And Then You Were Gone

The Week.

So there I was the next morning...A widow.  Tough word.  Not only is it sad simply because of its meaning, but it sounds so final, so lonely, and forgive me... old.   I wasn't sure what to do with it either.  Like I said, I had no clue what to do next.  My husband had been killed in a tragic accident that has since been proven was NOT his fault. (My little stab at the media world looking for a quick story to fill the 5AM news... Get your f*}€ing facts straight).  Do I need to identify his body? Wait, I didn't even know where his body was...his wedding ring? The bike? His belongings? And no one seemed to be able to answer my questions.  While my first responders had been by my side for hours, enter now the amazing "family" I have been blessed to become a part of in My home town.  They found him, got me a few answers and a good friend got his wedding band for me... All while I wandered aimlessly.  Thank you all of you!

There are plenty of support groups and books to help people out there who lose their spouses, but there are two main problems. 1. Most are aimed at those over 50, kids grown or 2. Someone is dying and there has been time to plan.  There needs to be a book, or checklist that simply drops from the sky.  "Your life was amazing, not perfect but pretty damn awesome and now your husband is dead... Here's what to do next." ... Sorry... A little blunt, but honest. So... I put on my armor, wiped my tears, planned a funeral with a baby on my hip and "floated" through the next few days with the help of wonderful friends and family.

The funeral.  The turnaround, for lack of a better word, was quick.  I had family in town that needed to get back to their lives, my oldest son had a lacrosse tournament coming up, I wanted to get this part over.  So he died on a Tuesday.  I celebrated our second anniversary without him on Thursday.  His service was Friday.  I felt numb, but strong... I could do this.  There was simply one thing my armour couldn't protect me from.... The last time I saw him.  Believe it or not, we had actually discussed our wishes.  I knew he wanted to be creamated... "In a pine box" he would say.  I knew he wanted no one to see him.  But I had to say good-bye... I had to see him, just one more time.  There's always a scene in the movies where the widow's knees buckle, where all the emotions come out so strong there is no way to hold it all in.  This was mine.  He looked so peaceful, so beautiful... But when I touched him...I wanted his warmth back.  I read at his funeral.  I wanted everyone to know, to remember what an amazing man he was...is.  The outpouring of support was amazing.  Once again, I can't thank you enough.

I am a widow.  My heart is broken, and will never be the same... But I live every day with a guardian angel.  Somedays I find myself angry with him and a sign will appear that makes me laugh.  Someday's I find myself sad and a song will come on the radio and remind me of the wonderful times.  Someday's I simply don't know how to feel and my two year old will lift his ring from around my neck and say "daddy's ring?"  I reply "yes".  Then she says "kiss it mommy!"  She kisses it and then puts it to my lips.  Our sweet girl.  I miss you baby.  More and more every day.

Good night my friends... For now. <\3

I Miss You!

I miss you. I suppose that goes without saying.  I ponder and think often.  I recollect.  Sometimes it's memories of you. Other times it's about that day, that night, that week... The aftermath.  I know it sounds cliche, but it really does seem like yesterday. It's only when I look at how much the kids have grown, how big Charlee is that I realize how long ago you died.  I wonder what that makes me, still so sad and often lost without you two years later.  Then I realize I really don't care.

The day.  It was the Tuesday after Memorial Day.  The weekend we spent working in the yard.  Mulch had been delivered and we were slowly working on distributing the gigantic pile.  We'd had a wonderful visit from your Dad who had played with Charlee in the little blow up pool... But Tuesday was back to the grind.  Work, daycare, school... After homework, I was loading up the kids for lacrosse and swim practice. Charlee was all buckled in her car seat and you pulled in from work.  I remember so many little details, but forget others.  I remember what you wore. You asked if you could help.  No, you were sore from all the work that weekend... Enjoy a ride I said.  You hugged and kissed me thank you in the archway of the kitchen and went our separate ways.  My last kiss. My last hug.

The night.  Kids in bed, Charlee fed and you text you'll be home soon.  I respond be careful and as I put Charlee down I read from you "I love my life".... My last text.  I will always hold on to those last words.  The rest of the night was a blur.  I fell asleep trying to put Charlee down. The knock on the door, the realization that you weren't home, the numbness when I heard the news all burn brightly in my memory.  My friends remind me of things I did... Said... It's these things I don't remember exactly.  That was the numbness.

The morning after.  I remember bits and pieces.  I remember thinking I can't possibly cry anymore.  I need to wipe my tears, I need to make phone calls, I need to tell the kids.  I remember the reaction of each... Breaking my heart even more.  My oldest... "No." Silence..."you mean I'm never going to see him again?"  My 8 year old simply cried.

I remember having a plan to notify people. It helped.  A calling tree in a sense. It felt good to have a plan.  And then I didn't know what to do next.  I mean what do you do when your world comes crashing down like it never has before?  At this point, a manual, a guide, a checklist would've been nice.

I remember standing still in a world rushing and spinning all around me and all I could do was sink slowly and wonder ..... What now?

Good night my friends... For now.  <\3.