Are the start of the 2nd week of Christmas break. And that’s just fine with me.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were lovely times with our family and friends. There were moments that were sad and difficult, as I knew there would be, but the love of those who matter most in the world was all around us and it made all the difference.

Since then we have been hibernating a lot. Reading books. Knitting. Listening to music. We did venture out on Saturday to see Bombshell and then we went to a local restaurant afterwards. I almost said let’s just go home because I knew we’d see people that would want to express their condolences and I sort of didn’t want to face that. But I decided it would be better to be present, to open myself up to receiving kindness, than it would be to hide at home. I was right and we saw a whole bunch of people we know and it was fine. Comforting, even.

I’ve got things on my list that need to be finished this week. Errands to run. A New Year’s Eve dinner with friends to prepare for. Thank you notes to write. Catching up on end-of-the-year stuff like updating Ravelry, sharing the books I read in 2019, finalizing my 20 in 2020 list, you know the drill.

It feels good to share with all of you again. It feels right to be back in this space. It makes me feel like me again.

And that’s a really good thing.

This is the photo that was going to be our Christmas card this year. And those cards, well, they didn’t happen. We didn’t forget, we didn’t run out of time, we made a conscious decision this year to not go forward with the printing and sending of this particular card. Instead, we will send a different card. A card wishing everyone a Happy New Year.

It’s the right decision for Dale and I at this time. And it’s not because we don’t wish everyone a Merry Christmas because of course we wish that for all of our family and friends. It’s because this photo and those smiles are from . . . before. Before we lost Randy. Before we began a walk down a road we never wanted to take. Before we saw grief ravage our lives and the lives of those we love most in the world in such an all encompassing way.

Right now we are being held together by the love and support of our family, friends, and community. Everywhere Dale and I have gone this week . . . the grocery store, the liquor store, Town Hall . . . we have seen people who have stopped us, given us a hug and a sad smile, shared our tears, and told us how sorry they are about Randy. Our friends have flooded our house with cards, flowers, and food. They have dropped off thoughtful gifts and taken over tasks that are generally no big deal but right now feel overwhelming. They have supported us and prayed for us and held us in their thoughts and it has been incredibly comforting.

Randy was a firm believer in the show must go on and so, we are having our annual Christmas Eve party tonight. We will eat Swedish meatballs and other delicious Christmas foods, we will drink wine and toast the holiday and be together. We will sing and laugh and do all the things we’ve always done. There will be a layer of sadness to all of this and I know there will be tears and hard moments. But I also know this: we will be able to handle our sadness because we will be with people who share it with us.

Merry Christmas to all of you. Wrap your arms around the people you love. Hold them close and appreciate every moment you have with them. Find the hope, feel the love, and celebrate with joy.

I cannot thank you all enough for the outpouring of love, compassion, understanding, and sympathy in the comments on yesterday’s post. It means so much to me and I have truly savored every comment and have felt surrounded by your love and kindness. I will try and respond to each of you individually but in the meantime please know that I have read them all and shared them with Dale. When the time is right I will also share all of them with Mary.

For right now I think I might need a little space from blogging. It just seems . . . odd . . . to start talking about regular stuff like knitting and reading and what we’re eating around here – which is actually amazing since the food has been pouring in from friends and it’s been very very good – when Randy’s death is still so fresh and painful.

In the meantime, you might enjoy reading this article that was in our local paper, the paper Randy wrote for, the paper Mary wrote for, and in fact the paper my brother worked for as an advertising executive for many years and my nana worked for as a bookkeeper. It illustrates just how special Randy was.

I’ll be focusing on happy memories and I promise I’ll be back soon.

Friends. On Friday my story, and the story of my family, was altered in a devastating and crushing way. My brother-in-law Randy took his own life. To say that Dale and I are bereft is not enough. To say that we are hurt and confused is inadequate. At this moment in time our anguish knows no limits.

Dale and I were on our way to a Christmas party when Dale’s cell phone rang and he missed the call. It was Mary, Randy’s wife, and Dale handed the phone to me and asked me to call her back since he was driving. She was crying when she answered and said she needed us and then told me what had happened. And then I had to tell my beloved husband, the person I love most in the world, that his brother was dead. Following that I was also the one who told Jessica and Hannah and then Dale’s sister Lisa. To deliver that news, to say those words, and know that when I did I would be inflicting horrible pain on the people I love, broke me into a million pieces.

Since then I have been trying to understand how Randy got to this point. And I just can’t get there. A friend told me Saturday that it’s a gift that suicide is a struggle I don’t know and something I can’t understand. I know she’s right but my heart still wants to comprehend what caused Randy to lose all hope. He had been dealing with anxiety and some serious health issues due to tick borne illnesses for a while but I never once thought that he was depressed or that he might consider his struggles something he couldn’t overcome with time, health care, and the love and support of his wife, family and friends. To face the fact that he was overwhelmed with pain and didn’t share that with those closest to him is unbelievably grim.

Randy was a gifted writer, a talented artist, an accomplished musician, and an avid outdoorsman. He was wise and wonderful and taught me so much about hunting and fishing, birds and nature, simple living and finding joy in the smallest moments. I can hear his laugh and see him grinning when he told a funny story or scared my kids with stories of the woozle that lived in the walls of his house. He was the head of this family in so many ways and I know we’ve only just begun to comprehend the gigantic hole created by his death.

We spent the weekend together as a family, sharing stories and tears, being comforted by the presence of very close friends who brought food and flowers and consoled us as best they could. I talked with Mary yesterday about sharing Randy’s story and she was very clear that people need to know the truth about Randy’s death. We need to talk about mental health issues. We need to know the warning signs and watch for them. Believe me when I tell you that if this could happen in my family then it could happen in any family.

For those of you who have been inquiring, a memorial service will be planned for a later time.

Randy told me once that I was a good writer. It’s a compliment that meant so very much to me at the time and I’m grateful for that memory. I wish he could read these words and know how important, special, and loved he really was.