Chasing My Blessings

Your death left a permanent hole inside of us and the ache we feel serves as a constant reminder of all the love we shared and the joy you brought to our lives. Our three boys are pieces of you and I am so grateful to have them every day.   One got your bright smile and amiable nature. He got your love and curiosity for all things electronic, and patience with me when I don't understand how they work.  One got your laugh and your creativity. In your likeness, he never hesitates to show his love for me and others he holds close to his heart.  And that last one... well in addition to your sparkling blue eyes he got your speed and tenacity. Never one to be still, and a love for math he is you through and through.  And they all got your loving spirit.  I still find it inconceivable that you were taken from us and I am doing my best to accept the unknown. We will always be grateful for the day you were brought into this world and we will continue to celebrate yo...

 6 years.  Time flies? No, time is a thief.  Summer is almost over now and the kids will be heading back to school soon. I woke up the one morning in June in tears, which always a fun way to wake up, from a vision I had of standing over your casket. Ok so it was really a box. I didn't spring for the high dollar casket beautifully handcrafted of the finest wood, only to then be incinerated a few weeks later. I mean come on. I may have been completely mired in my grief, barely knowing my own name at times, but I still had the ability to make sound economic decisions. During this dream I was begging you not to be dead and reminding you that we had promised to do this TOGETHER. I had not signed up for the utter bullshit that is widowed/single parenting. I battled a bulging disc in my neck for most of May and all of June that caused me to have horrific nerve pain 24/7. It's as if the universe was saying, "You know, June isn't quite hard enough for her. Let's go ahead an...

 Dear Bill,  I miss you.  This does not get easier. No amount of joy could ever take away the pain of losing you. I get better at managing it as time goes on, but it is still really hard.  Today is Blake's birthday. You became a father 15 years ago and you crushed fatherhood in every way possible for those short nine years. I know being a dad was one of your greatest joys in life and I am so sorry that was taken from you so soon. Along with everything else. I am doing what I can for the boys and sometimes I feel like it just isn't enough. A long time ago I resigned to the fact that I cannot be you.  They are all growing up so much and you would be so proud of them.  Blake is on the edge of manhood and it is shocking. He is taking driver's ed right now, which terrifies me. It will take nearly everything I have not to wrap him in bubble wrap from head to toe once he actually starts driving. I measured him today and he is almost 4 inches taller than me and has...

 Dear Bill,  It has been five years. Five years that feels like a lifetime.  They say at some point we will think of our loved ones who have died and smile instead of cry. I am not there yet. Every photo, every video, and so many memories tug at my heartstrings and I cannot help but to well up with tears and wish that I could wrap my arms around you.  I miss you. This is so hard. I feel like I should be getting my five year pin or something. Although, let's be real here, a pin would be a completely inadequate token for what I have been through. Maybe an all expenses paid trip to the greek isles? That seems more appropriate.  I am still haunted by the memory of three-year-old Owen asking repeatedly, "Where's my daddy? Is daddy at work? When is daddy coming home?" This went on for several weeks. How do you explain death to a three-year-old? What a mind-fuck that must have been for him. It was for all of us really, and still is in many ways. The actuality of your d...

Dear Bill, I have a confession.  I threw a glass across the living room the other day and watched it shatter into a million pieces.  I have been waiting four and a half years to do that.  Then I proceeded to clean it up, alone and full of emotion. A metaphor of sorts.  I'm not proud of this and we can just go ahead and add this to all the other things I have doubted myself on these last four and a half years. Widowed parenting is a cruel thing. I am trying really hard to hold it all together. Trying to be too many things to so many people. And I am breaking. There is little relief from the daily grind, with the isolation and stay at home orders this pandemic has forced us into. So many people are sick, way too many have died, and don't even get me started on the recent election. Also, it's the holidays and your birthday is coming up.  All the kids are home, doing on-line school, full time.  Yeah. Facilitating second grade on-line learning to our 8-year-old,...

Dear Bill, Today is my 40th birthday. It is hard to believe you aren't here. Next week will mark 4 years since your death. I can hardly believe it. I will never get used to you being gone. I will never fully get over the shock of it all. We miss you like crazy. You are a part of our regular conversation and are always in our thoughts. There are days when my longing for you makes me want to crawl out of my own skin. I can hardly stand it. I miss us. I miss our old life. I miss making memories and creating a family with you. And I love this new life. The last four years have aged me much more than I would have liked, and at the same time they have given me some pretty amazing blessings. While my anxiety is crippling at times, I am still able to look around and appreciate all that we have been given. I feel so much love for Dave and all these kids and I am so grateful for that every day. I have accepted that I will live the rest of my life in a permanent state of duality.  Dav...