Football, doughnuts and runaways.

We tried to go home.

The house was so full of his voice.

The 'to do' list is just so long.

He left pink folders filled with bills and hand written instructions on what to do next. 

But I'm not ready to read them. 

I tried,  but the first note I picked up started with "I'm sorry you have to do this alone babe..."

It was the phone bill.

He was the bill payer. 

Most relationships have the bill payer. 

The person who knows what's due and when. 

He was that person. 

So.. we went home from the initial post-funeral  beach side escape and I paid the phone bill. I paid the funeral home. I spent three hours at the bank where I filled in the deceased estate forms and handed over certified copies of wills and death certificates. 

And my heart hurt.

It actually physically hurt.

And so. 

We ran away. Again. 

And I'm very aware that the list of what I have to do is still waiting for me. It can wait. 

I'm aware that this is not facing reality. 

Well. I'm ok with that.

I'm ok to let the reality and the realness of this be pushed back for a little bit longer while we follow our football team to the finals. While we find the best Nutella filled doughnuts in Melbourne. 

Because the truth is this- we know. 

We know he's not at home. 

We know he's not at work. 

We know.

We know.

And even this escape isn't far enough away from reality to stop that knowing from walking these streets with us. It's a shadow that is just there. Over our shoulder. Yesterday the knowing. .that shadow of knowing.. caught up with Krystopher. And he sat in a cafe in the middle of Melbourne and cried. 

I couldn't say or do anything to fix it. When the knowing catches up with you.. well. There is nothing to be done but to let it wash over you in it's waves. And then..as the harsh knowing receded and his tears eased,  we got up and went to the football. Because that's how we keep living through this terrible knowing. We just get up and we live. We live with the shadow of knowing. We live anyway.

And one day. When we're ready to run face first into that reality and routine of the real life, we'll go home and I'll open up the next pink folder. But not today. Today we have doughnuts to discover. 

235 hours.

It's been 10 days.
235 hours.

It doesn't seem like such a long time, but I feel the weight of each of those moments. They have rested on me like an unfamiliar coat.
In those 10 days of being without him, I have known the profound and sustaining love of so many of you.
That love and kindness has wrapped around me and my sons like a cocoon, sheltering us just a little from the sharp edge of loss.

Loss.
Such a simple word to look at. 4 letters.
Such a hard word to live.

I feel it- the loss of his earthly presence.
The familiar and ingrained habit of looking for him in a room, or calling his name when something won't work.
He was just always there.
Even in those days and hours that were amongst his last- he was there. Striving to calm his parents breaking hearts. Wanting to hug his beloved brother.
Turning his weary head towards me and whispering "I love you.". His last words. I got them.

Yes.
I have felt the loss of his earthly presence.

We have escaped for a while.
To a place with sunshine and good coffee.
To an unfamiliar apartment that doesn't remind us of him with every step.
Yesterday afternoon we walked over to the supermarket. Me and my three boys.
We wanted to stock the fridge with nutella and strawberry milk.
The cashier smiled and chatted her way through the beeping and the bagging. And then it came to the paying.
I froze.
I had a purse full of cards.
I had no idea what the pin numbers were.
Total and absolute brain blank.
I couldn't think of any numbers that I could string together..
I just stared at her smiling face.
Her smile faltered as she realised that the woman standing statue still with a trolley full of groceries might be a little unhinged.
I managed to recover and asked her to break the bill into amounts that I could paypass.

Don't worry- the story isn't about how I'm losing my mind and forgetting simple things. I always forget pin numbers. It happens with uncomfortable regularity.
No. The story is about how I would forget and look to him. And he would sigh and whisper, again, the numbers to me.

Yes.
I have felt the loss of his earthly presence.
And I guess I have to remember pin numbers.

I know that it's a process- this grief that we have to walk out.
And we are on that process.
We are walking the path where questions like, "Why did it have to be my Dad?" are scattered every few steps.
It's a rocky path.
Grief always is.
Watching these three boys... I'm astounded.
And heartbroken.
And proud.
They tackle grief head on- grabbing it and wrestling out the tough parts.
And the thing is- they always come to a good place.
They talk and they wonder.. round and round, until they come to a good place.
A place where the enormous unfairness of the burden of his going is paired with the peace that he is actually ok. The faith that he is not far away- just beyond the veil that rests between here and there.
I see it on their faces.
I hear it in their voices.
This grand wrestle that plays out- it ministers to my own wrestle.
These little hearts- mending my own as they consistently come back to the conclusion that their Dad is more alive now than he ever was in the cancer ridden body that we loved.
How precious these three are to me.

I want to leave you with a section from the legacy eulogy that I delivered in honour of him last Thursday:

 

The very best moments of my life are easy to recall.

There are three of them.

They are the moments just after our three handsome and very brave sons were born.

In the moments after you were each born, something truly profound happened. Your Daddy fell instantly, head over heels in love with each of you. If you've never seen anyone fall in love before, it’s very beautiful.

He saw you.

And he loved you.

He held you and he was changed forever.

He was braver, and smarter and stronger and better the moment he held each one of you.

That’s what happened when he fell madly in love with you- his sons.

The best, greatest and most important earthly word that can describe Sheldon is Dad.

 

You three. My sons.

