Easter Sunday. 2015.

The day has come. Easter Sunday. Lucky for us 4/20 and Easter Sunday won't fall on the same day again until 2025 *sarcasm*, so we get to celebrate and remember Michael's death 2 days in April every year - at least for the next 10 years. Easter and then the 20th. Like with most things, the anticipation of the day was far worse than the actual day. I had decided for my own reasons that this year I wanted some time to myself. I find that I don't say 'no' enough and do what I know it is I need and want. Instead I worry about everyone else's feelings and what they want. This holiday I was going to take for me. I was going to visit the cemetery and do some other things after the kids did their baskets and stuff in the morning. As fate would have it, I ended up in the ER Saturday night with Gunnar who had a terrible case of strep throat. So I was home alone with him Easter afternoon instead. Adella when to Mike's parents where she took part in their dinner and Easter egg hunt. Gunnar would have gone as well if he was better.
It was a nice relaxing day. But it was a long day. A day I couldn't wait to be over with, and when I looked at the clock and it was 9am, my stomach turned thinking to myself how much more of the day was yet to come. The replay of that day going through my head over and over. And as I tried to remember and to forget all at the same time it occurred to me that much of that day is blocked from my memory. I barely remember Easter morning when Mike was at home. I know he was there but I don't remember a single thing he did or anything we might have said to each other. I remember him saying he was going next door, and that was the last I saw him. I don't remember what he was wearing or if he said anything. I remember laying down on the couch to rest and I remember hearing motorcycles. I remember falling asleep and hearing the door open, then making a comment like 'do you think the neighbors could not rev the motorcycles up when our kids are napping?' but I didn't physically see Mike, and he said nothing back to me. He left.
The next thing I remember is being in the shower and thinking of what I had left to do to get ready for dinner. And I remember coming out of the shower and seeing Mike's brother there telling me I needed to come into the kitchen. And I remember there was a police officer there and he put his hands on my shoulders and told me that there had been a motorcycle accident and that Michael was dead. And I remember looking at both of them and just saying 'no, you're joking' over and over again. I don't remember much after that. I was upstairs getting dressed saying over and over 'this isn't real, this isn't happening'. But it was. I remember going to my brother in law and sister in law's house where my kids where taken and hugging them, and trying to just figure out exactly what had happened. But I couldn't make sense of it. I remember going to the crash site that night and seeing the tree he hit. I had to see if for myself. I remember seeing water on the driveway where he had been. Where they had cleaned up. And I stared at the spot knowing that's where he was. I needed to see the last place he was. I needed to have in my head a picture of what that place looked like and try and go through the accident in my head. I remember going to bed that night, not having told the kids yet what had happened. Trying to figure out what in the hell we were going to do. What would I do without my husband? What would the kids do without their dad? How were we supposed to go on? I remember not sleeping, and just laying in a daze staring at the pillow next to me in disbelief. Wishing and hoping that I would wake up in the morning and this day was all a bad dream. No luck there. But there are hours missing from that day for me. And from the following days, as everything zoomed by. Funeral arrangements, logistics, paperwork, the tasks were non-stop. But above all what I felt that day and what I feel now really aren't all that different. I've learned to cope and live with the loss a little bit day by day. But I lost my person. I lost the one person in this world who I was everything to. I was his world. And he was mine. Despite everything that we have been through. And that is what I miss the most. Still today. I miss being someone's everything. The first person they can't wait to call to tell something. The person they say good morning to first, and kiss good night last.The person they can vent to, laugh with, cry with, or get pissed at. Sure I have lots of family and friends who care about me. And my kids - they are my world, of course. And I'm very lucky for that. I have people in my life who will drop everything and come be with me if I needed it. And that is wonderful. But they all have their own lives and loves. I'm not everything to any of them. I lost my everything that day. And now I can be surrounded by people, but still be alone. I go and I live my life with a huge piece of myself and my life missing. But I don't have anyone to share it with anymore. To share my bad day (or my good), frustrations and triumphs. I sit down at the end of the day and I am alone. My everything died that day.