Well, here we are over one year later. A year of tears, a year of loss, a year of pain so bad that at times I can actually feel it slamming into me. Knocking my brain into a tailspin where I have to fight to land upright and once again accept the fact that you are not coming back. A year of holidays. A year of silent football where I couldn't bear to watch. Slapped by the silence in the split second that you would have made the call first. Before any of the announcers. Following it up with "No shit Sherlock" and an eye-roll when they, doing their jobs, reported it to everyone else. A year of drawing on every ounce of strength in my body to raise our son as you would want. A year where even in my dreams you are gone. Dreams that seem to mock me. Shoving in my face even in my most peaceful moments the cold fact that you are forever removed from my side. Almost every morning I wake to not only the thought that you are gone, but then to the realization that even in my dreams you are blatantly not there. Dreams without time, without place, without theme... The only thread from night to night being the fact that in each dream it is bitterly evident that you are as absent in my dreams as you are in my waking life. Or maybe you are there, hiding, making sure that I remember that you aren't coming back.
It has been a year where at times I have had no option but to stand back and watch as things beyond my control went down. Like your birthday weekend. It's a nice thought, wanting to have your ashes scattered I guess. It all sounded just fine when you were alive, sitting next to me on the couch and in my mind you would be 65 or so by the time I had to deal with that. Usually first talking about your Grandpa, and then you saying for the billionth time that you wanted to be with him. It was a beautiful and moving notion and when I pictured myself as I saw your Grandma the day we laid Grandpa Jacob to rest it seemed almost beautiful. With grandchildren and nieces and nephews running around. Perhaps with a young and newly cemented forever kind of love in the air as we were. Odd how different I felt on those two days. On the first, so long ago I was overcome with emotion and a profound gratitude for the family that hasso openly and fully accepted me. That day was beautiful. Painful no doubt, but a glorious goodby to a man who had lived and loved a long and fulfilled life. A man who had once loved the outdoors, but had been robbed by age the ability to make that climb again. A distinguished and fitting farewell to celebrate the life of a loved Father and Grandfather. The only tie to that day and that fateful Saturday in July was the profound gratitude and thankfulness that I have for my family. My Jacob family surrounded me and love me as if I were blood, standing side by side with my parents in support and that is the only way I made it. When it came down to it, the notion of casting the only man I ever wanted to love, to hold, to learn with, to live with, off that cliff was just to much to bear. Cremated or not, I recoiled in horror at even the thought. It was an inevitable action. It was what you wanted, I could not stop it. Besides, the same family that had loved me as unconditionally as you had, and continues to do so was ready. So we drove. I sat, I hugged, I talked, all the while as hollow and fragile as an empty husk. Numb except for the brief bursts of the young children's magical laughter and love. Not even that was enough though. They were to young. You could have made that climb. You had SO MUCH time stolen. In order to make it through that day without ending up in a fancy new white wrap around coat & a trip to the "spa" I had completely shut down on the inside. On the outside I spoke about how nice it was that all of your loved ones would be able to go visit you there forever blah blah blah, all the while my insides screaming "NOOOO!!! I want him with me! Where I know where he is. How can he EVER come back if you scatter him off a damn mountain?! I would say that this was one of the worst days of my life, but I can't even get that far. That is a subject that cut to deep. Even now. Surrounded by family and loved ones, carrying out your wishes I wanted to hit them. I wanted them to tell me how it was EVER going to be okay if I couldn't even find you!
In my darkest hours of to the desperation and frustration it is that notion that rises to the top. Why haven't you found a way to get back to me?! That's when it gets scary. My brain knows that you can't come back, but my heart, and at times even my mind want to know WHEN ARE YOU COMING BACK?! It is still invincible that you aren't ever going to be able to come back to me, yet I find myself asking "What is taking you so long?!" Then I come back and realize, as I did on the drive into the mountains that day, that I truly never will see you again. Each time is another in the millions of emotional slices to the heart. At times, driving around this town, never knowing what memories are going to pop into my head that I feel like I am dying the death of a million cuts. Our anniversary came and went without a hug, without a kiss, with nothing but another drop into the dark bottomless pit that is ever growing in my heart.
