This picture is very heart-warming to me. It's not the greatest picture in terms of photography, the light from the windows makes it too bright, but there's something about it that I am drawn to. Every person at this table is a survivor.

The little girl who has bravely battled cancer since she was 15-months-old, and two weeks ago walked down the aisle, a miracle in itself, to stand with her mother as she married a man who has brought a new level of love into their home; The woman who nursed her child through cancer and a relapse, years of being in and out of hospitals, and 12 months of not being able to leave her house to protect her daughter's weakened immune system and give her a fighting chance. And she succeeded. And then she lost her brother; The girl who has watched and lived with realities of cancer since she herself was way to small to deal with such things; The woman who gave birth to a 2 1/2 pound premature daughter at 30 weeks and had to leave the baby in the hosptial for the first months of her life. Seeing her baby in situations that no woman ever expects to see her newborn go through; The 3-year-old who who was born way too early by most standards, who fought to even eat in her first weeks of her life, who survived what many other preemies don't; The 4 and 7 year old who lost their father, the guy that walked into the house every day at 5 and lit up their lives. The man that took them places and played with them at night and gave them endless hugs and kisses and love. They are missing something so huge in their lives, yet still they laugh and love with all the fervor that two young children should possess; The man who went through a divorce and then a month later lost his brother and best friend, leaving him without the two people who he was closest to in the world. Yet he was brave and strong and when it was time to sink or swim, he chose to swim.

All of the people at this table are survivors. Any one of them could have given up and no one would have blamed them. They could have stopped getting out of bed. They could have disconnected from their lives. They could have turned to drugs. They could have stopped living. And not one of them did. If you see any one of them on any given day, you will see them smiling. They each possess deep pain and yet they still smile and see good in the world. They have all endured. They have all lost. They all keep living. They know it's their choice and they choose life. They are all remarkable people.

It reminds me of something I read recently:

".....the definition of courage is not the absence of fear. In fact, when you are in a courageous moment you're in a fearful moment - but it is proceeding despite the fact that you're afraid."

To me, this is a picture of courage. That is why I am drawn to it.
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This hurts to talk about and I never have put it into words before this.

For as long as I can remember I always had this feeling inside me that something big was going to happen in my life. That I was always moving towards this "thing"; that I had no worries for the future because there was something, something, something that was going to happen. I have never known what this thing was. I have had times when I thought it was career oriented. I have had times when I thought it was personally oriented. I have had times when I thought I was going to discover some talent that I didn't know I had and it was going to be lead me somewhere fulfilling. To be honest, I never gave it too much thought at once though, it's just a feeling I've always had in me for as far back as I can remember. I would describe it as a little flicker of light inside of me that I never spoke of or talked about, it was just part of me and it gave me a sort of peaceful feeling. I am not even sure I am making sense with this.

When Joe died last year, I literally felt that light fade, and go out. I felt for the first time in my life that I can remember, no light, no flicker, no peaceful feelings for the future. I spent weeks and months wondering, "Is this what I've been moving towards my whole life? Is this the end, the "big thing" that was going to happen to me? That I was going to lose my husband, the father of my children, become a widow?" THIS?? Now I am here and the flame is gone, like my journey has ended. It was devastating. It is devastating. I have cried many tears thinking about this and feeling the deadness inside of me. The darkness. I have begged for the the light to go back on. I can't make sense of any of it. I thought the light was mine. I feel betrayed in a way because I thought I was moving towards something good. It offered me peace but in the end what it gave me was endless pain.


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I still can't believe I won't see him again.
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I don't think that I have ever said here that the driver of the dump truck that killed my husband lost his license for three years. I wrote about the hearing that we attended, and I posted the impact statement that I wrote/read a while back, but I never posted the results of the hearing. Someone asked me recently what happened with it so I thought I would post that here in case anyone else was wondering.

I've gone weeks in that past year without shedding any tears. At one point I just thought there were none left in me, and that could have been true. At another point I just think I was like "what's the point?" and just felt hardened to tears. But for the past few weeks, they've been back. Just as many as ever.

I am sure some of you can relate. Some days are just what I call in my head "weepy". Like, I could cry at any second. Today I was waiting for Alyssa to finish up at preschool and I was watching her swing from my car. She was pumping her legs, swinging all by herself, something she's worked hard on since school started. She was singing at the top of her lungs as she always does. I burst into tears while I watched her. It is so sad to me that she is living without her father. But I remind myself of the alternative and that's even worse. Sometimes when I am looking at a happy sight (like her swinging) and feeling the sadness, I put another picture in my head....the picture of how it could be if my kids were not doing well....I imagine her sitting by herself on the edge of the playground looking sad and not talking to anyone, not playing. That is worse, I know. And that kind of snaps me out of my moment....and I just try to be thankful to be seeing this happy, spirited, loving 4-year-old. I am truly thankful for my kids and so many things, but my gosh, I feel like everything sucks at the same time.

Which brings me to another topic: guilt. I've probably talked about it before here, but I have a lot of guilt that I feel so bad still. The guilt comes from that I have so much in so many ways, I feel like I have everything a person could ask for, yet I am missing my husband so much it makes everything else seem less in some way. It's weird but I feel like it's been such a long time (14 months) since this all happened on one hand and on the other hand I feel like it was yesterday. I feel like some things are better in a sense....I don't sleep with a flashlight anymore; I don't count the days and weeks since I've seen him; I don't look at the clock every day at 5 and think of him walking through the door; I don't hold my breath every Wednesday at 5:30 and I don't sit by myself and stare for hours after my kids go to bed. I do however have a deep, seemingly endless, desperate longing to see him. I miss him in a way that seems to grow every day. I want to see his face. I want to feel his presence. I can't even describe the feeling properly. There are just no words.

I feel like I should be moving on more, like I should start to feel better about all of this. I know none of it will ever feel good, but at least I should be starting to build a different life for myself or have an idea of what it will look and be like. I just don't. I still feel like I am just getting by. I wake up some mornings and things are NOT OKAY. Nothing precipitates it, I just wake up and the world is not right. I hate that. And I hate admitting it more, because it makes me feel like I am not moving forward, not accepting, not acheiving.