Almost Christmas

It’s so hard for me to believe that Christmas is right around the corner. The last month has been a fog. A self-induced, busy fog.
I’ve been keeping myself busy to focus on other things, to give my mind and body something to do other than cry and reminisce.
After the New Year, I will slow down. I think. I plan to, anyway.

The girls and I headed to Asheville for a quick trip to Biltmore with Shannon, Chad’s cousin and one of my best friends.
We had some wonderful travel companions, too.
We had planned a weekend to visit with Chad’s sister and niece, but she wasn’t feeling well and we didn’t get to see her. I hate that. But I also want her to take care of herself — so I hope that you are, Melynda!

We were a bit disappointed that there was no snow. A few remnants here and there, but nothing for the girls to play in. They were a little upset, but were excited to see the Biltmore — even though they did get a little tried of all the walking.
It’s a beautiful, magical place – especially at Christmas.

I think I’m done Christmas shopping.
I hope I am, really.
I made myself shop this year – to give me something to do.
And I may have gone a little overboard.
Oh, well.

The girls and I are going to NYC to celebrate the New Year with my dear friend Christelle and her hubby, Chris.
We are taking the train — which is a new experience for us all; should be interesting. The girls are very excited about it!
Being in NYC is something that was on Chad’s Bucket List, so I figured it was a perfect time to go.
My dear friends are also expecting their first baby and I couldn’t be more excited to watch their family grow. I am so excited for that; babies are such perfect little reminders of all things good.

Chad wasn’t really into Christmas.
He didn’t enjoy the commercialization of the holiday – but he did enjoy watching the girls open gifts and the excitement that filled our cozy living room on Christmas morning.
He enjoyed having time off from work to spend time with us and our extended families.

We have traditions, places we go and people we see, each year.
And this year I plan to keep those traditions.
It was a hard decision. Part of me wanted to forget the past and start new traditions.
But that’s not what it’s about.

It’s about family.
And having a good time together. Making memories to look back upon for years to come.
And celebrating the birth of a Savior that loves us unconditionally.
These are traditions I wish to keep.

It feels very strange to me that Chad is not here.
Sometimes it feels completely surreal.
Sometimes it feels like it’s always been this way.
Sometimes I wish I could go back, unsay things I said, undo things I did, unthink thoughts I had.
But it wouldn’t change anything.

I ran into one of Chad’s hospice nurses last week.
It was so good to see him, even though I didn’t quite recognize him without scrubs and the hospice environment.
Small, small world it is.

I plan to visit hospice after the New Year.
I consider each of those folks a part of our family and I really do miss talking with them and learning more about their lives outside of work. They are a phenomenal group of people.

Also after the New Year, I’m making some changes and decisions.
Some small, some large.
I’m not moving – just in case you’re wondering!
I do have some ideas about what I want to do next and who I want to be. I just need to focus on that for a bit before I unveil the master plan.

I’ve rambled.
Sorry about that.
I haven’t felt like writing and haven’t had much to say; but I thank you all for checking in here every day to see how we’re doing.
I promise we’re doing well.

And we hope that you all are, too!

Comments

Skye, December 19th 2010 | Posted in Chad, Chatter, the girls

Let me tell you a story

I talked with the reporter from the News & Observer earlier this week.
And I always clam up when I talk to someone on the phone about anything official.
I had a lot to tell her about Chad, but just couldn’t seem to find the words at that moment.
I am a much better writer than speaker, since I can gather my thoughts coherently and take the time to put in some effort.

When we hung up, she asked me to shoot her an email if I decided there was anything else I wanted to include about Chad for the story (which will be published Thursday, December 23 – I will post a link and the story).

And about five minutes after our conversation ended, I remembered something.
Something that directly tells you what kind of person Chad was.
And I can’t believe I haven’t thought about it in years.

Chad was humble.
He didn’t want special recognition for something he felt he should do anyway.
He didn’t brag about anything he had accomplished and he didn’t make anyone feel like less of a person for not having the same gift of knowledge that he possessed.
And this is just one example.

–

In mid-June of 2001, Tropical Storm Allison hit Raleigh with nasty flooding.
It rained.
And rained.
And rained.

