I haven’t written any thank you notes yet – not to the people who sent flowers or sent money for the kids’ college fund (God, that makes me so uncomfortable) or donated to SJC or made dinner for us or sent packages of goodies to the kids.
I’ve looked at the cards. Taken them out of the box. Pressed my pen to the paper. But nothing comes out. I just stare at the blank cards, wishing they’d write themselves. I stare at the white plastic bag holding the cards and list of people to send them to. It sits on my kitchen counter, waiting, taking up valuable countertop real estate, just as it has for the last four weeks.
At this point, I’m rude, and I know it.
I really am thankful to everyone who sent flowers, drove (or flew) to Ft. Wayne for the funeral, sent notes, prayed for us, made us dinner, held my hand while I picked out flowers, sent care packages to the kids, sent money (especially those who really couldn’t, or shouldn’t, have because of their own situations). I”m humbled beyond words. I’ll be forever grateful. To many (most), I’ve expressed my gratitude – either verbally or through a passing/fleeting mention in a Facebook message or email. I just can’t write formal “thank you.”
Writing thank you notes is acknowledging that Mike is gone. He’ll never go on a father-son Boy Scout camping trip or take Lauren to a father-daughter dance. He won’t see them graduate high school or be there to help pick out colleges. He won’t walk Lauren down the aisle on her wedding day or have “the” talk with Ethan. Mike will never be there to comfort the kids when they’re sick, and he’ll never hold his grandbabies.
Even though I’ve been pissed off at him for the last few years, I really, really, really hoped that he’d get better so he could do these things with his kids. He deserved these things with the kids – but more than that, THEY deserved these things with their dad.
I’ve pared down the thank you list to the bare bones. I’ve cut out some of the thank you notes that I “wanted” to send but didn’t “need” (per etiquette guidelines) to send. Still, it’s daunting. It’s overwhelming.
But, I have to figure out how to get it done.