Acceptance and realization

I've been pretty distant and isolated the last two weeks. I've worried many friends, but I just felt the need to distance myself from everyone. I hit this point where reality hit me. Like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs and landing flat on my butt. This is real. This is my life. He is NOT coming back. Coming up on ten months now, you would think it was obvious, but I realized I have sat here and gone through the daily motions of life, not truly living, but waiting on my Life to return. He isn't going to. And no matter how much I punish myself and keep myself from being happy, it will not change a thing. This is what happened. My best friend, father to my children, love,  light of my life, soulmate....DIED. It's taken me nearly ten months to say that, much less type it.

With that realization came some very deep need to soul search, and I couldn't do that with any outside influences. I didn't need anyone to tell me I'm strong, what I should do, how I should feel or where I should go from here. It has to come from me, on my terms, in my time. I realized I have refused to allow myself to truly feel happy, and when I have felt moments of happiness I felt guilty. Guilty that I could possibly smile without him, that I could feel joy with him being gone, that I could ever feel happiness with him not in my life. As if it would mean I never loved him, had forgotten about him, or don't still love him. Grief is irrational. I know all without a doubt that he knew how much I loved him; and I know how much I love him still. But I've had this overwhelming desire to prove to the world that he was, and is, my heart. And why? Why do I care what anyone else thinks? Why do I concern myself with what anyone else believes? So I had to distance myself. To get away from everyone but myself. And I realized...Buddy wants me to be happy. One month before he died, we spoke of the unthinkable. We assumed we were discussing the much later future, something that would never really happen so soon. But I know I have his blessing in whatever I choose with this new life I didn't choose...as long as it honors God, our children and makes me happy.

Acceptance, that what has happened, did in fact happen, and while I didn't choose it, I do have choices in how I handle it now. I can choose to continue to punish myself and make myself miserable, or I can choose to live. I've come to this point that I realize I do not like where I am in life. I do not like how I feel, how bitter and angry I have become or how miserable I continue to be. Labor Day afternoon it dawned on me...make a choice...I can't live like this anymore. I had nothing good, uplifting or positive I could say, so I disconnected. I cried. I screamed. I cussed. I blamed God. I actually prayed that God take me from this world and take my pain away. How do I live in a world without happiness, love, peace, my best friend? How?!? I honestly didn't want to. I clung to my pillows that night, crying, and prayed until I fell asleep.

I had the most amazing dream, probably of my entire life. I layed in Buddy's arms. I could feel my head on his shoulder. The way his chest felt with my hand laying across him. I could smell him and feel him as if he were really there. Whether I conjured him up in my subconscious mind, he visited me, a blessing from God...call it whatever you want and make it whatever makes you feel comfortable. All I know is that I woke up with a sense of peace and comfort that I haven't felt since I woke up and found him laying in bed, having left me, without saying goodbye. I won't say it doesn't still hurt. Even typing this, the pain that explodes from my chest and the tears that fall from my eyes are almost unbearable. However, I had two choices: Join him and stop this madness and stop punishing everyone around me, including myself. Or, live! When I woke up, for the first time, I had this sense of urgency to get busy living! And so I began....

It will take time. It will take a lot of hard times and more inner battles I'm sure. But I know what needs to be done now, and I'm ready to tackle it all head on. I sat down and wrote out my priorities and things that need to happen. It's time I stop pushing people away and get myself back to the world of the living. This house is mine and it's time I start making it feel like mine. This bedroom is mine, alone, and it needs to be my sanctuary. Keeping things of his all over my house, that cause me pain, are not healthy. Refusing to change things or buying things that he would like, are not healthy. This is my life and I cannot keep myself in a state of grief to prove my love. I know what I feel and what I want, to hell with anyone who disagrees or thinks it's wrong! I've been making decisions and facing things I've been avoiding and it's empowering!

The fact is, for nearly 10 months I HAVE been doing everything he would have done. Maybe I can't remodel the house or work on the cars or do things as quickly as he would be able, but I'm getting it done. So many curve balls have been thrown at me, hardships have occurred and unexpected things have popped up and yes it's overwhelmed me at times but I've done it! I realized that while it may not have been how I wanted things to happen, I've handled it all and so far so good! Single handedly I have kept everything paid, the kids well taken care of, made financial decisions that have paid off, done home repairs myself, had major car work done, bought new appliances, and so much more. I hate people telling me how strong I am because I haven't felt strong. I realized though....yes, I am strong!! I'm not just surviving the worst nightmare of my life, I'm thriving! Do I want Buddy back? Every second! Do I miss him? Like crazy! Can I do this alone? Yes! Would he be proud of me? Absolutely!! And THAT is what keeps me going!

The only reason I have not felt strong or given myself any credit is because I'm miserable and haven't allowed myself to feel anything but pain. I've allowed grief to swallow me and convince me that I can never be happy again. But here I am. I am still alive and I want my life back! I can't have my old life back. I can't even have the old me back. Pain of this magnitude changes you. And I'm thankful for that. I can't be shallow or superficial or blissfully unaware anymore. My husband changed who I was as a person and made me believe in love, laughter and life. Losing him cannot take that away. He would not want me to give up and stop smiling because of him. He always told me that the only thing he wanted to do in his life was make me happy and see me smile. Everything he did, he did for me and our kids. He'd say constantly "I wanna leave you guys with something to be proud of." He was always talking about the home we bought and renovated and plans we had for the future. But he succeeded...he left us with much to be proud of! For fifteen years I was blessed to be loved unconditionally by a man that taught me how precious I am and how deserving I am of happiness and love. Making a shrine to him in our home and refusing to move forward is not loving him. Choosing to live each day and treasure the life I am blessed with and moving forward to make a new life where the kids and I will be happy....THAT is loving him! THAT is honoring him.

What tomorrow brings, I have no idea. But I cannot look to the future with fear anymore. Whatever comes, I know I will allow God to guide me and have Buddy tucked safely in my heart and welcome whatever comes our way. I will forever be changed because of the man he was, the love he gave and the memories he left behind. I know every day that I can find a reason to smile will make him proud. I'm ready to start my new life, forever grateful for the man that taught me to love, laugh and live thanking God.

God, I don't know Your plan for me, but I pray You use me. Use our story and our lives as testaments to Your unfaltering grace, love and work. Allow us to be beacons of Your light and shine proudly in Your image. Allow us to find peace in Your work and rejoice that Buddy is with You, and not let us be consumed by our selfish desires. I know my Love is happy in Your kingdom...may I find happiness in this world without him...guide my steps to finish the work ahead of me, to Your glory, as a faithful servant, honoring Your Holy Name. Amen


Acceptance has been a hard pill to swallow. Realizations have been painful. But I feel a come back brewing...there is nothing that can stop me but myself....and my story isn't over yet!!!