Chad and I were so bored.
We wanted to see something more than the walls of my apartment and the constant Allison coverage on television.
So, we decided it was smart to head out in the rain to survey all the damage ourselves.
And we each needed to go get groceries.
We drove around, looking at the flood waters and shaking our heads in dismay at all of the damage. It was devastating.
We finally made our way to the grocery store – and just happened to see a SUV pull into an apartment complex to our right.
We both looked at each with sheer panic at the same time; the SUV’s lights started to sink into water.

It suddenly hit us that the driver had not turned into a drenched parking lot.
Instead, it was a severely engorged pond.
And the SUV was sinking.

Without thought, he floored his truck as close as he could get to the site.
He handed me his wallet.
And he ran.

There were so many thoughts that hit me at that moment:
What if he got hurt?
We were getting married in less than two months – what if he drowned trying to save someone else?
Could he swim well enough to actually help someone?

And then I saw him – running, swimming – to the SUV.
A woman opened the driver’s side door and started screaming, “My baby! My baby!”
I could feel my heartbeat in my chest growing louder and faster.
Could he get the woman out and save a baby before the vehicle filled with water?

The woman was hysterical, as she should have been.
She was screaming, “I can’t swim! We can’t swim!”
He put an arm around her and swam her to a place where she could stand and walk the rest of the way, all the while wailing for her child.

He turned right back around and headed back to the SUV, which was visibly sinking into the dark water.
And just then, a young teenager, popped out of the passenger side, clinging to Chad. He went under.

I thought I was going to be sick.

Chad popped right back up from the water and they both made it to the girl’s mother, who was obviously shaken – but thankful.
I was screaming for help, drenched and full of adrenaline.

I am not a very strong swimmer and knew I should stay put – someone would only get hurt if I tried to help.
After hearing my cries for help in broken Spanish (I heard people yelling in Spanish from the apartment balconies and a nearby restaurant – I was trying to get their attention), another man came along and ran into the water towards the SUV, but wasn’t able to do much by that point.

Chad was always prepared and carried a few towels in his truck.
He gave them to the woman and her daughter, as they cried and thanked him profusely.
We hung around until the paramedics arrived; I had called them as soon as we saw the truck sink.

Then, we left.
We went on to the grocery store; soaked and full of nervous energy.
He insisted we stand under the awning for a while in an attempt to dry off some.
If you knew Chad, you know he was very protective of that truck of his; the seats couldn’t be damaged by our waterlogged clothes.

Skipping a day or two — my memory doesn’t serve me well.
Chad & I are watching the news, when we see a story about a woman and her daughter who were pulled from an apartment complex pond.
We both smiled, and I gave him a huge pat on the back.
He honestly saved their lives.
The phone rang.
And it was a reporter.
Someone (and I know who) let them know it was Chad, my stunningly handsome fiance, who had pulled the two from the submerged vehicle.
Chad declined an interview and a reuniting with the now dry victims.
He declined a few times.
And the reporter didn’t give up.
He called for days after the initial decline.
Sometimes multiple times a day.

Chad, after I reassured him it was perfectly okay to accept a public thank you from the women, consented to an interview.
We both left work early and waited for the reporter to show up at the apartment.
We nervously rehearsed what we would say – and he was so nervous. Though he tried hard not let on that he was.
I hoped I could sit in the background and allow him to have the full limelight; he deserved it. He was the one who sprinted into dark flood waters to save two lives. Not I. I just screamed on the banks and prayed for everyone’s safety. I was not a hero. He, clearly, was.

Unfortunately, another news story broke and Chad was never interviewed.
He never received his fifteen minutes of fame.

And that’s just the way he liked it.

I knew, without even thinking twice and before this event I described above, that I wanted to be Chad’s wife and partner for life.
I knew that he would be an excellent provider and protector.
I knew that he would always do the right thing, no matter the circumstance.

And that day, when he selflessly risked his life to help someone else — well, it  just cemented my faith in our future.
He was everything I wanted in a partner and more.
He was fearless. He was humble. He was just himself.
And he was pretty extraordinary.

* I am trying to get my hands on the actual news report so I can show it to the girls one day.
If I am lucky enough to happen across it, I will be sure to share it.

