6 months - 10/20/14

Today marks 6 months. 6 months ago I woke up and you were here. And that night when we went to bed you were gone. Killed in an instant. Never coming back. There are still moments daily that bring me right back to that day. A song. A photo. A memory. A voice. And there I am, finding out that you were gone and wondering what we were going to do. I don't really remember 4/20. I remember the morning a little bit. Easter egg hunt with the kids. Then I remember being told what happened. The rest of the day is a blur. The next few weeks are a blur.
6 months later and the fog has finally started to lift. The reality is here. You aren't coming back, and this is our life now. I accept it. But only because I have to - not accepting it means living in a world of denial and sorrow and constant pain. And I can't do that. I accept it, but I don't think it's right or fair. I accept that we have to keep living without you here. I don't like it. I would do anything to make it different. But what choice do I have? None. This is my life now. I have no choice. Denying you are gone or living in grief only makes my life now even more difficult. So perhaps it's more denial that acceptance. I'm not certain.
But now I become selfish. For the past 6 months my thoughts and energy have been focused on a lot of other people. Mainly our kids, and with good reason. But now - what about me? What will become of me? I can't help but wonder if I'll be alone for the rest of my life. I hope not - no one wants that -  but I have to imagine that it is a very real possibility. I have to be prepared for that. No one would or could ever take your place.  And if by some chance I do meet someone one day how can they compare? They can't. So I have to deal with that first. The fact that no one can replace you. Once I'm OK with that and I'm ready, how exactly do I move on? Still loving you but possibly finding someone to spend my life with again. The thought of it is tiring, honestly. The work that goes into meeting people and building a relationship. It's daunting. It doesn't sound fun or exciting or in any way remotely enticing. And who wants to take on this kind of a situation anyhow. The baggage that comes with me and my kids is enormous and more than most people would want to tackle. Or even touch with a 10 foot pole. So I have to be OK and prepared for the fact that this is it. It's me and our kids, end of story. And once the kids are grown.... then it's me. There may not be any more chapters for me. So I have to be satisfied and fulfilled with the one we wrote together. Like most things that completely suck this year, I have to accept this and live with it. 13 years wasn't nearly as long as I hoped to have with you, but I have to be grateful for the fact that we had them. Looking ahead is bleak. Mostly when I look forward it has to do with Gunnar and Adella and living for them. Making sure they are happy, taken care of, and loved. And that is what my life is now for. Before it also involved us. What we would do as we grew old together. Which of course is now completely gone. So now what do I do as I grow old... alone.
This is where my mind takes me 6 months after you are gone.

Gunnar's 6th Birthday

Ah. 9/30. Gunnar's birthday. The next in a long line of 'things Mike isn't here for' when it comes to our family.

Gunnar's is especially hard for me. Gunnar is our first born child. He's the one that made us parents. That changed our lives forever, taking the focus off of ourselves and putting it on being parents and raising children. If you have kids, you know the transformation that takes place when this happens. Everything about your life and your relationship with each other shifts and changes. He is also our only son, and will carry on Mike's family name. Our relationship changed that day as we now navigated the world of parenthood together, discovering how much we had in common... and not in common! We didn't know what we were having, so when Gunnar was delivered and Mike said 'it's a boy!' it was one of the most magical things I'll ever remember. I was convinced it was a girl so I said 'are you sure?!?' and he laughed and probably made a comment about having seen a penis a few times before and knowing what one looks like. The next week was a blur, as I had a c-section and couldn't get around easily. Mike was the ever doting new dad, running around getting things done at home with me still in the hospital, and staying over with Gunnar and I at night so as to not miss anything, if possible. He dealt with my own issues surrounding my disappointment in how the birth had gone and that I had to have a c-section, to being a very overwhelmed new mom not quite sure of what I was doing. He made me feel confident I was doing a good job. Like I was a good mom. And still a good wife, too. And here we are - 6 years later - and again I'm an overwhelmed mom, only this time I'm overwhelmed because of him. Because I miss him and he's not here to help. He's not here to comfort. Not here to even make some rude comment and make me laugh. And so after a pretty good stint of thinking I was doing OK and trying to keep it together, I'm back at square one. Remembering the day we lost him. All that this loss means to me... and our kids.... and our families and friends. Losing your husband at a young age is something I never even thought about. The only time I ever really worried about losing Mike was long before we were married, when he was serving in Iraq in 2003. Home in Connecticut I never imagined that I would one day be met by a police officer in my kitchen and told that my husband had been killed on his motorcycle. Never in a million years did I expect this kind of news. The thing about losing him so young is that there is so much we never got to do. I suppose that's true for all couples when one passes away. But there were years... decades even... that we never got to live out together. There are 2 kids who aren't even close to grown who now have no father. There are trips we will never take. Conversations we will never have. Goodbyes we didn't get to say.
I can't help but think of what the future holds for Gunnar and Adella and myself. What will his 10th birthday be like. His 20th? His 50th? Will every one be such a harsh reminder that his dad is gone? Or will it fade in time... as his memories fade and our lives continue to move on... all the while glancing back over our shoulders from time to time to check and see if maybe he's still there somewhere?