I keep flipping pages on my calendar, each day passing like the leaves that were falling from the trees the day you left.
Three months? You resided at Hospice for nearly that long; it just doesn’t seem real sometimes.
They say time heals all wounds.
I don’t think that a true, complete, emotional healing will ever happen.
But it does get a bit easier each day.
I pull up my cowgirl boots and deal with it.
I have truly felt more at peace since letting go of your ashes.
I have laughed more, slept better and felt more like myself.
I’ve started making decisions about the future; and for the record, until recently, my future only included planning what we would have (or not have) for dinner that night.
I can see a little further down the road now, think a little more clearly.
I am making actual plans, learning to maneuver the pitfalls of single parenthood, and still missing every little detail of you.
The girls and I will start a support group later this month.
When you were sick, I couldn’t fathom hanging out with other widow(er)s and passing a Kleenex box around the circle.
But now, I think I need it.
I need to be around other people who know exactly how I feel; and it may be difficult.
But I’m ready.
All three of us are. I’m sure of it.
You told me repeatedly that you just wanted me to be happy and to do whatever I wanted to after you died…
And even though I’m not exactly sure what that is yet, I do know that I have your blessing.
That alone makes the decisions come a little easier.
In my counseling session last week, I admitted that one of the hardest parts of living without you is not having confidence in decisions I make for our family. I was so accustomed to sharing ideas with you, seeking your opinion – and even in the later days, just running things by you for the heck of it. At that point, you had no opinion about much of anything, but I felt more at ease knowing you had at least heard my thought process. You were, technically, involved, then.
Now, there is is none of that.
I am trying to learn to stop questioning myself and just do what feels natural, even though I frequently ask myself what you would do in certain situations. You were always so collected and thoughtful. That would drive me crazy at times, but now I miss it.
I really do miss making joint decisions – the way spouses are supposed to do – even though I always secretly wished I could just make decisions without consulting you first.
Funny how things work…
And it’s also funny that I’ve had a bottle of apple juice in the fridge for nearly a week that I simply cannot open.
Definitely missing having a strong, manly grip around.
The girls are doing well.
Carys has stopped pretending you are elsewhere.
She is busily planning a birthday party for you in April.
I’m trying to help her get it together and I think it will be a great source of closure for her.
Cailyn has been enjoying looking through our wedding album.
She’s been dreaming of wearing my dress and marrying her Prince Charming.
She always comments on how different we look – how handsome you are and how much we were smiling.
I had to fill her in that her wedding day will be the same; her face will hurt from smiling so much.
Which led to a heart wrenching conversation with Carys.
“Mommy, last night I dreamed that I got married. My dress was pink and silver…but I have a question…in movies and on tv, when a girl gets married, her daddy walks her down the aisle. Who will walk me down there to get married?”
It is so sad they she is already asking such hard questions, but she takes it all in stride.
I can see the loving belief in her eyes when I tell her that you are, in fact, going to be there. Just not physically.
You wouldn’t miss it, and she knows that as much as I do.
Yesterday, while preparing the little Valentine’s cards for her classmates, I asked her if she was feeling better about missing you so much.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t bat an eyelash.
“Yes. But I still miss him very much. I will be sad for a long time. Because my daddy was so special.”
I think that was a pretty accurate summation of how we’re all feeling.
Our family’s monotone world is coming to life with little bits of color, little rays of sunshine.
Three months without you has been difficult.
I could not have gotten this far in my survivorship without the tireless efforts of our family and friends.
They are truly special people who loved you and the rest of our family.
I am so very thankful for each of them.
And so very thankful for you and each tiny moment we were allowed to share.