.
.
I don't think I will ever get over coming home that day.
.
Seeing the accident scene, the drive home, the desperate yells to my husband when I rushed through the door. The feeling of the empty house. The absolute, by far, worst moments of my life.
.
Sometimes when the kids are at school and I drive home....from wherever....Joe is heavy on my mind and I sit in the driveway and stare at the deck outside my front door. I see the whole scene play out....I imagine myself walking outside my door that day, phone in hand, talking to someone about what I feared, and then the hospital beeping in. I see myself standing there, hysterical, desperate, my whole world changing. I sit in my car and cry as I watch the whole thing unfold. Even the way I cry today is desperate and deeply sad when I think of this scene. And I think the same thing over and over. I ask my husband...
.
"Did you see, Joe?
Did you see what happened to me that day?
Were you here then?"
.
It's not easy for me to admit that I wonder those things, because it seems selfish when my husband just lost his life to be thinking of what it was like for me. But after so much time I know that the reason I feel that way is because Joe was the closest person in the world to me. I had this major life altering, insanely horrible thing happen, and it is only natural that I would need and want to go to him.
.
Even when I ask the questions, I am partly hoping he could not see that scene unfold. Who would want to see someone they love in so much pain? Though I know that part of my struggle is that I was not with my husband during his life altering, insanely horrible event- his death.
.
Both of us in these moments, were alone.
.
It's not right.
.
.