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My husband died in a motorcycle accident.
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Saturday, September 29, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
The Heating Guy
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I stood in my basement today for two hours (literally) talking to my heating guy. He was here to do yearly maintenance on the furnace. Joe and I met this man in 2004, and he also had a motorcycle. The two of them formed a friendship and would sometimes ride together.
We talked about a whole bunch of different things, and honestly, most of them were very unlikely topics for two people standing in a basement. However, it was such and informative conversation for me. He lost his father at age 4 to a heart attack. I had the opportunity to ask this grown man about what it was like for him through the years, growing up without his father. As you can imagine, I have a whole bunch of questions about how my children might be processing this loss. Luckily he is a talker and was able to articulate answers for me, though I understand that grief is a personal thing, and different for everyone.
Still, I appreciated so much the conversation because I was able to see a grown, functioning, "normal" human being standing in front of me that lost his own father at a young age and got through it.
At one point I started crying (in the basement with this person I don't know very well) because he said that my situation as a single parent is most likely "temporary". He said that I will probably meet someone again that I will love like I did Joe. My reaction was "I doubt that" and I immediately started crying.
I just can't imagine that I will ever love anyone as much as I loved Joe. And I can't imagine anyone loving me as much as Joe loved me. I can't imagine that I will ever have that love relationship again. That makes me feel so awful, like the best part of my life is over. That is so hard to deal with.
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I stood in my basement today for two hours (literally) talking to my heating guy. He was here to do yearly maintenance on the furnace. Joe and I met this man in 2004, and he also had a motorcycle. The two of them formed a friendship and would sometimes ride together.
We talked about a whole bunch of different things, and honestly, most of them were very unlikely topics for two people standing in a basement. However, it was such and informative conversation for me. He lost his father at age 4 to a heart attack. I had the opportunity to ask this grown man about what it was like for him through the years, growing up without his father. As you can imagine, I have a whole bunch of questions about how my children might be processing this loss. Luckily he is a talker and was able to articulate answers for me, though I understand that grief is a personal thing, and different for everyone.
Still, I appreciated so much the conversation because I was able to see a grown, functioning, "normal" human being standing in front of me that lost his own father at a young age and got through it.
At one point I started crying (in the basement with this person I don't know very well) because he said that my situation as a single parent is most likely "temporary". He said that I will probably meet someone again that I will love like I did Joe. My reaction was "I doubt that" and I immediately started crying.
I just can't imagine that I will ever love anyone as much as I loved Joe. And I can't imagine anyone loving me as much as Joe loved me. I can't imagine that I will ever have that love relationship again. That makes me feel so awful, like the best part of my life is over. That is so hard to deal with.
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Thursday, September 27, 2007
My Musical House
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One of the first things that brought Joe and I together was music. You could trace the paths of my childhood by looking at the mixed cassettes that I made year after year. Joe was less of a cassette-maker, more of a band lover, but we were equally moved by what we considered to be good music.
Soon after I met him I got into his truck one day and a song was playing. It is one of my earliest recollections of thinking "WOW" in terms of Joe. As I looked at him with my eyes big, he looked back at me and said, "What, it's not what you think.." I knew what he meant because this song was often confused for a different song by those who didn't know it... I reached into my bag and pulled out a cassette and showed him on the mixed label the name of the song "Yellow Ledbetter". That was the song that was playing (note that this was way before most people ever paid any attention to this song). Our musical respect for each other deepened in that moment, and to music lovers, that means a lot.
Through the years we both went through musical changes. We would say to each other "you have to hear this song" and play newly discovered songs for each other. Lots of times his music was too angry or mean for me. And lots of times my music was too (something) for him. But lots of times, I would find MY CD's in his truck and he would find HIS NEW FAVORITE TRACKS on my mixed CDs. It makes me tear up to just think of this connection between us.
Before the accident, most of the time, on any given day, there was always music playing in my house. During the day it would be some mixture of kids music and adult music that was (mostly) family friendly. Since my kids were babies they have known me to, at some point each day, turn up the music and be crazy with them in the living room. At night, especially on Fridays in the last year, we would play all types of music. We would play it LOUD and it would sound so good in our house. Joe would, well, be Joe. Sing...dance...be a one man band. The kids would run around and be crazy. I would think "my God, it really doesn't get better than this". It was pure happiness. Pure joy for each of the four of us in our family.
