Today marks 6 weeks you have been gone. Once my favorite day of the week, Sundays will never be the same for me. On Friday I walked through the cold & flu aisle at CVS and it made me cry, because it made me think of you. How whenever I would get the slightest bit sick, or a hint of a sore throat, or a little cough, you would run to the store and buy all the cold medicine you could find to make me better. You would always take such good care of me. The crazy thing is, the next day I woke up sick with the flu and I've been in bed since then. I guess my body finally gave into all the stress, lack of sleep and me not taking care of myself.
Something else happened on Friday. I got into a big fight with your sister. She text me out of nowhere saying, "So you had a garage sale with my brother's stuff? What did you sell for $53? And who did you sell his car to?" I felt attacked by her questions and immediately went on the defense, telling her it wasn't "your" stuff, it was "our" stuff that I sold at the garage sale - dishes, tupperware, a toaster, and a broken x-box. Like I would ever sell family heirlooms at a freakin garage sale?! And the truck! I have heard enough about the truck. First of all, it was MY truck to begin with. It meant nothing to you, and you never liked it. I would have loved to sell it to Jason, or Jennifer, or Debby, but quite honestly, none of them could afford it, and I need money to pay the $67,000 in debt we have from the short sale of our home in Texas. Someone paid me full asking price, upfront, in cash, no questions asked. I am not in a position to finance it to someone, then rely on monthly payments to pay my own bills.
So then when I tried explaining all of this to Jennifer, she went off on me and said, "YOU killed my brother, bitch." Then hung up on me. Those words stung. More than a lot. I am already overwhelmed with grief and guilt about your death. I have been under the impression that some of your family blames me for your death. I guess I was right. But its not fair. A lot of them are in denial that you were diagnosed manic depressive and bipolar. "I've known Eric his whole life and he was never depressed before.. He always seemed fine.." They didn't live with you for the last nine years of your adult life. They had no idea the demons you battled on a daily basis. They are taking their denial and projecting it on me to make me feel guilty. Because what I'm going through isn't enough. Because I already don't blame myself enough.
If any of them had ANY idea the situation that fell on my lap with your passing, with your warehouses, our financial issues, leases, landlords, and other deals I was unaware of, (on top of the grief, guilt, confusion, and just about every other emotion in the book I deal with daily) they would probably shut up and leave me be. But no. They want "stuff." If they REALLY knew you, they would know that material things meant absolutely nothing to you. Either way, I still have all of it. When I am ready to part with some of it, I will.
Oh Eric, why did this happen? My every thought is consumed entirely of you. About your life. About your death. About how you must have felt. About what you were thinking when you laid down on the couch that last time. I can't get the image of you out of my head, blue and cold, and unresponsive when I was trying to shake you. I wish I were dead instead of you. You were the better person and you did not deserve to die. A part of me died that day, and I know I will never be the same.
Love Always,
your babygirl~
Laguna Seca '06
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