It is approaching.
Sure, I will be 37, a year in which I can say the number with shock and amusement as I quote Clerks for 365 days. I get to go to Big Wok and dine on the nummy that is Mongolian BBQ. It will be a good week I am sure, if it wasn’t for the other thing.
Sept 16, 1969 to June 13, 2011.
The last time I talked to him was on the 10th. The last thing on his Facebook timeline shows him sending a message to our aunt Gwen at 12:42 am on June 11th. He was supposed to go camping that weekend, or so he told Steve. I don’t know when they found him exactly since those details are sketchy. I can assume it was the 13th since this is the day listed as his last. My own feeling is that the shotgun was at his head on my birthday.
I know it will be a sad week for Sandra. She made it through Mother’s day, but I know it was hard on her. I am glad that she has been able to reach out to me and even others and have a good support system. Still, I am sure the significance of the dates will not be lost on her.
People tell me to not dwell on what I am not sure on. I spent time on the phone several months back with the coroner and even chief of police of Murrieta. I explained to them that I just wanted to know how they decide the day he died. I wanted to know if they investigated it or since it was a suicide if they just make it the day they found him. What is the protocol? I had to know if he truly shot himself on the day of my birth. They were kind men, and they tried to tell me to not worry about it and essentially guided me into letting it go at least in terms of official records. They could never convince me to let it go in my own mind.
There will always be the little voice in my head that asks, “Why didn’t you invite him out to lunch with the family for your birthday?” It isn’t as loud as it was in the beginning. What ifs are the most pointless kind of questions since no matter what the if is, you can’t make it the what did.
I am sad, too, since the only dream communication I have had with him was where he was still so very confused. He wasn’t sure what happened, and it was less settling than when Granddaddy told me he was well or even when Robbie has watched over me. His spirit is tormented, and even though a huge part of me knows that he did this because he hurt and in many ways it stopped the hurt, I worry that if there is in fact a soul or spirit out there, he is still hurting a little bit.
Mind you I don’t blame him for his timing. One cannot decide when the crippling effects of bipolar will take you. It was during an unfortunate week, though. My birthday, Matt’s birthday, and father’s day. Our dad’s day. Was this on purpose? Did he sit and look at this week and wonder himself, what if? Did he wish he had a different relationship with the Bowlby side of himself that it triggered something?
I will only drive myself to drink if I try to understand.
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