Listen closely.

You are the reflection of your father.

You are his legacy and his imprint on this earth.

Today you each wear a set of dogtags that have Daddy’s thumb print on it. This is to remind you that YOU three, his greatest loves, his masterpieces, are his imprint on this world.

You will reflect his humour and his crazy obsession with B grade Sy- fy movies.

You reflect his generous love and loyalty.

You reflect his compassion.

You boys. You are the one reason he wanted to stay.

He was ready to go.

He was tired.

His body was failing him.

I never heard him complain.

But… he would have stayed a million years for you.

The love he had for you three little men is such a beautiful testimony of his life. I’m proud to have witnessed such a love. I’m proud to be your mum.

We will be the strength and the joy that he wanted us to be for each other.

 

The final word that I can give you today that describes Sheldon and the legacy that he has etched across this place is “Home”.

He’s home.

Sheldon knew the grace of Jesus.

He knew the unreligious, real love of a real, unreligious God.

He held onto one promise. “God didn’t promise to heal me of cancer..” he’d say.. “He promised to be with me. To never leave me and to walk me into eternity. That’s my promise… Home with Him”

That. Is the kindness of God.

Is it unfair that he is gone? Yes.

Does my heart feel about ready to shatter and disappear in the weight of this grief? Yes.

But even then. But even then.

The Kindness of a God who gave us Jesus. The Kindness of a Jesus who took the curse of being alone in death so that we would never have to be.

Yes, Kindness wins.

 

It wins because of Eternity.

Heaven.

Home.

He’s there. He’s gone home.

I’ll see him again.

And until that day my sweet darling heart.. Oh the grief of it! Oh the heart ache of it! I love you. Thank you for being so amazing.

Thankyou for being so strong and so very brave.

Thank you for the gift and the enduring legacy of these three beautiful brave sons who will surround me and protect me.

I love you.

 

 

 

 

About Sheldon.

I have been staring at this screen for a while now.

Wanting to find the perfect way to tell you all what needs to be told.

I wrote plenty of words while I waited and watched over him in those hours and hours, but I'm not ready to tell you that yet. One day I will.

But today I want to tell you about Sheldon.

I have given so many words to the battle and the heartache of finding beautiful. So many sentences have taken you on the journey with us.. You have walked beside us and carried the burden.

And today I just want to tell you about Sheldon.

He was our calm. 

I was the storm and he was the calm. 

I would make mountains out of molehills and he would scrape away the useless mounds of sand so that I could see what I truly needed to deal with. 

He was the steadying hand that I could count on. 

He would pull me back from over analysing the world or from the dark silences that I would find when my world was so noisy. 

He was the smile. That smile that would light up any dark mood. 

A smile that would make the crappest of days seem more manageable.

He was the problem solver and the people manger. I would ring him at work and complain about the computer or someone at work and he always ALWAYS had an answer. And yes, my darling. You were normally right. 

He couldn't sing. Not a note. The man was tone deaf.

He couldn't dance either, and unfortunately one of our sons has inherited this trait. (Sorry buddy)

He had some crap taste in music.

He loved terrible scu-fu movies.

He talked through movies.

He had an opinion on everything.

He loved that I disagreed on some of his opinions.

He had a dream to have a massive herb and organic vegetable garden. He wanted it to take up acres. He had plans to source cafés and restaurants with valley fresh herbs.

The dream was so real to him he would stand at the farm and I know he could see it.

He loved generously.

He cared for his friends with a genuinely kind heart.

Trust me.. Even if you haven't heard from him or he didn't text you, he talked and worried over where you were at. How your marriages were going. What decisions you were making in your careers and businesses. He cheered when you had a win and he worried over you when you struggled. 

What a friend he was.

He was my favourite human being. 

I loved everything about him. 

The flaws and monumental stuff ups that humbled him and softened his heart.

The strength and capacity to dream bigger that I've ever dared to. 

I guess the thing I loved the most... The thing I will miss the most is how he was such a great dad.

I can't even write these words right now. 

It's too hard to think about our sons being without him.

I just can't.

I'll tell you all another day. 

But he was the best.

And today. On Father's Day. You aren't here.

Sheldon. You are with your Father God.

Heaven will shout to you today.. "Well done awesome man. Well done daddy!!"

An understated update.

There are no profound ways to start this one. No deep and insightful words to convey where we are.
These days are tough.
Understatement... such an understatement.
But it's the best I can do.

I want to tell you how Sheldon is going.

Sheldon is the strongest and bravest person I know.
He rallied every ounce of strength and wellness to enjoy August.
The great pressing in helped. Operation birthday cards helped.  The kindness of loved ones and strangers helped... immensely.
He loved August. It was his birthday month made beautiful.
And here we are...
August is over.
Spring is here.
Sheldon has spent the two days of September in St. Catherine's palliative care ward.
He is extremely fatigued and experiencing such a disorientation..
The goal of everyday is to manage his pain and this foggy disorientation.
And the struggle is real.
I'm in awe of the medical team who are working with us to find that fine balance.
It's working today. He's asleep at the moment. And hopefully he'll wake up and have some good, lucid moments. 

I know you will be gracious and appreciate that I will update you when I can...

Thanks for the caring and the prayer.