die?  He explained the text messages he received throughout the day from you explaining how you'd fallen.    And then he explained how he came home from lunch to find you gone.

Did it happen quickly?  Did you suffer?  Were you aware it was the end?

Jordan and I went to GBN to meet Andrew.  The social worker at the hospital came up with a good plan to have him sent to the Dean at the end of school explaining his ride changed and he was to wait there.  We met him and I told him you died.  My words were met with his instant grief.  He said it was unfair.  "Both of them?"  he asked.

We went back tot he house and I sat with Steve as he told Simon and Zion.  His words were met with instant grief by them both.

I went outside to meet Issac on his walk home.  He reacted with pure shock and bewilderment.

I remember distinctly watching you tell Andrew "dad was not going to be coming home.  He died."  It broke my heart every time I remembered you telling your 5 year old his Dad was gone.  It breaks my heart every time reliving the memories of the 4 boys finding out you are gone.

My hope now is that since I've told my best friend, the one whom I used to tell everything, about this day, that I can stop reliving the torturous memories.  The rest of the day is a blur full of visitors and text messages and phone calls.

What I do remember from the evening, though, you must be told.  You were so excited to see Andrew's reaction to finding out he was getting a car.  We decided to celebrate his birthday that night anyways.  We found the cake in your trunk which you must have picked up that morning.  As per usual, it was massive.  We sat in the front room and gave Andrew his gifts.  He opened our gas gift cards.  Then a check from Mom & Dad.  And a toy car in a box from Lance.  Andrew smiled genuinely, got up, thanked and hugged Lance for the toy car.  That's the boy you raised - kind, gentle, gracious, loving and sweet.  Then he opened the other box from Lance to find the key to a real car.  His face lit up.  Oh, how I hope you saw it.  He and the boys all went to check out the car.  We then sang Happy Birthday to him with the candles lit surrounded by family, loved ones, and the Boom guys you loved so dearly.

As I write this, I'm a mess of tears.

I hope writing letters to you will bring me peace and comfort and a feeling you're with me.  I used to believe so firmly in an after-life of sorts ... in the belief those who have passed can see us and are with us, helping guide us.  November 21st happened and my beliefs have shattered.  I look forward to believing again.  I have hope blogging to you will get me there.

I look forward to writing you about happy occasions & am sorry today's letter was so sad.  I promise they won't all be.  :-)  Some will be filled with absolutely nothing important, others with stories of some of the biggest stories, and then others, I'm sure, will be me venting.

For now, I say good riddance to the memories of the day you died.

Nighty night.  I hope you and Allan had steak for dinner and are now finishing Bubby's triple layer birthday cake.

xoxo
always