I stopped wearing it 1.5 months ago. I was terrified of losing it and it was a daily reminder of what is no longer in my life. His wedding ring on a necklace.
I took it off 5 days ago. I was painting and didn't want the paint to get on it. I had intentions of putting it back on, but I haven't. The tan lines are gone...there is no longer a daily reminder of what is no longer in my life. My wedding ring no longer adorns my left hand, where it has been every day for the last 8.5 years. I'm not saying it's easy or comforting to look down and see my bare hand, but it doesn't feel wrong either.
Both rings are safely tucked away in my jewelry box.
sigh
Thursday, September 10, 2015
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Milk & Cookies
Laura amazes me. She is such a strong little girl, recognizing that she misses Daddy but telling me "I be ok, Mama." And then out of the blue, she does something just like he used to or asks to do something they did together. Last night, it was milk & cookies. She asked for a cookie...my kid who doesn't even care for sweets, asked for a cookie. But she insisted she wanted a cookie so I gave it to her.
L: "And something to dip it in, Mama."
Me: "Honey, we don't dip cookies in anything."
L: "I want to dunk it Mama!"
Me: "I don't have anything to dunk it in!"
L: "No, Mama. Like Daddy used to."
And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. She remembers the two times they had milk and cookies before bed shortly before he passed away. He sat her on the counter, got them each a glass of milk and had milk and cookies. Well...she dunked, and he ate the cookies. And my heart burst...burst with joy that she remembers these seemingly small, everyday things and with tears that he's not here for her.
So I sat her on the counter and we had milk and cookies. A glass of milk for each of us.
L: "And something to dip it in, Mama."
Me: "Honey, we don't dip cookies in anything."
L: "I want to dunk it Mama!"
Me: "I don't have anything to dunk it in!"
L: "No, Mama. Like Daddy used to."
And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. She remembers the two times they had milk and cookies before bed shortly before he passed away. He sat her on the counter, got them each a glass of milk and had milk and cookies. Well...she dunked, and he ate the cookies. And my heart burst...burst with joy that she remembers these seemingly small, everyday things and with tears that he's not here for her.
So I sat her on the counter and we had milk and cookies. A glass of milk for each of us.
Saturday, July 25, 2015
Daddies
Scene: 45 minutes after bedtime because she just refuses to close her eyes. Or let me leave.
Laura: Those kids at the pool have Daddies, Mama?
Me: Yep...everybody has a Daddy.
Laura: My Daddy's in Heaven. With Jesus.
Me: Yep, sweetie, you're right.
Laura: Those pictures over there...that's my Daddy. My Daddy loves me very much.
Me: tears You're right, punkin, your Daddy does love you very much.
Laura: Daddy loves you too, Mama. And Clara. And me.
Me: Daddy loves everybody, honey.
Laura: Why?
Me: Because your Daddy is extra special.
Laura: My Daddy loves me very much. drifts off to sleep
[SIGH]
Laura: Those kids at the pool have Daddies, Mama?
Me: Yep...everybody has a Daddy.
Laura: My Daddy's in Heaven. With Jesus.
Me: Yep, sweetie, you're right.
Laura: Those pictures over there...that's my Daddy. My Daddy loves me very much.
Me: tears You're right, punkin, your Daddy does love you very much.
Laura: Daddy loves you too, Mama. And Clara. And me.
Me: Daddy loves everybody, honey.
Laura: Why?
Me: Because your Daddy is extra special.
Laura: My Daddy loves me very much. drifts off to sleep
[SIGH]
Thursday, July 23, 2015
12, 13, 23, 24
Today is the 23rd. I hate the 23rd...and let's just throw the 24th and 12th and 13th in there, too. It doesn't matter the month...I hate these days. These are the 4 days that my world shattered.
October 12, 2011: Found out we lost the little boy we longed for, planned for and had been anxiously awaiting his arrival after a perfectly normal, textbook pregnancy. Exactly 1 week before his due date.
October 13, 2011: Delivered Will silently into this world. No newborn wails, just the wails of our hearts breaking as we tried to squeeze a lifetime of love and memories into a few short hours. No baby to take home, just an empty car seat and a purple box of keepsakes: a lock of his hair, hand and footprints.
