Nine Months

Nine months

I saw a red pickup truck with a ladder rack today - one of the biggest triggers for me.   Every time I see a red pickup truck with a ladder rack, it wipes me out.

I don't know how to change that, but I'd love to.  I'd like the site of that truck to make me smile - and remember.  It doesn't seem possible, but that's what I'd like.

For months, I had a hard time finding those happy memories.  The past couple years of Greg's life were hard on everyone.  I probably have more good memories of those years than most, but they don't come easily.

The sad and traumatic memories have been dotted with happy remembrances, but they were few and far between.  In the past month, there have been more good memories - and older memories.  They don't come easily or often, but they have started to come. 

I'm grateful.  

Seeing Stars

I got up this morning at about 5:00 and looked out the window to the sky.

Now, I don't know if you're familiar with the sky at night in and around Philadelphia, but stars are not our "thing".  In fact, I can't remember when I looked at the sky at night and saw stars.

But I saw stars this morning - a whole sky full of stars - and one star in particular, that was exceptionally bright. 

It was beautiful and unexpected and just for a few seconds, I felt peace.

It was fleeting - but it was there.  The first time I've felt any peace since Greg died. 

I am grateful.

March Madness

Sitting here watching the NCAA Basketball Championships, I can't help but think about a year ago when Greg watched every game with us.  Michael and I were so into it, he thought we lost our minds.

Richard started a family bracket on the CBS website and invited ALL of us to join and submit our brackets.  I love the NCAA's and began getting ready for them weeks before the actual tournament.
By the time the tournament arrived, I was ready to fill out a bracket.

Almost everyone filled one out.  Richard invited all the kids, from the oldest at 18 to the youngest at 4-years-old.  Even Michael filled out a bracket and he said that it was the first one he ever filled out in his life.  His goal was to beat Brynn (who was 6 at the time).  We had so much fun as a family - more connected than we had been in years. 

Everyone laughed at my bracket, but I ended up coming in second.  Take that, you sports wizards!

Greg was sick of basketball.  We watched SO much basketball.  I thought it was funny at the time.  This year I have a different perspective.

I don't know if he was living here then, but he spent a lot of time here and he was kind of stuck watching whatever we chose to watch. 

I think about what his life was like then - how it felt to not have his own television - his own remote - his own place to watch whatever he wanted - whenever he wanted. 

To feel so alone - so sad - so depressed - so hopeless.  To know more about how bad things were than anyone could even imagine. 

I wish I had known.  I wish I had been able to help.

I wish. 

Eight Months

Eight months today since Greg died.  I miss him more every day.

I watch the news and cry when I see the parents of the children who were killed in the school shooting in Florida.  I wish I could save them from what's to come.

Irony

Greg and I were sitting and talking one morning over a bowl of Cheerios.  He had a chastising look on his face (accompanied by a crinkly smile), like I was about to get a lecture.

"What's up with you?" I asked, preemptively

Tender Heart

His name was Rich B.  It was August and he was approaching his senior in high school.  Due to problems at home, he suddenly and unexpectedly found himself in need of a place to live.

I knew this because Greg came home from football practice one hot August afternoon and told me.  Greg had a plan.

A crack in the darkness

For over a month, I've been flattened by grief - living through the first Christmas without Greg, with all of the sorrow and despair of missing him - while at the same time, buying presents, making lists and elbowing my way through the myriad of busyness that accompanies the holidays - determined not to fold, not to crumble.

The closer it got to our Second Christmas, the closer I got to falling apart.  Stubborn determination can only carry you so far.