Comments

Skye, December 16th 2010 | Posted in Chad

One month

Dear Chad,
I cannot believe that an entire month has passed since you left us for your next journey.
Time is standing still, yet also passing so quickly I can barely keep up.

I miss you and think of you so often every day.

A few days ago, I had a vivid dream – you were talking to me, about Christmas plans and what we should buy for the girls this year.
You told me you thought I was doing a great job, and that you were proud of how we were carrying on without you every day.
You walked through our bedroom, leaned on the door frame to the bathroom and folded your arms.
“Keep moving forward. Keep going,” you said.
You were just chatting; your eyes squinting with laughter, your smile so bright.
There was nothing remarkable about the dream – just the way it made me feel: awake, loved, missed, whole.
When I awoke, I scanned the room, looking for you.
The dream was that real.
For a moment, I thought you were still here and I was waking from a dramatically long, sad, months-long dream – unfortunately, reality hit me instead.

I’ve been keeping busy, keeping my mind on other things and trying to occupy my time as best I can.
One of the hardest things for me to accept is the amount of free time I now have.
I am accustomed to spending so much time with you and spending so many hours driving to and from hospice every day.
I drove nearly 9,000 miles during the months you were in hospice care.
It feels weird to me not to have somewhere to go, not to have somewhere to be, and not to have someone to visit.
What do I do now?  What do I do with all of this time on my hands?
I guess I’m lucky that the holidays are here; it gives me something to do and something else to focus on.
Although I’m not fully ready to enjoy Christmas the way I normally do, I am trying to keep it as normal as possible for the girls.
One day, I’ll figure it out – I’ll know exactly what it is I am supposed to be doing with my time; whether it be returning to work, returning to school or trying various other things out of my current comfort zone; I’ll figure it out.

You have given me a Christmas gift this year; something totally unexpected.
You worked on it for a while, and even though I knew it was in progress, I never fully understood what you were doing – exactly.
IT changed you, little by little. Looking back, I can see that so clearly.
But you stood firm in many things; IT could not take away your desire to want the best for us, to prepare and shield us from the storm to come.

You gave me, quite simply, me.
You made me better.
You made me stronger.
You made me smarter.
You helped shape me into the best person, wife, mother, friend, daughter and sister I could be.

You forced me to conjure strength within myself I never knew possible.
You allowed me to believe in myself – that I am capable of taking on this world head-on.
You reminded me that, even though things aren’t ideal, there are always reasons to smile. Every day. No matter what.
You have given me the courage to speak up for what I want from this world – and to seek it, prayerfully.
You have given me the opportunity to receive help from others; to admit when I need it and not to be ashamed to accept it.
You helped me find peace with this horrific situation, reminding me that this life is temporary. Love is permanent.
You made me understand that a full life requires nothing more than a full and thankful heart.
You have given me peace of mind by making sure, repeatedly, that you have provided for your girls.
You have given me permission to find peace and joy, to look for both often and without regret or guilt.
You have provided me with a legacy; two beautiful daughters to share our dreams.

I don’t know how you did all that. I’m grateful that you did. And I know you had some help from someone Greater.
Both of you have been working on me for a while.
There were many days throughout this three-year journey where anger would take over and I would just become enraged.
And you always calmed me down, always made sure I knew that time, IT, or even death could not begin to erase the memories we’ve shared, the beautiful life we’ve lived.

I’m trying to figure out exactly who I am; without you, without us, without taking care of you, without spending all of my time fretting over your monthly, weekly, daily changes.
I thank you, so much, for your part in molding me into the person I am at this exact moment.
I could not have been so strong without borrowing some of your strength, and I thank you for lending it to me.

While I miss your footsteps, I thank God for your footprints.

xoxo,
Skye

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Skye, December 10th 2010 | Posted in Chad, Chatter

Happy 7th Birthday, Carys!

My dear sweet Carys,
I put you to bed last night, turned on your nightlight and whispered “I love you…”
We both finished the sentence in sync: “as high as the sky, as deep as the ocean.”

I can’t believe it’s been seven years since your tiny body was given to me; swaddled in a hospital blanket, crying, cooing.
I was awestruck.
And so very thankful.