January 23, 2015: My world was sent into a tailspin at 8:30 pm when I found out that you had gone under the ice and they couldn't find you. I found out 5 hours after it happened and in my heart I knew there was no hope but with every fiber of my being I wished and prayed that they had made a mistake. That you had somehow rescued yourself and they just didn't know it. But my heart knew as it shattered into a million pieces that you were gone...gone forever. Never to hear the last voicemail I sent you at 3:00 that afternoon.
January 24, 2015: I sat and watched every minute of the 3 hour recovery. Watched them pull you from the ice. Watched them transport you across the ice in a body bag behind a 4-wheeler. Watched them load you into the ambulance for transport to the funeral home. Identified you, crumbling over our unbelievable life story and your ice cold body. Overwhelmed by reality.
Scenes and memories I will never forget but will always wish weren't our story. And these days (12, 13, 23, 24) haunt me...they tear my heart out.
Today, on the 23rd, you've been gone 6 months...half a year. It seems like yesterday and it seems like a lifetime ago that I kissed you for the last time. That I took a picture of you with your sweet girls. That I looked forward to your return home from a short trip...that you were HERE beside me. And I know that you are now at Will's side, but I love you and I so desperately miss you.
October 12, 2011: Found out we lost the little boy we longed for, planned for and had been anxiously awaiting his arrival after a perfectly normal, textbook pregnancy. Exactly 1 week before his due date.
October 13, 2011: Delivered Will silently into this world. No newborn wails, just the wails of our hearts breaking as we tried to squeeze a lifetime of love and memories into a few short hours. No baby to take home, just an empty car seat and a purple box of keepsakes: a lock of his hair, hand and footprints.
January 23, 2015: My world was sent into a tailspin at 8:30 pm when I found out that you had gone under the ice and they couldn't find you. I found out 5 hours after it happened and in my heart I knew there was no hope but with every fiber of my being I wished and prayed that they had made a mistake. That you had somehow rescued yourself and they just didn't know it. But my heart knew as it shattered into a million pieces that you were gone...gone forever. Never to hear the last voicemail I sent you at 3:00 that afternoon.
January 24, 2015: I sat and watched every minute of the 3 hour recovery. Watched them pull you from the ice. Watched them transport you across the ice in a body bag behind a 4-wheeler. Watched them load you into the ambulance for transport to the funeral home. Identified you, crumbling over our unbelievable life story and your ice cold body. Overwhelmed by reality.
Scenes and memories I will never forget but will always wish weren't our story. And these days (12, 13, 23, 24) haunt me...they tear my heart out.
Picture taken January 23, 2015
Today, on the 23rd, you've been gone 6 months...half a year. It seems like yesterday and it seems like a lifetime ago that I kissed you for the last time. That I took a picture of you with your sweet girls. That I looked forward to your return home from a short trip...that you were HERE beside me. And I know that you are now at Will's side, but I love you and I so desperately miss you.
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
My Life
So I've come back to wondering, "How is this my life? Is this real? Please let this be a bad, long dream."
But let's be honest...it's real and it's not a dream. This is my life.
My life of missing my best friend with every fiber of my being every second of every day. My life of being an only-parent. I'm an only-parent, not a single-parent, because I didn't choose to raise our two babies on my own. And being an only-parent is utterly exhausting. Their well-being is my top priority and I worry about them. Will they remember their Daddy? (Laura may, there's no chance in hell Clara will and that absolutely breaks my heart.) Am I doing things like we would have if there were still two of us to make decisions and discipline? Am I giving them enough opportunities and not expecting too much of them at too young of an age? Am I spending enough time playing with them while also giving them their own space to explore and develop independence? Am I enabling them because they've been robbed of growing up with a Daddy? The worry list is endless...and it's overwhelming and exhausting.
This is my life...a widow at 32. Eating Scarfing half a meal down alone after the girls are fed before they need me again. Managing inside and outdoor chores. No one to vent to when I've had a rough day at work or when family irritates me. No one to celebrate my raise with. No one to get excited over the little things only a parent gets excited about. No one to bounce ideas off. No one to plan a vacation with or dream about retirement with. No one to go on a date night with. It's just me and this is my lonely life.
