it's a new day

 I woke up early Sunday morning with a brand-new outlook. Ashlee and Chad were right about everything they’d said. I needed to snap out of all this mourning. It’s been three years and life has continued despite Nick being gone.

The blue and green buttoned up plaid shirt he’d been wearing and took off the day he died was still draped over the back of one of our kitchen chairs. His boots were still in the front hallway where he’d left them. His hairbrush and toiletries were still on the bathroom counter and his clothes were still in the dresser and bedroom closet.  The book-marked book he’d been reading was still on top of the nightstand on his side of the bed.

Chad was right. This house had become a mausoleum.  It’s time to bring life back inside.

I began by opening every single curtain in the house which had remained closed since his death. “Let there be light,” I thought. Doing that also helped me see I had a lot of cleaning to do.

Hesitation almost got the better of me when it got to the point I needed to ask for some help.

Chad was genuinely surprised I called him.

“You told me if I needed anything to give you a call. I’m cleaning Nick’s things out of the house. If your offer is still open, I think I could use some help,” I said quietly.

“Anything you need, Red! I told you that. I’m on my way. Thank you for asking me, honey.”

Where Nick and I bought a house in 2019 is about an hour from the city we used to live in when we first got married and where Chad still lives. It says an awful lot about someone who is willing to drop everything at a moment’s notice to help you. I feel so lucky he’s still such a good friend after all this.

Music had also been missing in my life for a long time. I turned on the CD player, cranked the volume up loudly blaring music which I’m certain my neighbors appreciated so very early on a Sunday morning.  I opened a dusty box of garbage bags and began filling them one by one. Everything had to go. Everything except for his biker gear, his books, his guitar, and the letter he’d left for me. I’m keeping those things only for sentimental reasons but packing them away out of sight in the attic. “Out of sight – out of mind.” (I wish!)

Metallica’s song Sad But True was on full volume coming out of my surround sound speakers. The walls and the large glass sliding doors in the room were reverberating. You just can’t not move to that song. At least, I can’t. I was dancing and singing along in the two-story family room.

I’d lost track of time. I did not hear the doorbell ring, but I had left the door unlocked for him. I hadn’t heard him come in. My eyes were closed as I was dancing on the large wooden coffee table. When the song ended, I jumped off the table to change the CD.  

And that’s when I heard Chad snickering.

He was rather amused. “I rang the doorbell twice. There. She. Is! You still got it, Red!” he laughed from the kitchen. “You know, honey, dancin’ is not one of my skills. Is that what you invited me over for? A little go-go action?”

Embarrassed he’d seen me like that, I started laughing.

“What can I help you with?” he grinned.

I lead him to the back hallway door. Reluctantly, I opened the door, flipped on the light, and looked up at him.

He stepped back for a moment, looked down at me and asked, “Why is the door to the garage boarded up?”

Because after Nick committed suicide out there, I never, ever wanted to go back into that space. That’s why.

I quietly replied, “The last time I came in through this door is when you carried me in. I can’t go out there, Chad. I just can’t. That’s why I asked for your help.”

He pulled me into him and wrapped his arms around me. “All right, honey. Do you want me to clean the garage out?”

I just shook my head yes against his chest.

“Do you still have that storage unit in town?” he asked.

I shook my head yes again.

“Why don’t you go find a drill and I’ll take a look.” As I started to walk away to find the drill, “Hey…” he took my hand in his and paused, “please don’t fall back into that dark place when I open this up, ok?” He let go of my hand, smiled reassuringly, and rubbed my back with his hand.

After removing the sheet of plywood I’d screwed over the door frame that led to the attached three car garage, he went in for approximately five minutes and walked back inside the house. “You know, Red…” he began, “if you’re okay with it, I think I’ll get a cleanup crew to come over and take care of all this. I’ll be here to supervise when they do, so you don’t have to go out there.”

 

One thing no one tells you, which I will, is that when someone commits suicide (at least in this state) neither the police nor paramedics clean up the scene. They don’t even pick up after themselves. You as the family are expected to do it.