There have been only a few glimpses of my musical house in the past two months. A few times I have put a song on and sat in the living room and listened. And it sounds so good. But it is so sad.
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I know at some point my musical house will return. I have children. I want them to continue to experience joy and part of joy to us is music. But it is painful right now.
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One of the first things that brought Joe and I together was music. You could trace the paths of my childhood by looking at the mixed cassettes that I made year after year. Joe was less of a cassette-maker, more of a band lover, but we were equally moved by what we considered to be good music.
Soon after I met him I got into his truck one day and a song was playing. It is one of my earliest recollections of thinking "WOW" in terms of Joe. As I looked at him with my eyes big, he looked back at me and said, "What, it's not what you think.." I knew what he meant because this song was often confused for a different song by those who didn't know it... I reached into my bag and pulled out a cassette and showed him on the mixed label the name of the song "Yellow Ledbetter". That was the song that was playing (note that this was way before most people ever paid any attention to this song). Our musical respect for each other deepened in that moment, and to music lovers, that means a lot.
Through the years we both went through musical changes. We would say to each other "you have to hear this song" and play newly discovered songs for each other. Lots of times his music was too angry or mean for me. And lots of times my music was too (something) for him. But lots of times, I would find MY CD's in his truck and he would find HIS NEW FAVORITE TRACKS on my mixed CDs. It makes me tear up to just think of this connection between us.
Before the accident, most of the time, on any given day, there was always music playing in my house. During the day it would be some mixture of kids music and adult music that was (mostly) family friendly. Since my kids were babies they have known me to, at some point each day, turn up the music and be crazy with them in the living room. At night, especially on Fridays in the last year, we would play all types of music. We would play it LOUD and it would sound so good in our house. Joe would, well, be Joe. Sing...dance...be a one man band. The kids would run around and be crazy. I would think "my God, it really doesn't get better than this". It was pure happiness. Pure joy for each of the four of us in our family.
There have been only a few glimpses of my musical house in the past two months. A few times I have put a song on and sat in the living room and listened. And it sounds so good. But it is so sad.
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I know at some point my musical house will return. I have children. I want them to continue to experience joy and part of joy to us is music. But it is painful right now.
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Tuesday, September 25, 2007
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I just have to write something here because I feel so overwhelmed and I feel myself pulling away from this blog. It is so hard for me to put into words when my sisters or parents call or people ask me how I am. The truth is that even those people who love me the most get a lot of their insight into how I am feeling from this blog. So I don't want to stop this because I don't want to break the lines of communication. But I am finding it harder and harder to put my feelings into words.
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Please don't give up on me and stop reading.
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It helps me to know that people care. I don't know what to tell them to do or say, but it does help to know that people are still "with me". I feel so alone in my own head.
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I just want someone to tell me that everything will be okay at some point in my future. And more importantly, I want to feel that way. Sometimes I do, but as more days go by it seems that my feelings are intensifying.
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How could this have happened?
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I had a life full of happiness and promise and everything good. Now I can't even make sense of tomorrow. All I know for sure is that my children and I are here. Left.
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I just have to write something here because I feel so overwhelmed and I feel myself pulling away from this blog. It is so hard for me to put into words when my sisters or parents call or people ask me how I am. The truth is that even those people who love me the most get a lot of their insight into how I am feeling from this blog. So I don't want to stop this because I don't want to break the lines of communication. But I am finding it harder and harder to put my feelings into words.
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Please don't give up on me and stop reading.
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It helps me to know that people care. I don't know what to tell them to do or say, but it does help to know that people are still "with me". I feel so alone in my own head.
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I just want someone to tell me that everything will be okay at some point in my future. And more importantly, I want to feel that way. Sometimes I do, but as more days go by it seems that my feelings are intensifying.
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How could this have happened?
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I had a life full of happiness and promise and everything good. Now I can't even make sense of tomorrow. All I know for sure is that my children and I are here. Left.