They say that part of the grieving process is bargaining. I love you with all of my heart my dear, but I did not bargain for you. I bargained for our son. I bargained, I begged, I pleaded, all for something that I know I cannot do. I have lost count of the number of times I have prayed and pleaded with God. I can't even fully comprehend the magnitude of what I would sacrifice to give him back his father. Or to somehow unburden him of his pain. As his mother I guess it's just instinct. All I want, all I think I'll ever really want is for him to be happy. That January morning last year, as I watched what was happening, I was looking around at everyone and everything happening so fast around us. I stopped on our son. If it was a bomb, I could have throw myself over it and saved him. I would have done it in a second, but I was powerless. There was nothing I could do to stop our son from watching it all play out. He's was to old to be shooed out, besides that's not how we roll.
Noah's birthday went well. He seemed happy and that's all that matters. Halloween came. I didn't open the door. That was your job. Opening the door and joking around with the kids. Guessing their costumes. My birthday came and went. Me numbly following along once again. Even going to the same restaurant you and I went to last year with my parents to celebrate the same occasion. I didn't care. I couldn't. My birthday was completely empty without the man it meant the most in the world to. It no longer mattered. I have found that many things just don't mean as much without you there to share them with me. The food was good, nice time, made it home safe.
On the anniversary of John's passing I went to the park. I went for you. When I cry for John it is your tears that I cry. Thanksgiving came, along with hugs and love and tears around the table where the shining smile of our table was gone. Everyone smiling just a little bigger, loving a little harder, desperately trying to fill the enormous gap where your love and laughter and love once dominated the room. At Christmas we circled the wagons. Both families came together at our parents home. Even that was not enough. I could only make it a few hours before being pushed out by a title-wave of loss, emptiness, and core shattering pain that I had sadly become accustomed to.
New years was nothing to be celebrated. As the year before, I sat crying. Worrying and wondering about you. The only difference was this time I didn't allow myself to say or hear the empty promises of, and wishes for a better year this time around. I was in bed by nine. It didn't matter. Once again, little did. Noah was safe, had fun, and made it home before midnight. That's all I can bring myself to care about. Three days later I awoke to the other shoe dropping. January Third, Two Thousand and Fifteen. One full year since you left this earth and our life behind forever. Our wonderfu friends gathered at the park once again. Forgive bebe but I just couldn't bring myself to join them this time. Instead I got my own memorial for you. As our friends gathered to remember you at the park, I lay alone on a table in a tattoo shop. Relishing in the feeling of the tattoo gun digging into my skin. Weeping with relief as the needle pierced my skin over and over. Forever carving us together. Right next to my heart, where you will remain for the rest of my days.
There have been good times too. Blessings that don't fill the void, but they help. Miracles that remind me that God is good and each moment we are blessed to have with our loved ones is to be cherished. I have made beautiful friendships and reconected with beautiful old friends thst had either moved away or somehow fazed out of my life. Sometimes when life is so dark, and a heart is so hard it's tough to see the miracles and even tougher for the significance of them to reach my soul. I have seen some of your prayers answered though, and for that I am grateful. The most significant by far was the reunion of a Father and Son after a decade of being kept apart. As I struggle to navigate the path that our son and I will walk without you, that miracle reminds me how good God is, and how sometimes you just have to keep on pushing. You never know where your next blessing is going to come from.
I wish I could say that it's getting easier, but then I worry that if it gets easier I may loose that sharp pain of love in my heart. The truth is bebe, I don't know if I want it to get easier or not. I know that I never could forget you, but the notion that as time goes by I will heal breaks my heart all over again. Perhaps someday I will feel better through "healing", but after living for 376 days of thinking of you at least once a minute it seems as inconceivable as the notion that you are gone at all. It is most certainly better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, but that doesn't make it easier by any means. In fact, it's been my experience over these last twelve months that it only makes it harder. That being said, the moments I shared with you and our son are by far the best of my life. Even at our worst, we were always in love. Maybe not pink heart love. At times it seemed we were closer to the dark, angry, sharp love that holds my heart now, but that's just fine with me bebe. That only helps to remind me that it was real. All day, every day. I don't know what the future holds, but you hold my heart. Forever and always bebe, always and forever...
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