David Henley passed away last Monday and his family and friends held his memorial service on Wednesday of this past week. If any of you are wondering why it’s taken me so long to write this, well, I did mention that this was self-imposed therapy and that I have never been good at keeping up with these things. For those of you also wondering I don’t make attachments easy, at least not any more. With my past, I’ve learned little to no contact with new people is best – for me and for them. I can be quite brutally honest, OCD, and very blunt. I also don’t cry very easily. Oh sure, killing an animal or a child in a movie or killing off my favorite character in a book used to be a sure fire way to get the water works going, but not for a while. Before I heard that David was in the hospital as bad off as he was even initially, I hadn’t cried in a little over a year. Was I proud of that? Yes. Was it natural? No. Females very clearly need to cry if for nothing more than the reason I am about to relay. When I found out that David was in the hospital, I hit the floor crying and praying. I thought I had my cry out and I was done. I was sorely mistaken. I had never been to a memorial before Wednesday – I still haven’t technically been to a funeral. I am very empathetic to people around me and I simply wasn’t prepared. Michael, Hayden, and I had gone out to Mount Pleasant the night before and stayed at the La Quinta. We invited Jesse to come visit with us and we wound up watching TV until 4 am. At around 10, Michael woke me up and I had a shower and we went to lunch with some of Michael’s friends including Todd and his new girlfriend at Papa Nachos in Pittsburg. Then we went to the funeral home for the memorial. Don’t get me wrong – it was great seeing Michael’s friends that have become my friends over the years as well as his motherland sisters, but I am not a very social creature. Eventually, I came to sit in a sitting room of sorts surrounded by pictures of David and David’s father, James, our friends, Justin and Jeremy. Everyone was crying. After everything, Hayden was finally quiet and somewhat settled on my lap when I picked up a picture of David. It was a candid picture of him in bed taken with his cell phone (presumably sent to a girl) and he just looked at me from that picture. He smiled that smirk, and I lost it. I don’t cry incognito, so I was quite loud as I picked up Hayden and hurried out to the parking lot. I almost hyperventilated when I sat down and Brenda, Michael’s mother came to comfort me. It felt nice to have someone care. Then I saw Jesse and, eventually, his wife, Nat came towards me to check on me. Michael had gone to the bathroom before I had ever gotten upset, so he didn’t know what was going on. Nothing made me happier than when, believe it or not, a local cat walked up to me and laid down at my feet. It was as if something was acting through that animal to calm me down. I did calm down, and though I initially didn’t want to go back inside, I did. I told Michael what I did (I felt horribly embarrassed and humiliated) and he said that it was okay. After some deliberation, some of the friends that were there decided to go to Two Senoritas for dinner. After dinner, a group of David’s closest friends and family went to Omaha to spend time and reminisce at James’s house which is where David was staying before he died. All in all I think that it was a good memorial and shindig. His friends are also hosting a town-wide cruise in David’s honor tomorrow, but we won’t be able to make it.
I don’t really know how to feel. I don’t know what to say. I just don’t know. I felt as if I had just gotten over my friend Brandon Mills’s suicide, but then this happens and my emotions well up again. Pesky human feelings those. It’s different with David than with Brandon – Brandon chose to leave, David didn’t get that choice. This hits so much closer to home with me particularly – my uncle, Sean, was in a bad motorcycle wreck and still has a metal rod in his leg and my mother got into a motorcycle wreck when my dad was driving and still has screws in her ankle. It’s like a bad commercial for reasons not to buy and ride a motorcycle without the proper equipment. Only with David it’s like a bad dream. Any minute now I’ll wake up and David will be alive. He won’t be dead. He can’t be dead.
By the way, if there is any incorrect grammar:
1. It’s 5 am.
2. Yes, that means I’ve been up till 5.
3. I wrote this using a 3rd party app on my iPad.