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Sunday, September 23, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
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Wake Me Up When September Ends
-Green Day-
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
wake me up when september ends
like my fathers come to pass
seven years has gone so fast
wake me up when september ends
here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are
as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when september ends
summer has come and passed
the innocent can never last
wake me up when september ends
ring out the bells again
like we did when spring began
wake me up when september ends
here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are
as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when september ends
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
wake me up when september ends
like my father's come to pass
twenty years has gone so fast
wake me up when september ends
wake me up when september ends
wake me up when september ends
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Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Luke's tooth
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I am feeling better about it now, but Luke's tooth breaking really threw me for a loop. At first when I thought it was a baby tooth I wasn't feeling too bad, but once I realized it was his (only) adult tooth I could feel a wave of distress come over me.
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I am sure to most people that might sound a little weird...but I am not "normal" at this point.
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My unsettled feelings came from three places:
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One, from just feeling like a plain bad mother for not really taking him seriously when he said his tooth hurt. But geesh...that must have hurt!
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Two, from worrying that his front adult tooth was broken and what would it look like when it grows all the way in...what will they have to do to fix it...could it get infected...will it hurt him when they fix it, etc etc. ( I would classify these are "regular" parental worries).
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And three, I felt like I let Joe down. I can't explain this and like I said, it probably seems silly. But that's how I feel.
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I basically went to bed last night extremely upset. Before going to sleep I wrote and wrote and wrote and tried to figure out why this incident was doing such a number on me. I didn't really come up with any answers. Today I felt better though. But it's rough...because Joe used to comfort me with all my worries about our children. I miss him so much.
I am feeling better about it now, but Luke's tooth breaking really threw me for a loop. At first when I thought it was a baby tooth I wasn't feeling too bad, but once I realized it was his (only) adult tooth I could feel a wave of distress come over me.
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I am sure to most people that might sound a little weird...but I am not "normal" at this point.
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My unsettled feelings came from three places:
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One, from just feeling like a plain bad mother for not really taking him seriously when he said his tooth hurt. But geesh...that must have hurt!
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Two, from worrying that his front adult tooth was broken and what would it look like when it grows all the way in...what will they have to do to fix it...could it get infected...will it hurt him when they fix it, etc etc. ( I would classify these are "regular" parental worries).
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And three, I felt like I let Joe down. I can't explain this and like I said, it probably seems silly. But that's how I feel.
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I basically went to bed last night extremely upset. Before going to sleep I wrote and wrote and wrote and tried to figure out why this incident was doing such a number on me. I didn't really come up with any answers. Today I felt better though. But it's rough...because Joe used to comfort me with all my worries about our children. I miss him so much.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Sunday, September 16, 2007
8 Weeks
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It has been 8 weeks since I've seen Joe.
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Actually I saw him once since then but that is something that is difficult for me to think about. In fact, many days at the cemetery I say, "I can't believe I saw you that way" and I mean it. I really can't believe that I saw my husband with no life in him. It is just so awful and so complex.
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8 weeks is a long time to be separated from someone that you deeply love. These are some things, after 8 weeks, that I have not been able to get used to. These things still have a particular sting for me:
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- Seeing only one toothbrush in the holder.
- Catching a glimpse of certain pictures hanging in my house.
- Hearing the roar of motorcycles outside my house.
- His shoes under the entry way table that I have not moved, and I don't know why not.
- Seeing his clothes around his bureau.
- Seeing our 2 special glasses that we used only on Friday nights, and which no one else has ever used.
- Riding by the accident site, in fact I often go around it.
- Seeing his truck in the driveway.
- Sleeping alone.
- Seeing his last emails in my inbox, dated July 25.
- When I hit "j" when I start an email and it comes up "Joe Chalifour".
- Going to the grocery store and planning meals.
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I guess it was a little early to write that list. I think I could go on and on. The last item, regarding groceries is something that I would not have anticipated. Maybe it's because Hannaford was the last place that Joe went, but I feel so lost when I am there. I realized that I pretty much made all of our meals with Joe in mind. The kids are generally good about eating what they are given. Now that Joe is gone, I feel like I don't even know what to buy. I tend to wait until the last minute, until I run out of stuff and then go in and out for the necessities. Many times when I am in there I feel like I am on the verge of tears. Anyway, hopefully my list of things that stings gets shorter.
