10 months and counting....

 When death brushes your soul, it reminds you that you are finite too. 

At 20,30,40, and so on, I was invincible as was my husband. We never thought much of the future and the old age thing. That was for someone else to worry about.

It has been 10 months to the day today since Rich died.  

I'd been busy socially and physically. Children, family, friends, the gym, riding, and phone calls from others that made me feel alive and I realized after a few days that I hadn't felt sorrow.

I sat on the porch with the dogs and watched the evening show of fireflies and I was perplexed. How on earth could I be feeling so happy? I almost felt guilty for listening the quiet music of the night coming in. 

I searched my brain. Nope. I didn't feel sad. In fact I hadn't thought about 'him' in a few days. I turned to the dogs. "Hey guys, I'm not sad today. I haven't been sad for a few days. I feel normal."

Hannah looked up from her chew bone and thumped her tail. Charlie sighed and found a more comfortable spot to recline on the bench.

"I'm sorry Rich, I've had an amazing Happy Week. Is that okay?" I whispered into the night air. "I'm sorry, I've been very happy and content this week. It feels so strange."

How long does the black cloud hang overhead?
How can I feel so clear?
Is this bad?
Is this good?

They say Grief can hit you in strange ways, a feeling,  something you see, something you hear, something you smell. There is no rhythm or reason to it.

Yep, I was hurtling along on the path to "I'm really quite okay right now."

At the gym, it was Country Music day during the workout.

I just finished a fantastic workout, sweating buckets of salt water. Coach told us to stretch out and ease the muscles we'd just beaten up.

An oldy came on the speakers.

I felt my throat close, the world dim, and fall apart.

I held it together until I got home.

WTH? 
We all know that sometimes a song will come on the radio and we will recall the memories associated by that.

Our Song.
OUR

S O N G

the song we played at our impromptu wedding.

James Bonamy 1996

I Don't Think I Will....

Hold it right there
Don't say a word
I hear a voice I've never heard
Calling my name
Saying this is the one
Oh my goodness, what have you done?
I could turn around and walk away
Saying this is too good to be real
But oh no, I don't think I will

Because I absolutely positively know without a doubt
You're becoming someone I just could not live without
I was so afraid I'd spend my whole life
Not knowing how this feels
But oh no, I don't think I will...

It even hurts just putting the lyrics here. Crushing.

But it is my hurt that reminds me so much as to how much I loved and was loved in return. And that is true. I was loved truly and deeply. It went both ways. We had something so incredibly special and no one else understood how it worked for us. 

The 4th means different things to everyone...

Each Holiday marks another one that we are not together although we never did much on the holidays. You preferred quiet and solitude.

I'll never forget the first 4th we spent together. I had a long weekend and drove 4 hours to spend it riding with you in what is now the Kickapoo Valley Reserve. 

We sat around the campfire with our mule friends at Mule Camp [it still retains that name after 30+ years]. You stated that you needed cigarettes. You were almost out. 

Since your truck was hooked up to the trailer I offered to drive you to LaFarge a few miles away to the ZZ Stop for them.  This was our third 'date' weekend.

I drove past the LaFarge High School as darkness fell and suddenly the skies lit up with fireworks, big bangs, the kind you could feel in your chest. 

In one instant you'd gone from a joyful date to a man who looked like he'd seen a ghost as you tried to make yourself small and contain whatever monsters took over. You muttered, "Oh Shit." By the time we got to the gas station, you were too shaken to get out of my car.

That was the first time in my life that I purchased cigarettes. 

We got back to camp and you went inside the camper on your truck without saying a word to those around the campfire. 

I said goodnight for the both of us and mentioned the Fireworks. His friends nodded and asked if you'd be okay. I nodded and followed you into the camper.

Right then I knew I had to help you through the moment.

I sat next to you on the bed and put my arms around you. "You are safe with me. Always."

This was my first experience with a full meltdown with PTSD caused by the trigger of fireworks. That was the last time we went anywhere on the 4th of July.

Everyone that knew you, knew that noises like that would set you off. 

That look on your face that night in the car introduced me to a different world that most people never get to see. I will never forget it.

I sat with you that night with my arms around you whispering that you were safe and that I was by your side.

My willingness not to judge you or fear your mental health issues was the glue that held us together. You were partly broken, but that was okay with me.

I do like fireworks, don't get me wrong. But each time I hear them on the 4th, it pulls me back to that night and how it solidified our relationship.

Until yesterday, we'd receive phone calls alerting us by close neighbors that they would be setting off fireworks or they'd be out target practicing. They all knew you and how you reacted to Fireworks. 

The silence of that was louder than the fireworks.