Each year on the night before your birthday, you ask me to tell you the story of the day you were born.
And each year, I can clearly recall your newborn smell and the way your Daddy & I laughed at your first meek cry.
There is nothing meek or mild about you; and we always thought that your first cry was so full of uncertainty.
You, my child, are anything but uncertain.
There is a great plan for you when the time is right; and only God knows what this is.
You are so very, very special.

What a year you’ve had, sweetheart.
A year filled with laughter, tears, fun, heartache, gratitude and pain.
You’ve experienced so much in your little life, and this past year was definitely one you’ll always remember.

You’ve, unfortunately, learned what it feels like to lose someone you love so dearly, to open your heart and mind to new experiences and to move forward in this great big world of ours.

I admire your humor, your sympathetic heart and your unbridled energy.
You exhaust me most days, but the perpetual bags under my eyes are worth the journey we take each day.

I adore the way you look at things; the way your mind works to figure something out.
You may not always get it ‘right’, but you don’t stop until you think you’ve found an answer.

I love the way the sun dots your face with freckles and your hair gets white streaks in the Summer.
My water girl, you are. Summer is definitely your favorite.

I love the way you try to hula hoop – jerking your body in a hilarious circle as the hoop falls to the ground.
You keep dancing, though. You always keep dancing.

I love the way your little hand writes your name and mine, the cards and letters you make for no special reason.

I love the way you love; with everything you’ve got.
You wear your heart on your sleeve (sometimes literally if I don’t hide the Sharpie markers fast enough).

When I look at your sweet face, I see so much promise in your bright blue eyes – so much hope for all things good.
You are an old soul in a young body. I’ve always felt this way about you. This past year has only confirmed it.

You truly care about other people and how they feel; when they are sad, you are sad.
When they are happy, you are happy.
When they need comfort, you give it to them.

You are going into the New Year as a seven-year-old; bright, sweet, loving and full of determination.
I am so very proud of you and I am thankful, every day, for the privilege of being your mother.

xoxo
Mommy


Chad finished a birthday card for Carys in July.
He knew he might not be here to celebrate with her, but felt it was important to let Carys know how much he wished he could be.
His handwriting doesn’t even look like his normal penmanship, and his grammar isn’t as perfect as it normally was.
But he wrote it.
And he loves you so much, CareBear.

chads card to carys

Carys,
Hope you have a fun
birthday. love you
very much. I hope
I am their to celebrate
with you. I love you
more than you can imagine.
Love
Daddy

Comments

Skye, December 8th 2010 | Posted in Chad, Chatter, the girls

cleaning house

Dear Chad,
Today I decided I had the emotional stamina to clean our bedroom.
There were piles of boxes and bags I brought home from Hospice the day you passed away, along with items I used for the memorial service.
They have been sitting there, untouched, since the day I placed them there.

I was doing okay. Deciding what to keep and where to store all the things that reminded me of you.
And when I came across your neck pillow, the one we used to help you hold your head up when you couldn’t do it yourself, I dissolved into a puddle on the floor.
It wasn’t the pillow, really.
It was your smell.
It filled the room when I pulled it out of the box.

I think I sat there for a good fifteen minutes, crying and sniffing the pillow.
I hate to say it, but I have almost forgotten what you smelled like.
It was a nice little reminder I was given – even though it shocked & delighted me at the same time.

The girls asked me what I was doing, as the cleaning project took a good part of my afternoon.
I showed them the pillow and told them it smelled like you – and they both wanted to take a whiff, too.
We all just sat there, Indian-style, on the bedroom floor and took turns passing the pillow around.
Then I put it in a ziploc bag and stored it in the top of the closet.

I put a lot of stuff in the top if the closet; clothes, shoes, hats – more things than I thought I would want to keep.
I went through your toiletries from Hospice and had to throw most of it away.
After all, I don’t think I’ll want to use man-scented bodywash or shampoo.
I did save a small bottle though, because it reminded me of the way you smelled right after a shower, which was one of my favorite things.

I took some links out of your watch – the one I saved money for six months to buy you for Christmas the first year we were engaged, 2000.
I plan to wear it. You would have wanted someone to wear it – not to collect dust in a box on top of the closet.