It has been 8 weeks since I've seen Joe.
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Actually I saw him once since then but that is something that is difficult for me to think about. In fact, many days at the cemetery I say, "I can't believe I saw you that way" and I mean it. I really can't believe that I saw my husband with no life in him. It is just so awful and so complex.
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8 weeks is a long time to be separated from someone that you deeply love. These are some things, after 8 weeks, that I have not been able to get used to. These things still have a particular sting for me:
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- Seeing only one toothbrush in the holder.
- Catching a glimpse of certain pictures hanging in my house.
- Hearing the roar of motorcycles outside my house.
- His shoes under the entry way table that I have not moved, and I don't know why not.
- Seeing his clothes around his bureau.
- Seeing our 2 special glasses that we used only on Friday nights, and which no one else has ever used.
- Riding by the accident site, in fact I often go around it.
- Seeing his truck in the driveway.
- Sleeping alone.
- Seeing his last emails in my inbox, dated July 25.
- When I hit "j" when I start an email and it comes up "Joe Chalifour".
- Going to the grocery store and planning meals.
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I guess it was a little early to write that list. I think I could go on and on. The last item, regarding groceries is something that I would not have anticipated. Maybe it's because Hannaford was the last place that Joe went, but I feel so lost when I am there. I realized that I pretty much made all of our meals with Joe in mind. The kids are generally good about eating what they are given. Now that Joe is gone, I feel like I don't even know what to buy. I tend to wait until the last minute, until I run out of stuff and then go in and out for the necessities. Many times when I am in there I feel like I am on the verge of tears. Anyway, hopefully my list of things that stings gets shorter.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
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Yesterday when Luke and I were driving near the race track, there were a lot of big campers. He was happy and he was excited about where he was going. He said "there are lots of big campers here!" and I said "yes, there are!". They were lined up, one behind the other, waiting to get into a parking lot. Then he said:
"If you hit one of those on a motorcycle, you will die".
My heart sank. He was matter-of-fact about it, but it hurt just the same. It is a reminder that, consciously or unconsciously, this 6 year old's mind is always trying to make sense of what happened to his father. I said "...not always Luke. Daddy was in a very serious accident and that's why he died. But not everyone dies in car or motorcycle accidents".
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I can barely believe I am having these conversations with my son.
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Yesterday when Luke and I were driving near the race track, there were a lot of big campers. He was happy and he was excited about where he was going. He said "there are lots of big campers here!" and I said "yes, there are!". They were lined up, one behind the other, waiting to get into a parking lot. Then he said:
"If you hit one of those on a motorcycle, you will die".
My heart sank. He was matter-of-fact about it, but it hurt just the same. It is a reminder that, consciously or unconsciously, this 6 year old's mind is always trying to make sense of what happened to his father. I said "...not always Luke. Daddy was in a very serious accident and that's why he died. But not everyone dies in car or motorcycle accidents".
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I can barely believe I am having these conversations with my son.
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Friday, September 14, 2007
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There were over 400 names in the book that people signed at funeral home.
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Those days are a blur to me and I have mostly cloudy images of what went on and who I saw. I remember some moments very clearly though, for one reason or another.
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No one knows what to say in those situations, including me. I want everyone to know that I appreciate just their presence and I understand that there are no words to express how anyone feels. Words truly are inadequate in a situation like that.
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One person, who is an old friend who I do not see regularly, hugged me and said in my ear something which was very heartfelt. This person has known me through the loss of my friend Jennifer, through my niece's cancer, and now through the loss of my husband. What he said to me was:
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"Life shouldn't be so cruel to you"
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I did not reply. But I have to say, the reaction in my head was:
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"WHAT?!...Life has been great to me!...I have had a blessed life!...Life has not been cruel to me!... I have had everything...
I love(d) my life! I have two beautiful children! I have great friends and family" etc etc etc
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I want to make clear that I have no bad feelings about this person and I understand why he said it. I do believe it was heartfelt and came from a place of genuine love and concern for me.
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However, it is important to understand that I do not consider life to be cruel to me. I thank God for Jennifer. I thank God for Joe. And of all my personal acheivements in life, I am most proud of a certificate from Dana Farber Cancer Institute thanking me for the recruitment of 1000 potential bone marrow donors. I would not know that pride if it weren't for Jordyn, and I thank God for her and her bravery and for her continued health.
