Autumn Leaves

As I watch a leaf slowly float to the ground and feel the crispness of the morning air, I smell change coming again.  It is good, life moving forward, but as it does I feel my heart ache.  It is still, after all this time, hard to get used to him being gone.  There is a heaviness as autumn approaches.  I have come to a realization, one that may have been blatantly obvious to many of you, but eluded me until now.  I have suddenly realized I am never going to get "over" this, nor is this something I am going to get "through."  It's always going to be there.  My heart will always carry this scar.  I am not going to wake up tomorrow and find him sleeping next to me.  He is not going to come home from work tomorrow.  I will always find myself slightly surprised by the pang I feel looking for a birthday card as I pass the ones labeled "husband"... surprised by the sting of tears as I hold them back watching a husband and wife share a kiss.  I will continue to work toward the balance of managing home, work and life without him.  I will always carry the anxiety that comes with knowing first hand how rapidly life can change.  With this realization, I have found a return of my anger and a tiredness that seems to have settled in.  I think there was a naive part of me that thought that if I held strong and made it through the first year and all the hurdles that came with that, I would feel better.  

So as the leaves start to change and the chill returns to the air, I turn the page to start a new chapter.  A chapter where I continue to put one foot in front of the other.  A chapter that while I know the beginning... I'm not so sure what it holds.  Sometimes I find myself angry with the change, and other times willing, ready to move forward. It will always feel strange, moving on without him by my side.   I still find myself occasionally wanting to scream "Wait!  We're going on without him!"  Our daughter will turn 2 in 6 weeks.  She was only 7 months when he was killed, one more reminder of how fast time passes.  Was it really almost a year and 1/2 since the last time I rode with him, wrapped my arms around him as we took in the North Carolina scenery?  Has it been 2 years since we enjoyed his favorite time of the year with a cold beer on our front porch?  Has it been 16 months since I felt normal?  Yes...  And no, I don't feel better.  As the holidays once again descend upon us, I wonder how can I find a way to make a difficult time for me joyful and exciting for the kids?

I know how this chapter will begin.  It will begin with me, holding on tight to the belief that I can do this.  It will begin with me, tucking in my sweet angel every night making sure she knows how loved she is.  It will begin with me, guiding my children through school, sports, life.  It will begin with me, waking up every morning to face the day.  It will begin with me, trying to rebuild my physical and emotional strength.  It will begin with me, craving a comfort I pray I will find again.  It will begin with me, wondering if ... 'I'm not broken just bent and can I learn to love again?' It will begin with me, wondering...   

What will this chapter hold?

Goodnight my friends...


    

The Beach Trip

While the anniversary of his death has come and gone, the "firsts" continue to surprise me, often catching me off guard.  At times I expect them, see them coming, yet they still knock the wind out of me like a poorly timed sucker punch.  The kids wanted a beach trip.  I hadn't made any plans for a summer vacation, so I searched and found a nice house in Oak Island.  The older two invited friends and I reminded them this would be a "beach trip".... meaning we would spend days on the beach, grill at night and chill out at the house.  It made me smile to see them excited, chattering about the upcoming trip.  I reminded myself... "You can do this."  

So, we packed up the Armada and off we went.  I could feel the nerves settle in a little remembering the last time I went to Oak Island... with my husband and my family...29 weeks pregnant with the sleeping angel in the carseat.  Everyone was so excited to get in the water that after I put sunscreen on everyone else (including J) they ran off to swim in the ocean.  Guess who never got sunscreen on their back... Can you say LOBSTER???  I rarely burn, but apparently 6 hours on the beach with no sunscreen on your upper back gets just about anyone.  

As we hit traffic just outside of Raleigh, I encountered my first hurdle.  There was an accident, a motorcycle accident...A mangled motorcycle laid on its side, a tarp covered a body.  I felt it all come back... the numbness, the panic... I imagined him there under that tarp.  I stopped at a gas station shortly after that so I could let out the tears I had struggled to hold back, breathe and regroup.  I grabbed a cold diet pepsi, checked the topper on the truck to make sure it was secure, climbed back in the truck and reminded myself... "You can do this."

The trip was a success.  The weather was beautiful, the house perfect and the children had a great time.  Charlee chased waves, birds and her brothers.  The boys hauled everything out to the beach each day, played football in the waves, body surfed, built Charlee a "swimming pool" and aggravated the girls.  The girls made lunches for everyone in the mornings, boogied on the boogie boards, went for walks on the beach and played with the baby.  

For me, the trip was so much harder than I thought it would be.  It was the first vacation for me by myself with the kids.  No family, no friends... just me.  As I sat on the beach, playing with the baby, watching the older kids goof off, I longed to share the moment with him.  I watched families playing on the beach and missed him.  I watched a dad playing with his little girl for the first time on the beach and missed him.  I watched a man running with his wife on the beach and missed him.  I grilled dinner each night for the kids and missed him.  I watched our little girl squeal with delight as she chased the waves back and forth and missed him.  I carried her to bed, exhausted, but beautiful with sunkissed cheeks and missed him. I sat on the porch with a cold beer, listening to the waves, watching the beautiful day fade to night and missed him.  And then I packed everything back into the truck, loaded up the kids, drove back home and missed him... but I reminded myself... "You did it." 

Miss you baby!

Goodnight all... 

A Beautiful Day

It was a beautiful day on the lake.  The sun was shining, the temperature was perfect and my baby girl was sleeping on my chest as I lounged across the back seat of the boat.  I smiled watching the man who drove the boat, shirt off, sun on his shoulders, the dragon across his back moving in sync with the waves.... Then someone asked a question and brought me back to reality...It was still a beautiful day on the lake, my littlest was still sound asleep on my chest as we bounced and swayed with the waves, but he was still gone.  The moment was so vivid I had wanted to gently place my little one aside and wrap my arms around him.  Moments like this are not uncommon in my life and I'm sure there are other widows that can relate.  I wonder sometimes if they are noticeable.  Do the people around me notice?  Some are so vivid and real, I swear he's there.  Some bring tears, some bring a smile, but ALL of them bring that ache in my chest... the one I now know is my "heartache."

I find myself playing these "movie reels" in my head.  Some are beautiful memories... some are dreams of what might have been.  Some are triggered by a song, a smell, a familiar moment, a couple I see... some are a little like land mines... catching me off guard...so powerful I feel that wave of grief wash over me.  Others will make me shake my head and wonder briefly... "Is this real?"  Yep.

People are right, time does "heal."  You realize life does move on, and amazingly, you've made it on your own now for over a year.  You find yourself imagining that happiness is out there somewhere.  Perhaps it'll find you again.  For now, you find that happiness in those around you.  It lies in your friends and family.  For me, most of it comes from my children... watching my oldest slowly grow into a strong, slightly grumpy at times, teenage boy...  The beauty in my pre-teen, moody daughter as she suddenly looks more like a young woman than a little girl... The goofy blonde-haired, blue-eyed, sensitive boy who never fails to get a laugh... and especially the beautiful, smart, obstinate and daring little toddler whose sweet hugs and kisses keep me going every day.  "Wuv you Mommy!!" she cries as I put her to bed.

So...it WAS a beautiful day, a day I felt him share with me.  I put aside all the things that needed to be done and enjoyed nature, friends and family.  A day that makes me miss him even more.  A day that weaves a little more confidence and strength into the scar that is slowly forming in my heart.

Miss you baby! Goodnight all...