It’s time for our weekly blog post and today I sat down to post and just couldn’t shy away from what was on my heart. It’s a bit (or a LOT) deeper and personal than things often are here on the blog but who knows, maybe somewhere someone else is struggling with keeping on after a loss and they’ll find these words. And maybe not, maybe they’re just for me but here they are. And we’ll be back to regularly scheduled programing with pretty people next week. <3
A year.. without you here. 365 sunrises and sets. A million toddler milestones. Birthdays. Holidays. So many good things and bad days. All with no phone calls to/from you. And today, calls from family and a carefully treaded ‘how are you this morning’ from my husband and tears feeling nearly always just below the surface. But while today is not a day I want to commemorate it seems one that I won’t be able to ignore. It’s here. It will pass.
I’m not sure the ‘right’ way to feel today. If I’m ‘supposed to’ want to visit your grave or buy a rose or ‘pour one out’ because today is not your day… today is not the day I want to remember or celebrate. Today is the day I want to forget. Today is the day I learned of real loss and real pain of which I knew nothing about before this day. Today is the day I broke. And I don’t want to remember today. So today I’ll be busy. I’ll be in meetings and with clients and focused on them. On creating, not remembering. On moving forward. Not forgetting you, never. But not remembering this part of you.
This week we’ll go to our hometown’s downtown Fourth of July festivities. We’ll get corn dogs and blooming onions and root beer and lemonade. We’ll walk the streets and remember you, remembering what you loved and the great times we had laughing on those same streets stuffed so full of junk food we’d have to carry our funnel cake home for later (not skip it for sure). We’ll get a bag of kettle corn. We’ll watch the fireworks. We’ll love and laugh and be a family and you’ll be there. You’re always here. I don’t ever doubt that and this is why I’m not drawn to your grave… you’re not there.
I’m not sure how we’ve made it a year without you while not making it a day without thinking of you. Actually I do know how, we’ve made it because you made me this person, this mom. We’ve made it because God gave me Brooklyn before he took you home. Because my purpose in her and to be even 1/2 the mom you were keeps me going and keeps me smiling. Because of you I live better, am better, than I ever could have been without you. Because of you we love, we laugh, we eat, we enjoy, we live. Because of you my daughter will know love so fierce it can overcome and outlast any pain. And I pray, so hard, that she’ll not know this pain like I do but even if she does she’ll survive because your/our love is stronger.