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I know these gifts are given to me with agonizing sadness and struggle as well, but I cannot view my life as cruel.
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So I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you feel sorry for me, please don't. I am in pain, I am confused, I am afraid, and I am completely unaware of how any of this is ever going to be "okay"...but I don't intend to live a future that warrants pity. Support me, love me, think of me and tell me that you care, but don't tell me that life is cruel to me, because that takes away my hope. Hope is what I have.
There were over 400 names in the book that people signed at funeral home.
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Those days are a blur to me and I have mostly cloudy images of what went on and who I saw. I remember some moments very clearly though, for one reason or another.
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No one knows what to say in those situations, including me. I want everyone to know that I appreciate just their presence and I understand that there are no words to express how anyone feels. Words truly are inadequate in a situation like that.
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One person, who is an old friend who I do not see regularly, hugged me and said in my ear something which was very heartfelt. This person has known me through the loss of my friend Jennifer, through my niece's cancer, and now through the loss of my husband. What he said to me was:
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"Life shouldn't be so cruel to you"
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I did not reply. But I have to say, the reaction in my head was:
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"WHAT?!...Life has been great to me!...I have had a blessed life!...Life has not been cruel to me!... I have had everything...
I love(d) my life! I have two beautiful children! I have great friends and family" etc etc etc
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I want to make clear that I have no bad feelings about this person and I understand why he said it. I do believe it was heartfelt and came from a place of genuine love and concern for me.
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However, it is important to understand that I do not consider life to be cruel to me. I thank God for Jennifer. I thank God for Joe. And of all my personal acheivements in life, I am most proud of a certificate from Dana Farber Cancer Institute thanking me for the recruitment of 1000 potential bone marrow donors. I would not know that pride if it weren't for Jordyn, and I thank God for her and her bravery and for her continued health.
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I know these gifts are given to me with agonizing sadness and struggle as well, but I cannot view my life as cruel.
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So I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you feel sorry for me, please don't. I am in pain, I am confused, I am afraid, and I am completely unaware of how any of this is ever going to be "okay"...but I don't intend to live a future that warrants pity. Support me, love me, think of me and tell me that you care, but don't tell me that life is cruel to me, because that takes away my hope. Hope is what I have.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Doctor's appt
Yesterday I had a scheduled yearly doctor's appointment. By this time I am used to giving my new health insurance information, telling them why I have new health insurance information and I generally mentally prepare myself to walk into a public setting where questions will be asked of me. However, when the nurse (who had not been told of Joe's accident) brought me to the room, she asked me a question that I had not aniticipated--specifically "what are you using for birth control?"-- I completely lost it.
Up to this point I had pretty much been able to keep myself composed in all of these situations, but not yesterday.
So by the time the doctor came in I had regained my composure. She said "I need to listen to your heart" and in that instant I heard these words in my head so loud and clear:
"well that's broken."
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Up to this point I had pretty much been able to keep myself composed in all of these situations, but not yesterday.
So by the time the doctor came in I had regained my composure. She said "I need to listen to your heart" and in that instant I heard these words in my head so loud and clear:
"well that's broken."
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Tuesday, September 11, 2007
This post may not make any sense to anyone. But I need to write it. I have a special request that you do not post any comments to this entry.
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Why is it that if 99 people are holding you up, just enough to keep your head above water so as not to drowned, it only takes one person to pull you under?
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Why is it that if 99 people are holding you up, just enough to keep your head above water so as not to drowned, it only takes one person to pull you under?
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I
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give
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up
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And by doing so I feel my soul break apart from my self. All that I hold sacred is scattered.
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People tell me that I am "strong" but I don't know what that means. Every time it confuses me and I stuff it in and think that at some point I will understand what that means. My outward appearance does not reflect what is on the inside, because the inside is impossible to convey. I am not strong, every day is a challenge for me not to drowned. And now I feel the pressure to give in.
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All I have done in the past 7 weeks is in an effort to keep myself surrounded by peacefulness for myself and my children, and to keep my head above water. There was no room for anger, because I was full of despair. But no one understands that because it is impossible to understand unless you are me, and that is reality. Yet most people took my word for it.