Man Hungry Widows eh?

In the first few days I had a few wise people warn me to 1. Know that some people would say some really stupid things. That I should remember that they don't know what to say and are saying what they think will help and are saying it out of love. 2. That I would find out who my real friends are. Some will stick around for the long haul and some will disappear.

What no one ever warned me about though, is how all of a sudden, becoming a widow would apparently mean that I would become a man crazy woman, looking to steal everyone's boyfriends and husbands...at least in some's insecure psychotic thoughts.

As if it isn't bad enough that while the drama is unfolding and the tragedy is building everyone swarms to your side and dotes and loves and swears they will do anything, always be here and just call anytime, only to abandon you after the funeral is over, now it seems my own personal character and morals I have always loved by, are questioned or doubted. The people who slowly made their exit and went back to life and left me in their dust made me feel more lonely. But nothing has hurt me more than those who now act like I am some threat to their own relationship or marriage.

NEWS FLASH PEOPLE....my husband died....and everything about me died right along with him! It's not like you're happily married, head over heels in love, expecting your fifth child, planning your future and wake up to find him dead, your world shattered and your life turned upside down and you all of a sudden think "heeeyy, I think I'll go steal someone's man now!" In fact, let me say that the least of ANY woman's worries, comes from a widow. I valued the sanctity of marriage before my husband passed, and what death has taught me is how it is far more valuable than even I ever realized before. All of a sudden I've become the person trying to help everyone to cherish and love their spouse like never before. To honor, support, love unconditionally and treasure their partner. I haven't become some man hungry whore who's looking to snag a man! If we were friends and you trusted me around your husband before, why on earth would you question me now?!?

Perhaps because you've never walked a day in my new life. Maybe because we were never truly friends before. Obviously you don't know me at all. So allow me to enlighten anyone who wonders...
The love I had for my husband did not die. If anything, it has only grown. Multiplied by the time we had, the memories we've shared and the distance between us. He may not be here, and the law may say I am no longer married; my heart says otherwise. Only my husband has lived in my heart for nearly 15 years and I can't imagine another will ever take space in the heart that has become cold and distant. I don't miss a man....I miss MY MAN!

I can't even think about dating a man without feeling like I would be being unfaithful and cheating on my Love. I know sex has become comparable to eating dinner with someone in our works today, but it hasn't to me. I can't fathom dating, much less allowing someone else to touch me who is not my husband! And should I ever find a way to deal with the guilt and put my self out there...I can promise you is want someone who was mine alone. I've always thought if you could steal a man from his wife he's not worth having because he can be stolen again.

I've even had someone remark that "you look amazing! You've lost so much weight...look out men!" I hate when people comment on my weight loss. Yes I did start working out some. Yes I have changed how I eat. No, I am not trying to lose weight and find me a new man. I lost weight because food has no appeal. Depression has caused me to lose weight...don't congratulate me.

I forced myself to eat because I was pregnant and had four kids to care for who need me. I used to snack and enjoy food. I loved nothing more than to relax and watch a movie and snack. Food has no pleasure anymore. It is simply fuel for my body and what I must consume to function. Most days I rarely remember to eat until I am starving. Grief is all consuming, not to mention raising five kids, solo.

I didn't start working out to lose weight. It's become an outlet, a focus and a way to unwind. When I feel the panic and pain of grief I walk, do push-ups, pop in a workout DVD or do sit ups. It takes my mind off of everything else. Excersize is a great antidepressant as well. Not to mention, my personal health has suffered since I lost my husband. Excersize is also my way to try and get healthy to make sure I will be here for my children. I'm all they have left.

My focus is getting up every day and doing what ever I have to so to take care of my children, myself and our home.  I'm a widow. I'm not a man hungry heathen. Lay your insecurities aside...I'm not your issue.

Time...

Time is such a peculiar thing. I used to always think that time flew when you were having fun. Hectic, stressful and boring days seemed to drag on forever. I never considered the impact of time during these days. If time flew by before, it's seemed to have sped up even more now.

I remember being younger and couldn't wait to be all grown up so I could do whatever I wanted. I thought there was some magical element to being an adult and that I could make my life and my future whatever I wanted. And to some degree you can. Time went so slowly. I counted down the days to each event that was important to the younger me...end of the school day, my birthday, Christmas, summer break, etc. I've done much the same in my adult life. Counting down to my favorite days. Time goes much faster when you're older. I believe that! In the blink of an eye, 15 of the best years of my life have gone by in a flash. I wish I hadn't counted down so much, because truly it was all the insignificant days in between the big events that were the most precious.

As I sit here I'm trying to wrap my mind around the fact that it has been 287 days, 41 weeks, since I last heard his voice, saw his smile, kissed his lips, heard his heart beat or felt secure and happy. I somehow forget that time keeps passing. I find myself talking and comment that something just happened X amount of time ago, counting like it's still November 2013. Then I have to remeber that 9 months has passed and add that to it. I wonder how you "forget" that time kept moving. But I realize because for me, time stopped that day. My life has become a filing cabinet of Before Buddy, With Buddy and After Buddy. Some days it feels as though it was a lifetime ago, that passed too quickly, and was just a wonderful dream. I wish to go back to sleep and dream it again. It feels almost as if that time didn't even happen and I think back on meeting him, getting engaged, our wedding, the births of our children, happy times and I always think "how did I not know that would be the last, the only and would I do it again?" The answer of course is yes. I would do it all over again in a heart beat!

Where has the time gone since? Before, it seemed a long time from one year to the next. After, time is fleeting and I feel as though it's passing me by. Maybe because I live in a fog. So consumed by missing, longing and frantic searching that I am wishing it away. In the days after, I couldn't imagine time continuing and being where I am now. Yet here I am. And other than a few big events, I have no memory of this last 9 months.

Halloween was a time I always looked forward to. WE always looked forward to! Not only did we enjoy the actual day itself, but starting in the month of October, it signified so much to us. It was the start of cool weather, our anniversary (a treasured day!), activities and traditions of holidays with the kids, hunting season for Buddy and from October to January we lived it up and had a blast! Every weekend was filled with activities and family time. As I was shopping yesterday I noticed Halloween stuff being put out already. It hit me like a ton of bricks! I can't think of Fall, pumpkins and holidays without thinking about the day we married and all the years of these 4 special months we've celebrated since. Halloween was the last happy holiday we had. And for the first time, I didn't feel like just 9 months has passed. It hit me that Buddy has now been gone almost a full year! How did that happen? Where has the time gone? In some ways I'm thankful it seems to be passing so quickly. But it also saddens me deeply because I'm reminded that there are still reasons to cherish the time here. I have five kids who I am blessed with time to watch them grow and see them smile. Yet I am in such constant stuggle with just trying to stay above water, that unintentionally, life is passing me by.