There is an ornament on the tree that refuses to stay put.
It keeps falling, even when no one is in the room.
I hear a loud thud at least once a day – and it’s always the same one, no matter where I move it.
Your favorite pewter NC State Alumni ornament.

I almost didn’t put the alumni collection on the tree this year; but I did.
And I’m thankful to pick it up each time it falls.

I went to church this morning.
I hadn’t been in over five months because I was always with you.
I wasn’t sure, before now, that I was able to handle it – emotionally.
But it was good. I was good. I had a pack of tissues just in case – and I was shocked that I never had to reach for one.
We sang my favorite songs and so many people seemed genuinely happy to see our family, even though they expressed how sorry they were that you were gone.
It was good to go.
I have missed it.

Cailyn has had a  hard day today.
She woke up in a funky mood, which you know is quite normal for her.
Not a morning person, much like me.
I was getting her dressed for church and needed to unravel the tangles in her hair.
The best brush for doing that is yours.
She saw it and fell to pieces.
And she cried for a good part of the morning, telling me how much she missed you and wished you were here with us.
She has been very clingy today, which I understand.

All I can do is hold her, tell her how much I love her, express how much I miss you too and promise her that she will see you again one day.
I don’t know how much that helps. But it’s the only thing I can physically do to mend her little broken heart.

Carys had a great day; we talked about you a few times.
She is so excited about her birthday coming and told me that she knew it would be great day because you’ll be here for her party as an angel.

We made chocolate chip cookies last night and she insisted that we set one aside for you.
So, we did.

Now that the phone calls, cards and emails are slowing down, it’s getting more difficult to pass my time.
I find myself doing anything and everything, just to stay busy and keep my mind focused on moving forward.
I knew it would be this way; that the newness of your death would lessen a bit eventually and things would be quiet.
I don’t necessarily mind the quiet. But it gives me too much time to think.
Especially about the future.
And the past.
And the present.

I do my best to put on a happy face and smile through all of this.
After all, I do still have so much to be thankful for.

This morning at church, the pastor said something that really hit home to me. Personally.
He was talking about how much sadness and heartache can come to us; to ‘good’ people.
And how some people can’t grasp that – how can such a loving God allow his children to face such pain?
Just imagine what it would be like if we didn’t believe, if we didn’t have hope in something Greater – how much pain there would be! For everyone. Everywhere.
We all have to go through trials, and I’m sure that losing you is my greatest.
But how much harder would this be for me, for our girls, if we didn’t honestly believe that you are in a better place and that we will see you again?
How much more difficult would this be if I didn’t have God’s grace to carry me?
I can’t imagine.

I sent out some Christmas cards this week – and it took me a while to find the right scripture to use.
When I stumbled across this one, it felt right.
I think you would like it, too.

May the God of hope fill you
with all  joy and peace in
believing, so that by the power
of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.
– Romans 15:13

Comments

Skye, December 5th 2010 | Posted in Chad, Chatter, the girls

three

Dear Chad,
You were just shy of your three year diagnosis anniversary.
You were given three months to live back in June.
It’s been three weeks since you left this place for somewhere better.
Wednesday is the third day of the work week – the day you left.

I just don’t think I like the number three.
And I really don’t like Wednesdays anymore either.

I had a few moments today when the grief hit me out of the blue.
Something simple – a song on the radio, seeing cookies in the cookie jar, reading an email someone sent me about you, haphazardly  seeing pictures of you when I was looking for something else. Pictures from a long time ago; when IT hadn’t entered our lives. We weren’t even married yet.
And there were some pictures from this Summer – with the girls and I. You looked so healthy in July. I just don’t understand how you could be gone when you look so good just months ago.

Yet, I do understand.
I know the brain cancer is a quick and quiet disease.
It steals things, little by little, until there is nothing little left to take.
Then it moves to the larger things; memories, motor functions, the ability to speak coherently.

