Therapy

I'm posting this for me, so I never forget last week and the loss of a friend. This blog serves as my journal and you guys are just lurking, but I invited you so lurk on.

On Sunday afternoon the week's calendar was clear, except for a Thursday Visiting Teaching luncheon hosted in my home. That empty calendar gave me the courage to call Produce Jerry and order 5 quarts of fresh picked pickling cucumbers. Jerry has a farm fresh garden stand on the highway down the road and I got my peaches from him. He's a gem, really. I adore him. When I got to Jerry's I had $22 in cash and was ready to get my pickles going. Samantha, who introduced me to Jerry, had pickled up 52 jars of said veggies for her family. Holy Toledo! 52 jars??? Are they insane over there??? She convinced me it was easy, so I added pickles to my list.
I began putting the cucumbers from Jerry's table in my box when he interrupted me.
"Are those OK for you?" he asked.
"I think so. What do you think?" I replied.
"Well, I got that box right there held back for you. Fresh picked this morning. These things here are 2 days old. You know I keep the best stuff for you. You called and said you were canning them," he said.
"The whole box?" I asked.
"Yeah, it's just over a bushel, " he said.
"How much is it?" I ask.
"$25 for the whole box," he replied.
"Well Jerry, I'm $3 short. I'm going to run to Bryan's and get more cash and I'll be right back," I said.
"You can owe me. I know you. You know me. Don't worry about it," he said.
"No, Jerry. I'm not owing you money. I'll be right back," I said and left.

20 minutes later I'm hauling 1.9 bushels of pickling cucumbers into the back of the suburban. By Tuesday afternoon I had 61 jars of dill pickles on the shelf. Holy Toledo indeed!

Monday afternoon the missionaries called to ask if they could teach an investigator in our home on Tuesday night. You don't refuse that particular request. You just don't. And we didn't. So dinner party and lesson Tuesday night. It went beautifully.

Tuesday I wake to an email asking me to sing at a funeral on Friday. This calendar is filling up fast. I volunteer to bring a dessert to the funeral dinner as well.

Wednesday night I have to get dinner done and me ready for my temple recommend interview at 6:30. I sit at the church (hardly "ready" but I didn't find a skirt to throw on with my dirty black t-shirt) until 7 when the bishop's wife comes in from her workout at the gym. She calls him and sure enough, no one told him of our appointment. I don't mind waiting; he'll be there soon. I have my interview and go to Wal-Mart to buy fruit for tomorrow's VT luncheon. And food for the 10 kids that will be there.

House cleaned and all food prepared for the VT luncheon, it is a monster success (good food, spiritual and attended by non-member investigator who made a great connection with new friends there). I'm absolutely exhausted at this point. I crashed on the couch instead of cleaning the kitchen and Kathy calls. After a while on the phone I sit up and she gets a call on the other line. Caller ID says "Christie Hutchins." Kathy says, "Who is Christy Hutchins?" She's my friend in St. Louis. Her sister, Julie, was my bridesmaid. Kathy met Christie at a singles conference a few years ago.

Kathy's call was taking a while and I didn't want to waste her minutes so I hung up. When she called back she said, "That was Holly Hutchins. Christie is dead."

First comes the shock, then the overwhelming sadness. I cried so hard my head hurt. For three days. Then comes the anger. I don't know what the other stages of grief are, but I suppose eventually it ends. I haven't seen Christie in years, but that doesn't matter does it? I remember her still the same - her laugh is infectious. Her curly hair is the envy of everyone. I remember sitting in a booth at that diner in St. Louis. The one on the corner in Clayton with the rock walls. Older than dirt, but a great place to gather after a game or a dance or nothing at all. We all complained about being single - that's why we gathered. We all ate something atrociously unhealthy (although I remember many a salad as well...) and we laughed.

I have kept in touch with enough friends to know that since that time Christie has slid downhill and was very, very sick. Sick enough to take her own life. The loneliness and sadness that drove her to that decision (or the now successful execution of that decision) is so heart-wrenching. I am so sorry for her pain. And I am grateful for the mercy that brings her out of her mortal body and back into a joyful spirit.

Julie, who was already to the angry stage when I talked to her Thursday, said, "I hope my mom meets her at the gate and gives her a walloping spanking!" Well if I know Lynn, that's exactly what happened. Right after she gave her a great big hug.

I wanted to get in the car and drive to St. Louis, to stay until the pain ends. Moms don't do that, do we? We dry our eyes and make dinner and bathe the dirty children and go to a different funeral on Friday and sing there (with no microphone, no piano and the saddest excuse for an organ you have ever heard. also the place was dark and dingy. no place for a funeral). And then on Monday we cry a little remembering Christie again. Julie had to fly out to Colorado to pick up their father who was vacationing there when all this happened. He was alone and got a phone call telling him that his little girl was gone. My heart breaks for him. And for Christie's roommate of five whole days who opened the door Thursday morning to find two police officers there explaining things. I am so thankful for my testimony of the Atonement. Christie's suicide is a tremendous loss, but the loss, the sadness, the pain is all taken care of by the Savior. I guess that's why I can dry my eyes, make dinner and bathe the dirty children. And even sing at someone else's funeral the next day. Everything has its place. Even Christie's parting. I hope that she finds great solace and answers in her next step. I'll miss her though.