My head tells me I have to find a way to pick up and start living again. To start enjoying life and stop counting the day until I can be with him again. While I'm counting the days to leave this world, I'm wasting a blessing of time IN this world. My heart tells me another story...how do you truly feel happy and love again, when your heart is shattered in a million pieces and everything reminds you that you don't FEEL alive? I'm trying to be his wife when he's not here, and struggling to be a good mom to the ones who ARE here. I told myself I would take one year and allow myself to do whatever got me through. Here we are. In three months it will be one year, and I am no closer to living as I was the day I died with him. I have work to do. I owe it to my children. I even owe it to myself! I'm realizing that my guilt of having time he doesn't have is stopping me from enjoying my life. I'm trying to come to terms with his life being complete. It's not over, it's complete. He finished his mission, met his goal and left us all with such love and memories. It doesn't feel like enough though.  I want more. But I'm finding that reliving the old is keeping me from making new. My time is not over. I have work to do and memories to leave of my own. I just don't know where to start....

9 months

August 15, 2014

Today is Friday. A day I loathe. Each Friday means another week has passed without him by my side. Today is also the 15th, which marks another month without him. I never considered the impact it would have on me to have these two days join forces and knock me on my butt the way they have. I couldn't sleep all night and just kept thinking of our last week. How I wish I could go back and change the hands of time. This isn't how it was supposed to be. In just 9 months, so much has changed. Would he even know me anymore? The girl who wore her heart on her sleeve and prided herself on caring for her family, making our house a home and giving my all to everyone else...she's not here anymore. I always knew he was so much a part of me and that who I was, was also based on US. But I always tried to keep myself defined and thought I was an Independant, unique person all my own as well as half of him. In the last nine months, my greatest stugfle has been "who am I now?"  I realize my independence was because he enabled me to be Independant. I alone was not independant, together, WE were Independant. Between the two of us, there was nothing that could stand in our way. No job too big. No task too overwhelming. We were an unstoppable force. Alone, I'm just me, floundering and running to try and keep up, yet always falling short. The weight of all life entails was not meant to be carried alone, and I feel it every single day. I've learned to reach out and just roll with the punches, but it's exhausting. I feel like I'm one person, doing the work of ten. I miss my better half. He would know what to do. He would know how to comfort me. He would pick up where I fall short and together, it always worked out. I'm not saying I'm the weakest link...I know I have my strengths as well. That's where we were unstoppable! Where he was weak, I was strong. Where I was weak, he was strong. The perfect duo. Complimenting each other and walking through this world together. Now I walk alone, and I hate it!

Before I go any further, yes I know I have my children. I adore my babies and no one has ever doubted that. On the same hand, I'm tired of people reminding me..."you have your kids to live for now", "at least you have kids to keep you busy",  "you have to be strong for them". The list could go on, and I'm more than aware of all of these things. I'm thankful every single day for these five miracles that are my children. With them, also comes a lot more grief though. They are a constant reminder of our love, our life, as well as what will never be again. Each day one of them, or all of them, have moments of success, milestones, firsts, special events and funny or cute things they do or say and I think "he should he here for this!" Every time my heart leaps with joy for them, it also breaks a little more. M just started high school this year. T started 4th grade. J started 1st grade. Daddy's boys, all growing up without him. Then there's C, our only daughter, Daddy's girl, changing and growing each and every day, without him. How can she be daddy's girl if daddy isn't here anymore? And A...how my heart breaks every time I look into his chubby little grins. He never even got a chance to meet his daddy. I show him pictures all the time and tell him "that's dada, he loved you so much and couldn't wait to meet you." I wonder each day, how his presence would affect who they are. So much of who children become is based on who they are around. The four who were around him picked up hobbies, little catch phrases, games they played with only him and so many other things, simply because he was with them, teaching them, raising them and sharing their lives. Without him, they will not be the same people they would have been with him, and I see this clearly. Each day that passes, they lose a little more of who they were with him here. They grow and change and I'm their sole influence. I cannot be him. I cannot replace him. I cannot do with them the things he would be doing. Children should not have to grow up without their Daddy. It's just that simple.

And yet, I have faith. I clung to my faith in the early weeks and months. That isn't as easy now. I have to make a conscious effort every single day to remind myself of God's plan. That He knows better than I. That He is in charge, not I. That while I don't understand it, sometimes get angry over it and always doubt it lately....He does. That is another obstacle that I struggle with. My faith, and sometimes what little remains. I've never been angry with God. Who am I to question Him? But I find myself doing that a lot now. How is this life better for my kids? How is it good for me to be so alone? How is it fair that my honey did so much for You, yet You couldn't give him more time? Then there are days that I'm reminded how my lack of faith and questions are self centered and I realize I grieve solely for myself and my kids, because I know without a doubt that Buddy is truly happy and at peace now. He is with his Master and my soul rejoices for him. He made it, and for that I rejoice, but for us, I mourn.

How do you become content or ever feel true happiness again, when it feels as though you're drowning? When everything you do reminds you of what you miss? Even simple daily tasks like shopping can bring me to tears...if he were here I'd buy him this, this was his favorite snack, etc. No longer is there anyone to share this life with. That's what I miss the most. It's not the big things everyone thinks about. It's the little things we overlook. Driving up to a house knowing he's waiting inside. Calling him on the phone just to tell him something one of the kids said. Sharing a laugh. Being able to vent my frustrations and him knowing just what to say to calm me down. Seeing him enjoy his favorite meal I prepared just for him. Sitting beside him and saying nothing at all, but just his mere presence being a comfort. His hugs that made me feel secure. His hand on my lower back just to say I'm here. Hearing "I love you" every single day, several times a day. Cuddling on the couch watching stupid movies. Laughing uncontrollably at things no one else would understand, much less find funny. Hidden love notes. Waking up to face the day, with him as my partner. Hearing "you're beautiful" when I feel everything but. I could go on for days and never get the point across about how much I miss this man. There isn't one thing I can name that I miss...it's every single moment we've shared and every single minute that we can't, all filled with his absence.