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I have a hard time wondering how someone can push a woman in grief. A woman who is begging to only be surrounded by support and love and peace. A woman who has laid out exactly what she needs. Yet my wishes are questioned....and pushed. As if I don't know what's best for myself and my children. As if I am not in "my right mind". As if I have ever in my married life not held my children and my husband high on a pedastal. Well I assure you all, that I am not in my right mind. But I know, that what I need is peace and love.
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I wonder.....how could anyone cause a grieving wife of two young children more pain than she already feels?
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Sometimes when you love someone, you put their own needs ahead of your own, when they ask you to.
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I don't know where in my life I went wrong.
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I know this...I wrote on a piece of paper over a month ago a question that went unanswered...the question was "Is this loss too big for me?". All this time I looked at it unknowingly, undecided. I was trying to focus on having hope.
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But today, I feel, for one reason or another, that this loss might take me down.
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Monday, September 10, 2007
Wedding Ring
On the day of the accident I left camp to come home to NH, without the kids, to spend a few days with Joe alone in our house. I was going to do some shopping on those days while he was at work. I was thinking about going to some jewelry stores to look for a wedding band. I have never had a wedding band. The reason why is because when looking for one before getting married, I found a wrap for my engagement ring that I really loved. However it was kind of an odd shape and a band did not sit right against it. So on the day that we got married, he put the wrap on my finger instead.
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A few years later I found another wrap that I loved even more. After telling Joe about it, he secretly went to the jewelry store and figured out which one it was and gave it to me one morning on my birthday. Those rings are what have worn through our 7 years of marriage.
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On the night of the accident, while still at the hospital, Diane handed me Joe's wedding band. He rarely took it off, and obviously it was on his finger when he was in the accident. It breaks my heart to even think of the irony of it all.
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I wasn's sure if I should put the ring back onto Joe's finger so that he could wear it "eternally". But in the end I couldn't give it up. I wear it now, next to the other rings he gave me. It is the only thing that I hold onto of his right now. His clothes and all of his other possessions sit where he left them. I can't touch them yet. But his ring is on my finger.
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I can't believe this.
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A few years later I found another wrap that I loved even more. After telling Joe about it, he secretly went to the jewelry store and figured out which one it was and gave it to me one morning on my birthday. Those rings are what have worn through our 7 years of marriage.
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On the night of the accident, while still at the hospital, Diane handed me Joe's wedding band. He rarely took it off, and obviously it was on his finger when he was in the accident. It breaks my heart to even think of the irony of it all.
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I wasn's sure if I should put the ring back onto Joe's finger so that he could wear it "eternally". But in the end I couldn't give it up. I wear it now, next to the other rings he gave me. It is the only thing that I hold onto of his right now. His clothes and all of his other possessions sit where he left them. I can't touch them yet. But his ring is on my finger.
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I can't believe this.
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Sunday, September 9, 2007
Fall
Fall is the time of year that we have a house project going on. Usually something "big" gets completed here in the Fall.
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Last year Joe and I stained our house. It took well into November before we were forced to stop because of the cold weather. He and I stained on the weekends and I would work on it during the week, usually frantically for 3 hours while Alyssa took her nap. He would often come home at night from work and see where I had stained that day and "yell" at me for going up too high on the ladder. I would look at him like he was crazy to yell at me for something so stupid.
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The truth was, that he appreciated my work and was grateful to have that much less to do. And I appreciated that he cared enough to yell at me to not go to high on the ladder.
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We had plans to finish staining, add trim, rock the foundation, keep improving the look of the house. That is what we would have been working on this weekend, had he been here. Weekends are difficult.
.
Those projects weren't completely about getting the work done. Our house is a representation of the teamwork of us as a couple. Our house has always been, since we moved into it almost 8 years ago, a work in progress. I loved to work on projects around the house with him. I miss that. I miss him.
.
It's hard to think of a season changing. I don't know why that is, except that it further solidifies the obvious, which is that life is going to move on without him. I don't want it to, yet I don't have a choice. No options. It's difficult to deal with.
.
.