But IT didn’t take away the way you looked at me from across the room, even when you couldn’t speak my name.
IT didn’t take away your prepared nature; you handled everything you knew you should – and then relinquished it all to me when you knew you weren’t able to do so any longer.
IT didn’t take away the grasp with which you hugged, kissed and caressed our daughters.
IT didn’t take away your humor and wit, even though IT slowed you down a little.
IT was unable to destroy your Faith or Hope in something bigger, something better for yourself.
IT was not allowed to take away our memories, even when I had to help you remember our life together.

We put up the Christmas tree.
I took a few days to decorate it.
And I’m not messing with any other decorations this year.
Just don’t feel like it.
I went shopping yesterday, trying to figure out what to buy for people.
Not really interested in shopping (if you can believe that, I know…)
I wasn’t going to do Christmas cards this year. Didn’t seem right.
But I did them anyway.
It stung when I typed our names on the bottom.
I automatically typed yours too – then realized it’s just the three of us this year.
There’s that dreaded number three again….

rings

The girls are handling your absence pretty well, all things considered.
And truth be told, I think it was harder on us when you moved to Hospice.
We all cried a lot then; and we cry now too – but it’s not quite the same as when you left the house in mid-August.
I think we all knew that was the beginning of the end; and it gave us an opportunity to grieve losing you without you actually being gone yet.

Carys’ birthday is next week. Seven years old.
I plan to give her the card you wrote for her – she will treasure it, I know.
I read it last week and I know you tried so hard to come up with something to say – and to spell correctly.
She will probably sleep with it under her pillow.

It doesn’t seem like a year has passed since you held her hand while she got her ears pierced for her sixth birthday.
She wants a pair of dangling earrings this year. She’s growing so fast, Chad.
And you would be so proud of her – even though I know you were – I think you would be amazed at her strength over the last three weeks.

I gave her a puppy for her birthday, a little early – sorry. I know you would have jokingly threatened to divorce me if I brought in any more animals.

Oh.
We got a kitten too — just mentioning it for full disclosure.

Today, I saw a bright blue sky with huge fluffy white clouds – the sun streaming through in patches to kiss the ground with warmth.
And I hoped you were seeing that beauty from the other side; it was blindingly beautiful. It reminded me of you and how much you loved to be outside with nature. I can just vision you raking leaves outside, humming along and making piles for the kids to jump into.

We miss you.
I miss you.
Even Lucy the wonder dog misses you.
I was wearing your jacket last night when I let her outside – she was smelling your scent and going absolutely insane.
I did finally teach her to sleep on her bed — and NOT in our bed. Sorry I didn’t do it sooner. You were right. I do sleep better without a 14-pound pup leaping on my kidneys in the middle of the night.

I hope you’re enjoying your time running laps and laughing hysterically and eating and seeing everyone we love who’s with you.
I can’t imagine what that is like; to be free and perfect and calm and whole.
No crying. No sadness. No pain.
I just can’t even imagine.

Even though I miss you fiercely, I am glad you are whole again.
Even though I am not, I am joyful that you are.

xoxo,

Skye

IMG_5982

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Skye, December 1st 2010 | Posted in Chad, Chatter, photography, the girls

Don’t wanna

Tomorrow, we have to leave the little piece of Heaven we’ve called home for a week.
And we don’t wanna.
Of course we’re ready to see our furry critters and sleep in our own beds.
But I’m not looking forward to doing normal things, like grocery shopping, paying bills or the school-and-homework shuffle.

All good things come to an end, I suppose.

We did have a fantastic day today.
Started with a late breakfast.
Went to the waterpark for a couple of hours.
Sailed away on a three hour cruise to snorkel (Both girls tried it. Both girls freaked out! Then Carys tried again for a few minutes.), see Iguana Island, find sea shells and see the beautiful natural areas of the island.
Ended with a beach party at the far end of the resort, sent some of Chad’s ashes to sea, and spent a little time in the hot tub before a much-needed shower.
Right now, the girls are watching television and getting ready for bed.
I’m putting off the start of my packing chores.

The next time I update, we will be on US soil…and probably very tired.
We’ve rested well during this trip, but I’m sure the lack of sleep will catch up with us when we leave the salty air and sunshine behind.

Here are a few pictures from today – enjoy!