I've made it nine months. We've made it nine months. I used to always say "don't marry someone you want to spend the rest of your life with. Marry the one person you can't imagine spending it without." That's exactly what I did. I never really had a choice. From the moment we met, it was us. I could not imagine a world where he didn't exist. I never wanted a life that didn't include him, and yet here I am. I walk through life each day, without him, trying to figure out how to go on. I was blessed with 14 years. I don't know how to feel about life, how I once felt. I hope this isn't what my life will always look like. I hope I will feel real happiness again, and not this facade of being ok. I hope I learn to feel content again, happy with my life and who I am. I hope to learn who I am now. I hope God has a plan for me.

I hope.....

Taco socks eh??

To understand this, I guess you would just have to know us. Buddy and I spent much time playing pranks on each other, the kids and anyone else we graced with our antics. It was always done out of love...and much laughter! The kids favorite thing was placing plastic spiders in random places to watch Daddy dance! We can't even talk about Daddy without telling a spider story. Spiders were like cryptonite!

The best one was pulled off by Mykael and Tyler. They purchased this huge furry looking spider and placed it, ever so lovingly, on Buddy's side of the bed. When he pulled the covers back and saw that thing he screamed like a school girl and ran down the hall yelling. The kids and I never let him live that one down. 

My personal favorite though, was coming home one day from work to find him in the hallway with a loaded shot gun. No I'm not exaggerating. I wish I was. There was a spider, he called a tarantula, sitting on the base board. He was taking aim right as I opened the door and yelled "BUDDY! What in the...." He looked at me like a scolded child caught with his hands in the cookie jar and exclaimed "it jumps!!" I fussed and yelled.... "Are you kidding me? It's a SPIDER! Be normal and get a shoe! If I hadn't come home...what?...you know how many holes you'd have to fix? What if you hit a wire? Sometimes I wonder if you think at all!"...while throwing my bags down and coming into the hall way to unarm this lunatic. I grabbed the gun from his hands, still ranting and raving, shaking my head and looked at him. Obviously he saw nothing wrong with this and innocently said "well, KILL IT!!" I smacked it with my hand to knock it off the wall and he ran. I walked by him with the innocent, now dead, spider wondering how this man could be so tough and protective of his family and yet shake in his boots over a little spider. To hear his side of the story he'd tell you it was the biggest spider he's ever seen! In truth, it was the size of a dime. No joke! 

The pranks we've pulled could be on a show I'm sure. There have been some great ones! Baby powder in my blow dryer (I could have killed him myself over that), bottle rockets in a pot when he was sleeping, smoke bombs, ice water baths, you name it. The best one I did was loud popping explosives under the toilet seat. I set it up in the middle of the night and placed 3 just under the lid. Normally you would throw them and upon impact they sound like a gun going off. These aren't the kid poppers, these come with a warning! As soon as he woke up in the morning and got his coffee, I waited. He went in, and about 30 seconds later I heard the loudest boom and then lots of commotion and not so nice words streaming from the bathroom. I sat in the bed, covering my mouth with the comforter and pillows laughing so hard I was crying. I wondered for a second if I had gone too far, too early in the morning, this time. There was silence...uh oh. I imagined him red faced and mad as heck! He opened the door and just stood there looking at me, still trying to muffle my laughs, and he bust out laughing! "I'll get you back for that one!!" And we laughed so hard!! He sat on the bed and I kept laughing and said "it's ok. That was it. You can go back in there now. It's safe. I promise!!!" His reply sent me over the edge, "nah, I'm good. I was sitting in the right place that's for sure! Scared the crap outta me...you got me!" 

He kept his word too. He got me back. About 2 months later, when I'd finally let my guard down. When you know a person as well as you know yourself, it makes it so easy to prank them. While I was taking a shower, he loaded my blow dryer with baby powder. I didn't notice anything different at all. When I went to fix my hair I turned it on, pointed at the top of my head, and it snowed! More like a blizzard! My entire body from the shoulders up, and the entire bathroom, were covered in white. I got the last laugh on that one though cause as I got back in the shower, he got to clean the bathroom...or else! 

My final prank wasn't one I planned. But it was just meant to be. It worked out too perfectly, and brought me healing as well. Who knew our childish games would get me through some of my hardest days? Monday we met with the funeral director to make his final arrangements. I had to get his clothing to them that same day, so after we left, my sister and I had to get his clothes together to take back up to the funeral home. With me wanting to prepare him myself, it put them on a bit of a time restraint to get everything done in time. I knew what he would wear. The irony of everything was insane. Just a month before, Buddy and I actually say outside one morning, talking about these very events. Drinking our morning coffee, Caylee still asleep and the boys off to school, he looked at me so seriously and said "Now I'm not saying soon. Good Lord knows I wanna be here to raise my babies and take care of you. But if something happened to me....." It was out of no where. But after we lost Buddy's Daddy in Oct 2012, unexpectedly, death was a common topic of discussion at times. It showed him how short life can be, and he had concerns. I got mad at him because who wants to talk about someone they love so deeply not being here? Not me! He kept talking anyways, and I'm glad now he did. From that conversation I knew everything he wanted. I even know what he wants from me...but that's something I'll have to work out on my own. Leave it to Buddy to want to have a say in my life even when he's not here! (That's a whole different entry though) 

My sister and I ran by my house and grabbed his black dress pants and black pin striped Ralph Lauren dress shirt, just as he'd requested. He didn't pick out his own outfit specifically, but he did say what he wanted and this fit perfectly. I also had to take socks and underwear. Taking something like that, that he'd worn in life, just felt wrong. It felt too personal, almost violating. I decided I'd just buy new ones. 

Shopping for clothing for my husband is something I've done so many times. No hesitation and no more thought than would he like this. Shopping that day was torture to a whole new level. I remember walking around the store (now I don't remember if it was Kohl's or Target...odd) and seeing all the "normal" people going about their day, smiling, laughing, casually browsing the racks. I kept wanting to yell "how can you do this? Don't you know I'm dying?!?" I knew the world would keep turning, even though mine was falling apart, but that shopping trip changed how I view the world. I look at people with less judgement than before. We really don't know the path someone is walking. I'm sure no one noticed my tears. No one knew the internal struggles my mind was warring with. I was struggling with what to do. Do I buy a pack? Then what do I do with the remaining pairs. I only need ONE! I need ONE pair of socks and ONE pair of underwear because he won't need the others. I didn't want left over pairs of "death socks". I actually thought to myself, "why can't there just be one stupid pair of socks and one pair of underwear so I can just get this done?!?" Almost immediately I found a pair of bright turquoise underwear. I laughed because it was my favorite color and so NOT Buddy! Then I spotted a pair that had garden gnomes all over them. I actually had to think about those...it was tempting! I decided that was a bit much, but the turquoise ones I couldn't pass up. I thought for a second if I'd brought these to Buddy to wear he would have joked about being fancy or me trying to make him wear "girly drawers"...yes there's been a conversation about this. My sister and I had a lot of laughs over thinking about the gnome undies though...can you imagine the look on the directors face?? Priceless! Wasn't long after we stopped cracking jokes about Buddy haunting us both if I bought gnome underwear, that I spotted the best pair of socks I've ever seen!! Hanging by themselves, just meant for my last prank....a gray and bright red pair of socks that had tacos on them! Tacos were one of his most favorite foods. And I'd actually cooked him his favorite meal twice in the last week he was with us. As I was laughing about taco socks my phone rang. Our friend, and preacher at our former church, Mike, was calling to schedule a meeting with me and Paul to discuss their part in Buddy's service. I told him I was shopping for Buddy and we talked about how I was doing with that. I told him my thoughts...he laughed and said "oh Christina...you have to!!" My thinking was: 1. Hello...I can finally have the last word with this man! 2. It's tacos! It's crazy! It's out of the box. It's so Buddy! 3. And most importantly, it made me smile and laugh. It made me remember to find the humor and remember the good. My thinking was that maybe, just maybe, when the pain of seeing my Love laying in his casket, I would remember...he is wearing the tackiest taco socks ever, and it would make me laugh! 

