The Red Shirt

Have you ever watched a movie where someone has a kind of film loop running through their head? It’s a real thing. Mine is Patrick, riding his bike, with a long sleeve red shirt and the baggy bike shorts I bought him for Christmas (with hidden padding so no one thought he was too serious about riding). He has an intense look on his face because that’s how he was when he was out riding. He viewed fitness as an obligation and he usually looked serious when he was working out, I think he might have liked it a little but he probably would argue with that.

I guess you will probably think it’s sad that I have these images of how he would have looked right before it happened? And I guess maybe it IS a little sad but I’m so used to it now. And yes, sometimes I let the film go forward a little and imagine what happened. I try not to do that too much because it is harder but it’s odd how much little details matter.

The day after his funeral, Mom and Pop (his parents), picked us up to drive to Porterville for Zio Angelo’s funeral. I sat in the back with the girls on either side of me. We needed to go to be with everyone and I was actually relieved that we didn’t have to be the focus anymore. While we were driving, Mom gave me a card she had been carrying around for Patrick and I. He had recently helped them put in a new mailbox and I had done their taxes. The card was to thank us and it included a gift card for dinner. She had been carrying it around since before he died. I knew that she needed to give it to me but I think it was really hard for both of us. I choked up a little but vowed to keep it together for the girls.

Then my phone rang. It was the funeral home, calling to tell me they had a few personal effects, the clothing he was wearing that day. They thought I might want it thrown out. I had been trying to determine what he was wearing. I can’t tell you why this was important but it just was. I thought it was the red shirt with black on the sleeves but I just wasn’t sure. I tried to ask without anyone in the car realizing what I was asking. I’m not sure how I did it but they confirmed it was the shirt. I told them that someone would pick the items up. I got off the phone and struggled to hold it together. I spoke to a Patrick in my head and begged him to help me hold it together and I really think he did.

We got to the church and the rosary was first. This was good because I bowed my head as if praying and just sobbed. I think the girls were sitting by their cousins and I had the teNyenhuis sisters-in-love with me and they just surrounded me. After the rosary there was a brief viewing/visitation and during this time I moved and sat away from the girls. I knew their aunts would be with them and I just needed to be away, just for a bit. I sat with Elisa, Marissa and Livia (Prandini cousins) and I think I actually stopped crying but it was nice to feel like I didn’t have to hold it together.

That great big beautiful family got me through that day. I love them all so much!

My sister picked up the clothing and it is packed away somewhere. Probably it should have been thrown out but I just couldn’t do it yet.

So I still have that little video playing. I know there are treatments for PTSD type things but I don’t think I really need it for this. It’s not constant and it’s not horrific. It’s just him, riding. I still can’t believe this happened. Over time it has gotten easier. I don’t cry very much, but it is still shocking every time I am reminded that he is gone. And I still wonder about the little details. I can’t help it. I don’t need to know them but maybe if I did it would be different and I wouldn’t wonder so much? So hard to know. Sixteen months later and I promise it is easier and I am mostly happy. When I write down these painful memories I feel like I am releasing them a bit. Thank you for helping with that.