It amazes me how easily I can transport myself back to that hospital room, the sweet moments before, the awful horrible devastating and bewildering moments of, and the horror and numbness after: calling the whole family at 2am, waiting for everyone to arrive, sitting alone while they “cleaned him up.” I sat, hunched over myself, rocking, staring at the friggin ugly green hospital socks I was wearing, saying over and over in my mind: “this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening”.
I am almost hyperventilating just typing this stuff, and I still find it hard to believe it happened. Yet, here I sit drinking coffee, typing a blog post for a blog for widows. Who would have thought? Certainly not me. Today I am taking the day off. I'm walking Grayson to school, having coffee with a friend, lunch with another. My mother-in-law and I (and Grayson) are driving out to the cemetery this afternoon. We'll talk about the past and laugh and cry. It sucks that we have to, but is so good that we can do it together. The cemetery is by the wonderful old church we were married in; it's beautiful out there and I always feel a bit more peaceful when I leave.
I've survived the march for another year. I'm glad it's over. In celebration, a group of us will head to Wursfest on Friday - one of Daniel's favorite fests of all time. What could be more fun than a bunch of great people, drinking beer, wearing ridiculous hats, eating fried pickles, and listenting to polka music? I'm looking forward to it.
Happy Tuesday - Michelle D.