I snatched those socks up, checked out and got out of that store as fast as I could. The socks did their job too. Not as much during the viewing and service, though I did think of them a few times and smile through the tears. My sister even came up to me once during the viewing, sneaking up to me somewhere between the one hundredth and second hundred hug and "how are you" and whispered in my ear, "taco socks". That was the best thing anyone said to me that entire night. Not that I didn't appreciate all the sentiments, well wishes, condolences and advice, but her words said "smile. I love you. I support you. I honor your way of grieving. Honor your way of living too." I've thought about those socks almost every day since though. They represent more to me now than I ever imagined. What was a way to get through 2 days has become a way to smile and remember those 2 days with a little Buddy styled humor, and not just the pain and sadness I felt. I know I honored him, how he lived and what we shared by choosing to find a way to laugh. 

And.....well, I win babe!!! You can think how you'll get me back when I see you again! But for now, I pulled the last prank...gotcha! xoxoxoxo 

Kept Promises of Love, Laughter and Life

Wednesday, Nov 19, 2013

Saturday, the 16th, was Allison's party, and we were supposed to go. A big birthday bash! The day after he passed. Allison and Paul's house has become like a second home. Every memory of just about any get together includes them. Buddy was busy all week and reminded me several times, "you gotta cut my hair before we go!" To be such a country boy (I'm trying hard to not call him a redneck) who thought camo was a color and wearing over sized hunting boots was totally a fashion statement, (ok ok, he's a redneck!) it was always so funny to me that he was so particular about his hair. That wasn't limited to the hair on his head either. His mustache, goatee and for a few months his beard, were trimmed and maintained to the degree of a high school girl preparing for prom. To say he was particular about his hair was an understatement. Don't get me wrong, he was no pretty boy. I need to clarify that because he'd probably come back just to get me, for making anyone think that. His go to attire was his baseball cap, All-Pro Construction (his company) t-shirt, oversized shorts and the gaudiest boots you've ever laid eyes on. But if Buddy were going to dress up, he was going to do it right, and that, to him, meant his favorite pair of jeans, a polo brand shirt (it always had to be Ralph Lauren), his white shoes or loafers and every hair in place. Comparing his two sides were so opposite, and so him! He's a walking contradiction, much like myself, and I've always loved it. Well, maybe not always. Like when he showed up somewhere in his redneck attire, covered in paint, and the situation called for his preppy boy attire. But that's what I loved...he wasn't concerned about others opinions. Myself, being someone who's always cared too much about opinions, I admired that trait, and thankfully through the years it rubbed off on me.

Knowing how particular he was though, the night after he passed it panicked me to think I couldn't keep my promise to him. I decided then, somehow, I had to. It meant too much to me to feel like I was letting him down. So Monday morning when I went to make his funeral arrangements I told them I would be coming to prepare him. It wasn't a question...I WAS doing this! Thankfully, they had no problem with that because I was more than prepared to take him to a different funeral home if I needed. Even if it meant taking him there myself! My sister rode with me and I told her of my intentions. We had some big laughs imagining me kidnapping my husband. We even cracked "Weekend at Bernie's" jokes! <GASP> (There is humor in everything. It's how we lived. It's the best gift my husband gave me in life...to find the humor. And yes, there's even humor in death) "Can you imagine if we get pulled over by the cops?" <big laughs> "It's ok officer! We have him buckled up and everything! He's not going anywhere!" <more laughs> Then the tears came...could I get through this? In my mind I was picturing cutting his hair like I had a hundred times. The kids running around. Music playing. Us joking and talking. Him teasing at me and warning me not to mess up as he twitched and moved. Me smacking him with the comb and telling him to stop moving before I shaved him bald. This would be so much different. So final.  The rest of the ride to the funeral home was silent, but I was thankful for those moments of laughter. I drew strength from those moments to get me through the rest of the day. When the pain got so strong, I would remind myself to just breathe, and think back on funny moments.

Making arrangements was so surreal. It's like I was in a dream. This isn't happening. Autopilot. Pick out the service. Discuss the obituary. Pick out the vault. Autopilot. The Director only had one request...that I allow them to prepare him before I saw him, and get him dressed. I had decided I wanted to do it all. They kept warning me and asked to please let them at least dress him or cover him. He's mine! I asked them to get him ready to the extent that I wanted and I would do the rest. Period. Not up for debate. And that's how it went.

I dropped off his things to the funeral home later that afternoon. That too will be another topic. The next 2 days I spent in a fog...picking out music, trying to take care of the kids, normal life events that seemed so mundane and unimportant considering. Had it not been for my mom, I'm sure nothing would have been done. I remember very little of the first few weeks actually.

Wednesday arrived, the day of my last time with my husband. I realized that part of doing this being so important was also because subconsciously I knew he would never be just mine again. The wake, the funeral, burial...would all be shared and full of well wishers and hovering, concerned people. I needed another moment, just the two of us.  I drove myself there, alone, at my insistence. I had the CD with the songs to be played during his service, with me. I listened to it on repeat, over and over, and just drove. I took the longest way there just trying to prepare myself and thinking how I wanted this first and last moment with him to go.