Last year Joe and I stained our house. It took well into November before we were forced to stop because of the cold weather. He and I stained on the weekends and I would work on it during the week, usually frantically for 3 hours while Alyssa took her nap. He would often come home at night from work and see where I had stained that day and "yell" at me for going up too high on the ladder. I would look at him like he was crazy to yell at me for something so stupid.
.
The truth was, that he appreciated my work and was grateful to have that much less to do. And I appreciated that he cared enough to yell at me to not go to high on the ladder.
.
We had plans to finish staining, add trim, rock the foundation, keep improving the look of the house. That is what we would have been working on this weekend, had he been here. Weekends are difficult.
.
Those projects weren't completely about getting the work done. Our house is a representation of the teamwork of us as a couple. Our house has always been, since we moved into it almost 8 years ago, a work in progress. I loved to work on projects around the house with him. I miss that. I miss him.
.
It's hard to think of a season changing. I don't know why that is, except that it further solidifies the obvious, which is that life is going to move on without him. I don't want it to, yet I don't have a choice. No options. It's difficult to deal with.
.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Roads
When I am out driving around going about my daily business I cannot escape the thoughts of what happened and where. The road that the accident occurred on is one that I use almost daily. The site of the accident is 4 1/2 miles from my house.
.
There is a stretch on one road I often travel that goes up a small hill and when I ride on it now I think "this is the last place where I was when my life was my life". Once I got to the top of that hill that day, everything changed.
.
When I got to the top of the hill I saw blue lights and I thought..."uh oh there must have been an accident there"...not really surprised since it's kind of a bad intersection. As I came to a stop at the light I looked to the right and I saw a motorcycle down. I said "bike down" out loud and I picked up my cell phone. My mind raced to how 20 minutes earlier I had been in Portsmouth and called Joe to tell him I was on my way home...he did not pick up...but I thought he must have been outside on the deck or something. I kept dialing the cell phone and kept getting the answering machine. I kept saying "no, no, no" to myself and I was driving in a fog.
.
When I pulled into the driveway, the garage door was down and the front door was shut just the way I left it 2 hours before. These were not good signs. I opened the car door and ran up the stairs. I kept saying "no, no, no" in a very quiet and pleading way. I got to the door...still locked...not good. I opened the door and started yelling Joe's name. There was no answer.
.
No one in the house.
.
Empty.
.
It was the worst moment of my life.
.
The feelings are indescribable.
.
I have often wished I could erase that moment and the next few hours from my mind. I picture a pencil eraser just moving across my brain taking that little section out. I don't know if that's a good idea, to take those memories away. But I can tell you that my mind knows despair beyond the bounds of what I ever thought possible.
.
I wonder how long it will be before I use that road and go up that hill without thinking, "this is the last place where I was when my life was my life".
.
There is a stretch on one road I often travel that goes up a small hill and when I ride on it now I think "this is the last place where I was when my life was my life". Once I got to the top of that hill that day, everything changed.
.
When I got to the top of the hill I saw blue lights and I thought..."uh oh there must have been an accident there"...not really surprised since it's kind of a bad intersection. As I came to a stop at the light I looked to the right and I saw a motorcycle down. I said "bike down" out loud and I picked up my cell phone. My mind raced to how 20 minutes earlier I had been in Portsmouth and called Joe to tell him I was on my way home...he did not pick up...but I thought he must have been outside on the deck or something. I kept dialing the cell phone and kept getting the answering machine. I kept saying "no, no, no" to myself and I was driving in a fog.
.
When I pulled into the driveway, the garage door was down and the front door was shut just the way I left it 2 hours before. These were not good signs. I opened the car door and ran up the stairs. I kept saying "no, no, no" in a very quiet and pleading way. I got to the door...still locked...not good. I opened the door and started yelling Joe's name. There was no answer.
.
No one in the house.
.
Empty.
.
It was the worst moment of my life.
.
The feelings are indescribable.
.
I have often wished I could erase that moment and the next few hours from my mind. I picture a pencil eraser just moving across my brain taking that little section out. I don't know if that's a good idea, to take those memories away. But I can tell you that my mind knows despair beyond the bounds of what I ever thought possible.
.
I wonder how long it will be before I use that road and go up that hill without thinking, "this is the last place where I was when my life was my life".
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