Last week was a bad week.

Maybe it was because the holidays are getting near- Thanksgiving is this week, Christmas just around the corner. Maybe it’s because they’ve been advertising the benefits of generic drugs at work – but they left out the dead kid benefit part of the story.

It could also be today is the six month anniversary of the day Richard died. Yeah, I know it says May 28 on his tombstone, but I know he really died on the 23rd. Half a year ago.

I have this continuing tug-of-war between my brain and my heart.

On the day Richard died, a Saturday, we were at my dad’s farm having a celebration for my niece Hannah. She had just graduated from college. Richard wasn’t there because he had to work that night. Well, we thought he wasn’t there because he had to work. He really wasn’t there because he was dead. But we weren’t expecting him.

He told his mom the day before, he was going to try to get home on Sunday.

Late that evening I went out and sat on the big side porch on the farm house. I sent Richard a text message asking if he was going to make it home. I didn’t get a reply. I remember sitting there, looking out at the stars, and having an uneasy feeling.

My heart was saying, “He didn’t answer, there may be something wrong.”

My brain replied, “You’re always worried about there being something wrong. You’re just being a paranoid parent again. Knock it off.”

As the week progressed this little back and forth continued between my heart and my brain.

My heart somehow knew something bad had happened. My mind refused to believe it.

As the week wore on my heart got more worried. My brain tried to comfort my heart by telling it, “You worry too much. You know Richard would be pissed if you go bugging him because you’re worried.”

Then I got the call from the coroner.

When my brain heard “Feyette County Coroner’s Office” on the phone, it instantly knew – “Richard is dead. There’s no fixing this, he’s gone.”

But my heart said, “No way. There’s no way that happened. There has to be a big mistake.”

At the funeral home my brain said, “His gone. He’s in that oak box and we have to get it together and take care of him one last time.”

Heart said, “Oh no, we’re not playing that game. We’ve never seen him you know. Who knows, he may not even be in there. There’s no way Richard is dead.”

On visits to Richard’s grave brain would say, “OK Richard this isn’t funny. Get out of there. Come on, give me your hand and I’ll pull you out of there right now.”

And my heart tried so hard to drag Richard back up out of that hole in the ground.

But my brain knew that wasn’t going to happen.

And still my heart doesn’t believe this can be real. It’s still waiting for my brain to wake up and end this really bad dream.

And now my brain looks at the time, and it thinks six months is a long time, and still my heart isn’t believing this and is still broken and suffering.

And my brain wonders how it will ever be able to get my heart through possibly decades of this sorrow and pain.

And I don’t know the answer to that question.