I’ve been wanting to blog for a while, but had such a lack of inspiration that I did not even know where to start.
I looked at the date today, and realized it was a milestone in mine and my dead husband’s relationship. I also read a blog post by a friend of mine, Brenda, whom I had the pleasure of meeting last August at Camp Widow. And then I also saw this link on twitter by a widowed friend of mine, Kelly. Not that the twitter link has anything to do with Death, but it does have to do with my husband.
13 years ago today, my husband proposed to me for the first time. Yes, you read that right, the first time. It was in a yahoo chat room, and we hadn’t even met in person. I don’t know what possessed him to ask me to marry him over chat, but I said yes. And we were engaged. Now it seems like silly teenage drivel, but at the time, it was such an amazing moment. We were only 18 years old at the time, and he lived in Germany, and myself in BC. We eventually broke up a couple of months later, only to re-connect in July, and then in August when we finally met in person…when he proposed to me that day. We were married just four months after he proposed the second time.
The article I posted above from Kelley is in regards to a radio personality my husband liked. Well, let’s just say, he was a total fan boy for all things related to Opie and Anthony. Fez, the guy in the article, came out today. Finally admitted he was gay. Of course, everyone who listened to Opie and Anthony, and Ron and Fez knew that, but this was a HUGE huge step for him. I can just imagine my husband’s reaction to this, how pleased he would have been that Fez finally admitted it. I wish I could share it with him.
My friend Brenda posted about how her husband has been dead almost longer than she knew him. Honestly, I’m finding it difficult to tie in what she wrote with how I’m feeling, but her post did make me think about how life goes on. They are gone, and never coming back.
Milestones like today, or Fez coming out of the closet are just little painful reminders that he isn’t here and I can’t tell him anything. The world hasn’t stopped because he died almost 2.5 years ago. People die every day, it’s a fact of life, and I am bitter about it. I’m bitter because I can’t tell him how tall our son has gotten…5.5 feet tall before he even turned 11 years old. I can’t tell him how our oldest daughter taught our youngest daughter how to ride a two-wheeler last September. I can’t tell him how our middle daughter still can’t seem to stop talking or be bothered to wash her face. I can’t tell him that I am still horrible at keeping up with the laundry, and that I still sleep on the same side of the bed that I have forever, even when he was alive. I can’t tell him how excited I am to FINALLY become a citizen of this country later on this year, and how proud I will be to take that Oath and finally become American, all because of him. I can’t tell him that I’m doing fine, but really I’m not . And I can’t tell him that I’m scared of the future and how will I get by without him. The time is coming for me to stop coasting, and it’s scary as shit.
Like my blog title, “In three words I can sum up everything about life: it goes on”, it’s an unfortunate part of the grieving process. Life is never going to stop. We’ll get older, and I’ll eventually look older than he did. The kids will leave the house, go to college, grow and have babies of their own. No one really cares that he’s dead except for those that were close to him.
As hard as I’ve tried to hold onto him, and our life together, it’s slowly seeping out of my fingers. He’s like a billion grains of sand held fast in my hands, yet still sliding out no matter what I do to keep him there.