When I got there, a man was waiting on me. I could tell he was concerned and kept offering to help me, did I need a chair, did I need someone to stay with me, why was I by myself. The look on my face must have been enough because he quickly back peddled and said "I'll sit right outside this door. If you need anything you just yell. We have him ready just as you asked." I'll never forget the moment those double doors opened. He was in the viewing room, on a stretcher. I had allowed them to bathe him, and put his pants, socks and undershirt on. He looked so peaceful, resting. I knew I made the right decision then because it helped ease some of the images of the last time I saw him. It didn't erase those painful images, but it did put me a little more at peace. It was extremely hard though, to see someone who is larger than life, without that spark. The spark that is life, spirit, soul and everything that made me love him so much. That spark that made him so lively, animated, that shone bright whether he was awake or sleeping, was gone. MY Buddy was gone and it felt more real at that moment than it had in the 6 days I'd been left without him. I still felt such a pull to him though.  There was no fear or anything. I remember when my Daddy died, I was scared of him. Ive watched people touch a loved one who has passed many times and just couldn't fathom why. It was strange to me, and quite frankly a little gross. All of that went away. This was my Love. This was different. I couldn't NOT touch him! I stood there for the longest time, studying him, crying, running my fingers over his chest, his hands, his face. What comes to mind is a momma meeting her newborn for the first time...that's how I felt. I was in awe of what was left of this man I had always affectionately called My Love, My Sun. I've always said my children are my world, and they are, and Buddy was like the sun. My world revolved around that Sun. He brought my days light, growth, love and meaning. How does the world still survive without it's sun, left in darkness? I kept asking him that question...how? At some point I heard his sarcastic voice, "you gonna stand here all day or what?" I hear his voice all the time. I know him so well that I know exactly what he would say in just about any situation. Over the months since he's been gone, I've heard him comment, joke, make a snide remark, laugh, etc. Is it in my head? Probably. Do I think I'm crazy? Always! Do I mind? Not at all! It kind of makes me feel like he lives, in me. In my head, he's very much alive!

I announced out loud "Well, let's get started babe!" I sat up my station, like always, laying out my comb, scissors, trimmer, a towel and of course we have to have music! Plus, let's face it, funeral home/elevator music is a drag! I have a playlist that is all of his favorite music. I've since added songs that remind me of him or make me think of certain times in our life. I listen to it when I just need to feel close to him. For the first time in probably our entire lives together, I chose to play his music, and I didn't even complain about his whinny country songs. I could hear him singing many of them, as I knew he would have been, if he could have. I began cutting his hair just like always. I'm still amazed, and thankful, for that couple hours, at how normal and natural it felt. Just like old times. His music played loudly. (I'm still impressed no one complained from the offices) his memories danced in my mind. I cut his hair with more tenderness than I ever have. Like a mother coddling her infant child. There is beauty in death. When I came to the part around his ears, normally he'd start pulling away with his teasing banter "don't mess up!" I laughed, remembering those times, and I couldn't help it....I said "Baby, you move this time and I promise I won't mess up! I'm gettin' the hell outta here if you do that!" and laughed. I heard the man outside the door chuckle. Oops...forgot people could here me! I wonder sometimes if they thought I was crazy. I hope so!! I also hope it brought a refreshing look on death. They deal with a lot of grief so I hope having some humor was nice. Finally I shaved his face. I remember being so thankful he had decided to shave that horrible beard he had grown. The Saturday before, we went on our last date to celebrate our anniversary and he shaved it off for me. I had quit teasing him about looking like a terrorist. He said he was Duck Dynasty. <eyes rolling here> I started calling him "Bear". It made it easier though cause I sure would have shaved that junk off regardless and dealt with that guilt later! When I was finished and started cleaning up, our song came on. Our song we have danced to a million times, that he always sung to me, that would also be the first song played at his service, at his request. I paused and held his hand, and sung it to him instead. I'm not a singer, and I've never willingly sung to anyone. It just seemed right I guess, because it just poured from me. Through tears that just flowed, I poured out my heart and I know he heard me. I felt him the whole time, but in that moment I could smell him, hear him, and truly feel him with me.

I went and got the Director and he came in to help me put Buddy's dress shirt on. I gave him the music and talked about the viewing set for the next evening. I kissed Buddy's hand and told him I'd see him tomorrow and took some of his hair and placed it in a bag.

Walking out of that building and leaving him there went against everything in my being. My kids waiting for me at the house are what lead me. I got in my car and drove and prayed the whole way. Prayer and my children are what got me back to my house and what keeps me waking up to face each day without my Sun...

Moment of Impact

In the days following what I now call our "moment of impact" I had to tell and retell what happened. It seemed everyone wanted to know. Within the first 2 hours I must have told at least 5 people. With each new time I had to relive those moments, it became more real. At first I felt like I was telling someone else's story. This didn't happen to MY husband. Not MY family. It couldn't have possibly happened to US! With each phone call I made, each person I told the most devastating news to, I slipped further and further into a panic. Finally, after realizing many really didn't truly care, they just wanted info, to be a part of this tragedy, I refused to talk anymore. And the mass of people who did care and really were trying to help, I appreciate you more than I've ever put in words. Friends and family showed up and pitched in wherever needed, and I can't thank you enough!! However, it was also exhausting trying to assure the masses that I was ok, when in reality I wasn't sure how I was. I  made a decision and notified a few key people and simply said "please tell people we need our space and would like some privacy. Please hold all calls and visits and let people know I will not be answering any questions about what happened or how. I can't do it." And I was so relieved when our preacher, and best friend, Paul, announced at church that we'd like our privacy and just simply stop asking. And I'm thankful that few have since asked, even though I know most are curious.

So here it is...the events that happened that forever turned our lives upside down. The moment of impact.

Thursday 11-14-13, Buddy wasn't feeling well and missed his Dr appt that morning because he didn't feel up to going. As the day progressed, I got more worried about him. The kids had been sick with a stomach virus the previous weekend and he was convinced he had gotten it as well. Many events occurred that day between his Drs nurses and the two of us that  I cannot speak about at the moment so I'll stop there with that.  From this point on I'm going from memory, which is mostly a fog now. There are a lot of things I don't remember, which is why I wrote it all down immediately, at the insistence of a wise friend. I will not consult that log though...so this is an estimate, as most things in my writings here will be. The times and dates may be off, but the reality is the same.

