Day 467
Dear Paul,
Fifteen
months...and I'm still hurting. Some
nights, like tonight, it feels like you just left instead of it being more than
a year ago. Of course, it doesn't help
when I crawl on YouTube looking for songs about death and loss. Music has been huge for me since you've died,
but sometimes it stirs up sadness that quickly becomes overwhelming. You know what songs I like best, though? The ones about Heaven and the ones that give
reminders that of how happy you are and how much the kids and I are being held
- still.
I have a
new picture on my desk right here by the computer. Actually, it's an old picture. It's the one I should have used for the
funeral brochure but I was in such a daze I didn't even think of it at the
time. It doesn't matter. It's the picture taken of us at that Murder
Mystery theater we visited in Denver
Life is
moving along. You know how busy it was
before you died - it seems even busier now.
Today was one of those perfect fall Saturdays. The Hawkeyes were playing (they lost - you
probably already know that, but if you didn't, I know you're not surprised by
the news), the air was crisp and cool, and Will came home. He stayed here all day. I told him I loved having "all my chicks
under one roof" but then I immediately felt sad because I was reminded
that, for the rest of my life, there will always be someone missing.
I'm moving
along, too. I'm giving a lot of thought
to my future these days, trying to figure out if I should go back to college or
not and thinking about when the right
time to pursue gaining some employment would be. Sometimes I'm resentful that I have to
consider these things. I wasn't supposed
to have to worry about supporting our kids.
That was your job. Mine was just
to manage the money and take care of the house and kids. Now I have to do it all. Sometimes I almost feel mad about that, but
mostly, I'm just sad. I know you would
have never wanted this for me - back when your perspective was purely
human. Now, I have a feeling that you
have the ability to see the good things that this type of hardship is creating
in me, even if I only see the difficulty of it.
I'm
changing, though - mostly in good ways, I think. Yesterday Marcia was here and she commented
that she has seen growth in me since your death. I know that's a good thing, and it's nice to hear, but I would have
preferred growth to come in a different way.
I'm pretty sure we don't get to choose what grows us, though! I know we don't.
I find
myself thinking sometimes more frequently now about marrying again
someday. A long, long time from now...I
know you'd be the first to tell me to go for it. And I probably will if I can find anyone that
will want me...someone who measures up to what you were to me. All that will come in good time and in God's
timing so I'm honestly not in any hurry.
I have a feeling I've got some growing to do first as I learn to be more
independent. But I know that even if the day does come that I'm able to love
again, you will always lay claim to a chunk of my heart.
I didn't
hop on my computer tonight to tell you all this, anyway. I just wanted to tell you that I still miss
you. Some days it's more of a familiar,
far-away ache and then there are times, like tonight, when it's sharper. I miss hearing you clear your throat, I miss
the low, tenor drumbeat sound of hearing you talk on your phone in the back
room (which, by the way, doesn't exist anymore - it's all one big open space,
just the way you'd planned it). I miss
seeing the relief in your eyes when you'd step into the house, dirty and
dog-tired, but your eyes would light up as if to say, "Finally - I'm
home!" I miss the sound of your
shaver in the morning and the sight of your workboots on the kitchen
floor. I miss the warmth of your body in
our bed. I still sleep with your pillow,
every single night. I wrap my arms
around it and sometimes I can almost pretend it's you I'm holding.
I also
miss being able to threaten the kids during the day, "Do you want me to
have to call your dad?" But that's
a complaint for another time! On that,
all I can say is that God, apparently, has more confidence in me than I
do. Parenting alone is, by far, the hardest
task I've ever taken on. We thought
things were tough when we were given a special needs baby - piece of cake. And when the girls came we exclaimed to
eachother, "This is SO hard!"
It was, but there are even more difficult tasks, I've found. I can hear you whispering, "Philippians
4:13" in my ear right now...
I miss you
- so much. I'm healing,
though. I really am. A year ago, I was a shattered mess. I still feel pretty broken, but there's a
strength behind that brokenness that is growing a little bit every day. I have a feeling you're probably proud of me,
but more than that, I think you're mostly filled with awe and love toward our
God Who is enabling me to do what I never imagined I could. Because I couldn't - not without His strength flowing through
his scarred, loving hands.
I know
there's probably some moments you are face-palming yourself, too as you watch
some of my more dumb moments as I blunder along this journey. Hopefully, God is reserving your glimpses of
earth for more of my stellar moments and keeping those times of my idiocy to
Himself!
Oh,
Paul...we never imagined this, did we?
But here we are separated by this temporary veil. One day, soon, I hope this will all be over
and we'll be reunited on Heaven's shores.
Until then,
I'm
missing you, loving you, and appreciating you far more than I did when you were
alive.
Always,
Sarah
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