TURKS CAICOS 144TURKS CAICOS 072TURKS CAICOS 097TURKS CAICOS 135TURKS CAICOS 074TURKS CAICOS 085TURKS CAICOS 002TURKS CAICOS 138TURKS CAICOS 146TURKS CAICOS 047

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Skye, November 26th 2010 | Posted in Chad, Chatter, photography, the girls

Happy Thanksgiving!

I hope you all had a peaceful day with family and friends, gathered around laughing and sharing memories. And making some new ones, too.
The girls and I had a traditional Thanksgiving Feast, complete with reggae playing in the background.
We left the table setting for four people tonight and shared what we were each thankful for in our lives.
We talked about Chad and how much we missed him being with us on Thanksgiving.
We shared our heartaches with each other and promised that it was okay for each of us to be sad and happy at the same time.

We had a busy, busy day.
The girls had breakfast with all the characters from Sesame Street. Cailyn was way more excited about it than Carys was.
She was very sad to see Cookie Monster, since that was Chad’s nickname around our house.
There are still cookies in our cookie jar from early August. I can’t throw them out just yet.
Cailyn got to lead the Conga line with Abby Cadabby and I’ve never seen her smile so much.
Carys finally warmed up to Elmo — who doesn’t love Elmo!?!

We played all day at the waterpark and pool and then made our way to the beach for a photoshoot before dinner.
After we dined on turkey and all the delicious food, we walked around for a while and chatted.
Sweet, sweet girls.
Who are, surprisingly, getting along (and not driving me crazy). For the most part…

While they were napping today, I took some photos right outside our room of the flowers & such.
I brought Chad’s wedding ring with me, and I took a few pictures of that as well.
It was a good day, with a few tears. But it was still good.
I kept telling myself that Chad wouldn’t want us to be so melancholy in a place as beautiful as this.
And I chose this island specifically because I think it’s as close to Heaven as we can possibly be.

Anyway — here are pictures from the last twenty-four hours.  (You can click to make them larger in a new window….)
Enjoy.
Happy Thanksgiving.
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Skye, November 26th 2010 | Posted in Chad, Chatter, photography, the girls

Two Weeks

And the way it should have been…

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We’ve been talking about Chad a lot during our trip.
The girls are asking very open and honest questions – and I am being as open, honest and age-appropriate as I can be.
Some questions I’ve anticipated.
Some I have not…and those really throw me for a loop.
All part of the process, I know.
They are such strong little souls and I am extremely proud of them; they are handling all of this so well.

We’re getting lots of sun, snuggles and laughter.
And a whole lot of time to reconnect with each other and figure out where to go from here.
We’re getting a game plan together, so to speak.
And I couldn’t ask for more, at this particular moment.

It has been extremely difficult to roam around here, seeing families with a mom and a dad.
The girls are taking it in stride though, talking about how much Daddy would have liked it here, and what his favorite thing to do would be. And I always tell them little stories from our honeymoon close to this place; how much fun we had and what his favorite things to do were. They really like that – hearing stories about Chad.

When we go to dinner/breakfast/lunch every day, the hostess always assumes we need a table for four people. I hate correcting them; but no – it’s just the three of us. One of my girls will usually say something about Chad being in Heaven…but many of the natives here don’t understand our Southern sweetness accents, so I just smile and nod my head. Just three, please.

Today marks two weeks since Chad left us.
It doesn’t seem fair that life goes on.

It’s not that it hurts any less or that we miss him any less.
We just have to keep on living.
Nothing else in this world stopped the moment his life did; and I so wished that it would.

Just stop.
To give me time to think.
To cry.
To sleep.
To breathe.
To mourn.
To hug these little girls so tight.
To figure out what to do next.

But nothing stopped.
It just kept going.

And as unfair as it is that he’s not here to share this phenomenal vacation with the three of us, I know he is here.
He would want to be here, if he could be.
He’s watching over us; keeping us safe; dotting the sky with beautiful stars for us at night.

It’s not necessarily enough at times, but it will do.

We miss him so very much.

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Skye, November 24th 2010 | Posted in Chad, Chatter, the girls

Tuesday 11.23.2010

Just some pictures. Enjoy.

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Skye, November 23rd 2010 | Posted in Chad, Chatter, the girls
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