Five years...

R -

A bite of a tuna sandwich.  That was the last thing you ate. The strangest memories find me sometimes.  That would be the most recent.  Your sandwich, that you ate a bite of sometime in the middle of the night.  You ate a tuna sandwich and then a few hours later you died.  I hate tuna sandwiches anyway.

Five years later, and I'm thinking about a sandwich that you didn't even like enough to finish eating it. Out of five years, this was the first year I didn't count down to this day.       This makes me happy.  This also makes me feel guilty.

Death works in mysterious ways I guess.

On the day you died, I woke up and you were already unresponsive.  I figured you were tired, your mother said there was something wrong.  I was a stubborn 22-year-old, and I was wrong.  Your mother called the nurse to come to the house to check on you, and I took our son to daycare, preparing for another day of nurses and PSWs, just like any other day.

I told myself on the way home that if the nurses car was still in the driveway when I got home then something was wrong.  I remember holding my breath as I came around the corner, and my heart skipped three beats because the red car was there.

The rest of the day was a blur.  I remember my apologies to you.  I'm not sure if this is a tradition when someone is dying or what, but I was told to apologize to you.  So I did.  I held your unresponsive hand and I cried and simply said "I'm sorry".  I assume you understand I was actually apologizing for a lot of things.  Like the time I almost burnt down the kitchen and you burnt your hand putting out the fire, for not being able to stay up all night with you, for blaming you and for not fighting hard enough.

Two days before you died, I wanted nothing more than to leave.  I wanted to take our son and get out.  One day before you died I was in laying in your bed, our fingers intertwined, talking about our future and laughing. I had hope, I think you did too.  Life is cruel.


This was the first year I didn't put everything on hold to rush to the cemetery.  The place that used to bring me comfort, now just feels like another chore.  Wondering who left you flowers, wondering if anyone left you flowers, fall clean-up, spring clean-up.  I gave up on that place, because that is not you.

Today I went back for the first time in a long time.  It was raining and as I got out of the car, the rain came down harder.  Armed with flowers picked from my garden, well my old garden, tied together with string I found on the ground somewhere, I tried to find your spot.

I wandered around at first casually but I soon realized I couldn't find your stone.  The first thing I thought was that there was some sort of bill I didn't pay so they took it away.  Then I thought they might remove them after so many years.  I was just about to call your mother, when I saw your spot, you I guess, and everything was okay.  I realized I don't have to be there and things will still be okay. 

Our son didn't want to have anything to do with the cemetery, and I can't blame him.  For his age, I think this is a very common reaction.  After I found you and I set down your flowers, I looked up and see that M. had left the car and was standing in front of me.  He said he knew that you were fishing because your grave stone had a fish jumping out of water on it.  He is starting to understand that you are never coming back, but he is having a hard time understanding the little details.

I miss your voice.
I miss your hats.
I miss your hair.
I miss your annoying ideas.
I miss your Garth Brooks impressions.
I miss the mornings with you.
I miss you trying to quit smoking.
I miss your crappy taste in music.
I even miss your stupid dog sometimes.

I miss you.


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Hello..this is my blog. I bought this fancy theme and I don't know what to write here just yet. Maybe one day remind me I have to write something inspiring here?


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