The day went as usual...kids got home, we had dinner, baths and bed time. Buddy wasn't feeling well so he stayed in bed but did get up some to get drinks and stuff. The boys went in our bedroom and watched tv with him some; meaning they watched tv and he slept for the most part. Right before bed, Tyler made a Get Well Soon card and asked everyone to sign it. I mention this because I still have it, and it is forever burned into my mind with such pain. We all signed his card and the boys went in before bed time to give it to him, have him his nightly hugs, kisses and snuggles and I tucked them in for the night. Caylee stayed up wrestless and itching as usual. I got her to sleep around 10:30pm and went in to check on Buddy. I refilled his water, talked with him a little and was more worried about him. I always worry when one of my loves isn't feeling well. He assured me again that he was fine and that he had a Dr appt in the morning. He asked that I take him this time because he wasn't sure he could drive. I agreed that we'd get up earlier and get the kids to school so we could make his appt when they opened. At some point Caylee woke up and I left him in bed to tend to her. Once I got  her back to sleep I went back in to check on Buddy and he was sleeping. I went back in the living room to read, before going to bed myself. My nightly relaxation. I was trying to finish reading a book so I could read the new book in the series that I had just purchased. Around midnight, Buddy called for me. He was cold. I checked the thermostat which was set at it's usual temperature but turned the heat up a little for him. I helped fluff his pillows and get comfortable in bed and we just say and talked. Those 30 min mean the absolute world to me now. Though had I known it was the last time I would speak to him I'd probably have so much more to ask now. I am content though, that while I didn't say goodbye, we shared a beautiful 30 min together. We talked briefly about the new baby on the way and confirmed that yes we were decided on the name Caleb Austin. He talked about his plans of fishing the upstairs bathroom and getting the guest room set up in time for my family to come for thanksgiving.  We laughed about the silly things the kids had done, and said, that day. I talked about Christmas plans and being so excited about having our first Christmas in our new dream home and how I couldn't wait to have the Christmas tree next to the fireplace, with the stocking hung from the new mantel he would build me. During my rambling on, he fell asleep, in true Buddy fashion. I can't think of many nights that he didn't fall asleep to the sound of my voice. It was just out thing to talk at night and well, I usually did a lot of the talking. It's so odd to me now, the next few things that happened. And it makes me wonder if we have some sense of when something isn't right, or that our world is about to change. Buddy and I never went to bed without a goodnight kiss or saying I love you. Not once. Even if one of us were upset with the other, it was common place for the one who wasn't upset, to kiss the other and jokingly (and sometimes not, on my part) say "I love you, even though you are a jerk!" But this night was just different. I sat there for a few minutes, just watching him sleep. Watching the rise and fall of his chest, and I layed my head on his chest and just listened to the sound of his heart beat. I closed my eyes, and just listened. I got up slow ly, as not to wake him, and ran my hand down the side of his face, and just paused. I held my hand on his face and leaned down and kissed his nose, then his forehead and whispered "I love you baby, sleep well." I walked out of my bedroom and paused at the doorway. And for reasons I may never understand, I started crying. And very vividly I remember thinking to myself, "don't look back". For just a few seconds, I felt this unexplainable pain, sadness, fear. I felt utterly lost, and I collapsed against the wall in the hallway crying my eyes out. Immediately I shook it off and thought how silly and hormonal I must be! I wiped my eyes as I walked back to the living room and reminded myself that we had to be up early. It's was around 12:45am now and I decided I'd just stay up through the night to check on him and make sure we didn't over sleep. So I began reading.

The moment of impact....
Caylee woke up screaming. I wasn't sure what time it was, because I had fallen asleep on the couch, reading. I went to her room and got her out of bed and brought her to the living room and noticed she was soaking wet and had an explosive diaper. She and I were both covered in poop. Oh the joys of parenthood! I got her changed and took her to her room with me to get her new clothes and change her sheets. Thankfully I've learned a trick and put 2 sheets on her bed with a waterproof pad between the first and second set so all I had to do was remove the top sheet and pad, and was able to do that holding her. I got her dressed and made her a new bottle and put her on the couch. She immediately laid down and drifted back to sleep so I left her on the couch to go change my soiled shirt. I went in my bedroom. The tv was on, as usual, but it was dark. I made my way to my side of the room and just blindly grabbed a shirt and changed. I noticed it was eerily quiet while changing. Once the light from the tv shone brighter, that silence became deafening. The image is forever burned into my mind, and has become the nightmare of my life, that I will probably forever try to forget. I saw my Love's face with blood stained fluid coming from his nose, mouth and ears. It felt like a lifetime, but probably was no more than a second, that I just stood, staring, in disbelief. The first thing that popped in my mind was my earlier breakdown in the hall. That feeling of utter despair, gut wrenching fear and blinding pain. I knew. I rushed to him, calling out "baby! Baby!!! BABY!! Baby PLEASE!!!! Oh no, God please don't do this!" I grabbed his hand. I beat on his chest. I lifted his head and started attempting CPR. Internally I was screaming and begging God. I kept repeating "God no. Please no. Please please please" over and over. From this point on it's almost like my body was on autopilot and I was somewhere else. (This is in fact, how I still am much today, 8 1/2 months later) It's like I became 2 people and there was the part of my that was dying, lost and frantic, and then there was the part of me that was commanding the next move, the next action to take. The rational side of me screamed to the irrational part, that was still pumping his chest and breathing into his mouth, that I was too late, the blood is dry, he's been gone too long. And at that moment, I surrendered. I surrendered to my darkest fears and the fate of what I could not change. The father of my children, the man of my dreams, the love of my life, the very breath of my existence, is dead. I sat beside him, holding his hand, and just cried. I sat there and just strokes his hair and told him everything I've already said a million times in our lifetime together. I told him I loved him. I told him thank you for loving me so completely and giving me everything I ever wanted. I told him to save me a seat. I started praying again, begging God...he's raised the dead before. He's God! He can do anything! I pleaded...I'll give up our dream home, I'll be homeless, I'll never ask for anything else as long as I live! Take the time I have left and divide it, please! Take me instead! Anything! But not this!! And at that moment I heard a little voice, "momma? Momma what's wrong?" I turned to see Tyler, our 8 year old, walking to my door. Then Caylee began to cry almost instantly. And I heard Buddy. I heard him clear as day, "don't let my babies see me like this." Maybe I imagined it, maybe it was me, maybe it really was him. I can't answer that, but I do know that he wouldn't have wanted that for his babies. It's amazing how strength can kick in. God answered my prayers, but not in the way I asked. He did give me strength though. I ran to my door and pulled myself together in an instant, and closed our door behind me. I hurried Tyler away and hurried him to the living room where Caylee has just woken back up on the couch. I sat him down with her and said "I need you to sit here with your sister and hold her ok? I need to make some calls and I'm just going on the porch for a minute. You stay right here with her ok?" I grabbed my phone, opened the blind so I could see them and went on the porch. I didn't want the police, medical examiner and anyone showing up with the kids here. I knew I had to get them to safety. I couldn't do anything else for Buddy, but I could protect our babies.