But let's be honest...it's real and it's not a dream. This is my life.
My life of missing my best friend with every fiber of my being every second of every day. My life of being an only-parent. I'm an only-parent, not a single-parent, because I didn't choose to raise our two babies on my own. And being an only-parent is utterly exhausting. Their well-being is my top priority and I worry about them. Will they remember their Daddy? (Laura may, there's no chance in hell Clara will and that absolutely breaks my heart.) Am I doing things like we would have if there were still two of us to make decisions and discipline? Am I giving them enough opportunities and not expecting too much of them at too young of an age? Am I spending enough time playing with them while also giving them their own space to explore and develop independence? Am I enabling them because they've been robbed of growing up with a Daddy? The worry list is endless...and it's overwhelming and exhausting.
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Surviving Vacation
Well, we did it. We survived our annual vacation camping/fishing trip without you. The lack of your presence was undeniably noticed by everyone. Some viewed it as a memorial trip, but I viewed it as following through with the plans and dreams we had for our girls. And our girls had a blast.
I believe you were with us in spirit, turning on the toy airplane and bubble machine at random times. Baker found it annoying until I told him it was you telling him to get off his ass and go fishing. Laura told me she saw you "last night" a couple different days and those conversations both warm and break my heart. Our friends are doing a great job helping out with the girls and giving them the experiences that I can't on my own (your brother needs a swift kick in the ass, btw) and I will be forever grateful that the girls will have those relationships. I call the guys the girls' pseudo-dads because they love and treat the girls as their own, but none of them will ever compare to the Daddy that you were.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Grief
Grief is a peculiar thing. It's a vicious cycle that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. It's the littlest things that seem to hit you the hardest. A song on the radio (I've heard the funeral songs every.day on the radio), the fact that I had to cook burn the bacon for breakfast on Sunday, the fact that I had to permanently unpack your stuff from the camper. That one's not little...that's huge. I procrastinated as long as I could. And when I forced to do it, it sucked. And by unpacked, I mean I put all your stuff in a tote and hauled it into the bedroom. Where it's now sat for 2 weeks. Because I don't know what to do with it and I'm not ready to address it beyond this point yet.
Grieving opens your eyes to the real trials of the world. Someone else's bad day that they lament over is minute on my scale. Because really....you only locked your keys in your car. I would deal with that every day for the next 20 years if it meant I could have Sam back.
But I'm doing ok. I'm excelling at work, the girls seem to be happy (although Laura still has anxiety over people leaving her), they are involved and I have a social life outside being an only parent. But it's still not the same and given the choice, this isn't the life I would choose.
Vacation starts in two days. Vacation, for us, means camping and fishing on the Missouri river. Which isn't something I had ever done before I met Sam. It's something he grew up doing, introduced me to and I really enjoyed it. We had big plans to help our girls experience this. And now those plans rest solely on my shoulders to carry through. The maiden voyage is going to be hard. The whole 8-day trip is going to be bittersweet. I promised and planned to do these things with you for the rest of our lives. Instead, I have the rest of mine. And however long that may be, I promise I will never stop loving you and doing everything I can to make sure our girls experience everything we had dreamed of doing with them.
Grieving opens your eyes to the real trials of the world. Someone else's bad day that they lament over is minute on my scale. Because really....you only locked your keys in your car. I would deal with that every day for the next 20 years if it meant I could have Sam back.
But I'm doing ok. I'm excelling at work, the girls seem to be happy (although Laura still has anxiety over people leaving her), they are involved and I have a social life outside being an only parent. But it's still not the same and given the choice, this isn't the life I would choose.
Vacation starts in two days. Vacation, for us, means camping and fishing on the Missouri river. Which isn't something I had ever done before I met Sam. It's something he grew up doing, introduced me to and I really enjoyed it. We had big plans to help our girls experience this. And now those plans rest solely on my shoulders to carry through. The maiden voyage is going to be hard. The whole 8-day trip is going to be bittersweet. I promised and planned to do these things with you for the rest of our lives. Instead, I have the rest of mine. And however long that may be, I promise I will never stop loving you and doing everything I can to make sure our girls experience everything we had dreamed of doing with them.
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