I found Buddy right at 2am. At 2:28am I called my best friend, Allison, to come and get the kids. She feels so bad about our conversations that morning. I find them humorous and think they fit Buddy's humor so much that it was just fitting. When I called the first time I was again sobbing hysterically and stumbling over my words. I said something to the effect of "you have to come get the kids NOW. I just found Buddy. Allison, he's dead." <click> She hung up. I stood there for a second thinking oh good she's coming! Then I thought, no she would have said something...she didn't understand. So I called back. <click> At that point I  realized she was sleeping and it didn't register. (I later found out, talking about these events with her and Paul, that she jumped out of bed and went and woke her girls up to get ready for school, then realized what time it was) I called back again and she answered, half asleep and confused "you need me? How's Buddy?" All I could get out was "not good." She then obviously woke up a little and was thinking over everything and said "he's alive right? He IS alive!" And I said "no, he's dead, Allsion. He's dead!" and started sobbing all over. I managed to tell her to come quickly and I was waiting a few minutes to call the police because they needed to be gone before anyone arrived. I don't remember my words or what communication took place. I just remember her saying "we'll be right there. I love you!"

I went in and checked on Caylee and Tyler. I could tell he was a little confused, but I just told him everything would be ok and they were going to go to Mrs. Allison's house a little earlier now. I started throwing things in bags for the kids. Trying to think of everything they would need, especially Caylee with all her allergies. In a way, it was a welcome focus to think about something else. But my mind kept thinking back to Buddy, laying in our bed. I wanted nothing more than to just crawl in that bed with him, and leave with him as well. I had to focus though.

I waited and stepped back outside and called the police. I'm still amazed at how numb I was by that point. Autopilot. "Yes, I need you to send an officer. I just found my husband in our bed. He's dead." The words I spoke seem so cold and factual now. Autopilot. The lady asked "is he breathing?" My sarcastic humor is always my default "last I checked, dead meant not breathing, moron! I think I know what dead means!" She assured me that she was dispatching an officer and notifying the proper authorities. I hung up the phone and looked at it and actually laughed. Did she really just ask me if I was sure? Ummmmm....idiot!!

I went inside, woke up Mykael and told him to get dressed. Allison and Paul arrived. They went to our room immediately, and I will never forget the look on Paul's face. Hopeless. He looked at me. The look in his eyes was pure empathetic pain. He looked at Allison, he looked at me, he looked at Buddy and said "come on. Help me. What do I do? Have you tried CPR? Come on!....." I told him I tried. I told him it was too late. And I recognized the look in their eyes...they too had to accept the fact of what was. I began explaining the logic of how I tried, how long it had been.... Paul looked defeated. We all just stood there staring, lost. I heard the commotion of the kids again. Allison and I ran out to keep the kids away. Paul stayed with Buddy for some time. We got everything packed and thankfully she thought to remember that school would still be in and we discussed how it was probably best to send them to school for a normal day while I took care of the tasks at hand. Pail come and helped load the kids up, get the car seat installed and I watched Allison drive off, knowing today, Friday November 15, 2013 was their last normal day of life, as we know it.

Paul stayed with me. I am forever grateful that he stayed, and that Allison loaned me her precious husband, to just be there. I'm not sure how things would have been, had he not been there as support. We waited for what seemed like hours. Around 4am, the first officer showed. I answered all his questions, gave a statement and he went to our bedroom. I remember sitting at the dining room table wanting to pounce on him. I felt so protective of Buddy. I didn't like that officer in there and I was growing increasingly annoyed by him and kept wishing I could just make him leave. Make everyone leave. Just leave me, with my Honey, and let us be. A second officer arrived and then the two went back to our room. Eventually more people arrived and that's where all the events get fuzzy. I know there were 2 officers and either a paramedic or a fireman. I couldn't tell you which. Each new person that arrived meant yet another person that I had to recount the days events and what happened. Questions. Constant questions. All I wanted to do was scream. At some point my mom called me back...though I don't remember calling her in the first place. I just remember her saying "oh God! Ok, we're coming!" My sister arrived at some point not long after that. My mom called her. Paul, my sister and I stayed in the dining room and kitchen. I'm sure we talked, or maybe we didn't. I don't remember. I just remember people coming in and out and each time someone walked in that room, OUR ROOM, I had to stop myself from going crazy and just kicking them all out. The coroner arrived as well, and at some point an elderly couple from the funeral home. She came and spoke to me and advised we go sit in the living room because they were about to take Buddy out and that "this will be the hard part." Looking back, that was the easiest part. I was numb. I was in a fog. This wasn't happening to me. It was an out of body type of thing. They wheeled him out, in a dark blue body bag, on a stretcher. They were taking him for an autopsy and said the funeral home would be in touch with me later. This isn't real.

For the rest of the day...Paul had to go home at some point because they had a friend flying in from New Jersey. My sister stayed with me. My mom and step dad arrived. Food arrived, calls came in, decisions to be made, calls I had to make. It seemed never ending. Autopilot. If it hadn't been for my own mom, I don't think I would have remembered to eat or do any normal function.

The kids arrived home later that evening. We...I had to break the news to them. I'm not sure how I did it. I don't remember what I said. I just remember their crying. Their tears. Their pain. We spent a while taking, me answering questions they had and as resilient as kids are, they eventually went to play. They too were on their own form of autopilot.

The last thing I remember of that day, was my mom telling me I needed to get some rest. In the last 48 hrs I had gotten maybe 3 hours of sleep, but I didn't notice. I went to our room and couldn't stand to lay where he last laid. Paul had his cousin come over earlier and clean our mattress. The bed was made with new sheets and comforter that Buddy and I had picked out the previous week. I should have been exhausted, and maybe I was, but the feeling of loneliness far out weighed any normal feeling I should have felt. Once I sat down I started feeling the impact of how long I had been awake, standing, almost 32 weeks pregnant. I finally settled on making the bed the opposite way and laying at the foot of the bed. I cried, uncontrollably, as soon as I felt our son move within. I held my bulging tummy, thinking of all that should have been, but would never be. I needed the one person who could hold me and make me feel ok. The one person who knew me better than I even knew myself at times. The one person who completed me. The one person I could never have again. I became desperate for him. I was lost. I still am lost. I got up and searched my room. Immediately I noticed my favorite shirt he wore, just 8 days before, when we went out on our last date alone, to celebrate our anniversary. I pulled it down from where it was draped on the closet door, and held it close. It smelled just like him. I breathed in the scent of my Love and panicked thinking it would one day lose it's smell. I went through a pile of his clothes and found another shirt he'd worn that day. It too carried his scent. I curled up at the foot of our bed, clutching his shirts and buried my face in them and cried, until I fell asleep. A full 24 hrs had passed. 24 hours without the man I didn't want to spend another second without...