Thursday, February 15, 2018

Six Years

Mi Querido Amor,

It is strange to think that 2,190 days ago you left this earth. To think of it in years feels like it hasn't been that long yet feels like decades in my heart. 

You have missed so much and yet you are still part of everything. Mostly I know you are part of my raising our daughter. Most of the time I feel like I am doing things so differently than if you were here. We had some very distinct ideas about how to raise a girl. You are missing the fun of the teen years. She is no longer the little girl who would spend snow days playing dress up in your suits and ties. Today she wears ripped jeans so tight I think she needs to spray herself with butter to get into them and sometimes I look at her and wonder what you would think of that style. Would you hound her to have more integrity in her appearance or would she have you so wrapped around her finger that you would be her shopping buddy? Both are very real possibilities. I sometimes imagine us disagreeing on things like sleepovers and make-up - your more traditional expectations clashing with my wanting to break away from those old ways that make young women question their worth. Sometimes I smile to myself when I tackle things I know would have made your ears turn bright red like puberty and the talk

So often I want to talk to you about everything that has to do with her. I want to hear your advice, see you laugh at her sass and beam with pride when teachers tell me that she is among their top students, or when she wears your Grinnell sweatshirt and says she wants to attend the same school as her daddy. You always wanted her to try her hardest and that is what she does. She gets that from our high expectations and that is part of the legacy you left her that I strive to carry on. 

It is hard not to wonder how her personality would be different if she had more years of your influence. I have done the best I can to keep your spirit alive among us but so many times I feel like I am keeping my head above water that it's hard to know if I make any in-roads. There are certainly times when I fail at parenting and feel that you would be ashamed of my actions. There are times when I send up a little, "I'm sorry" when I know you would have expected me to react differently than I do. I try, I really do but some of the challenges of parenting are more than what even you could face with an open mind and heart. This is hard work that never ends. 

Sometimes I am happy that you got the good years of playing tea party and making her day with a stuffed animal. Those days brought you so much joy and you took those moments with you. They were what brought you happiness and what our daughter holds on to. Nowadays it is way harder to make teens happy. Half the time it feels like swimming against the tide while wearing a weighted vest. I wish you were here to swim alongside me, hold me up when my arms get tired. This is by far the hardest thing you left me to do and I want to do it in a way you can be proud of. Even with the village of love and support you and I built, parenting solo is lonely.

Overall, six years feels like it has dragged on and gone by in the blink of an eye all at once. Was it six minutes ago that the casket closed? Was it sixty years ago I last heard your voice? Perhaps that is why many people equate grief with losing your mind. It feels like that sometimes. I miss you in subtle ways all the time, more so than I ever mention because it has become a part of who I am. I see things that you would like and the thought of you comes to mind. It saddens me but I remind myself that your bliss is better than anything I can see and the feeling passes. It all happens in seconds. It's like breathing. Yet, the days leading up to the 15th all my emotions are so much more profound.

I feel fear and vulnerability at levels that are hard to deal with. I feel needy to a degree that is uncharacteristic and it scares so me so I withdraw when what I really want to do is be curled up among those who love me and have been my rocks. The thought that replays in my head is how clueless I was in the days leading up to your death. I had no idea that we were experiencing our lasts. Our last good morning, our last disagreement, our last Valentine's Day, our last good night. The days were so normal and mundane and then BOOM. You were gone; my life changed; I changed. The trust I had in the universe was flipped on its head. In its place is the dread of the other shoe falling, waiting for the next shock to hit. It's like when you've been beaten and someone comes to hug you but you flinch because you expect to be beaten again, even if the person is smiling and calm as they approach you. I live in that flinch, especially in the days leading to the 15th.

I ask myself how I manage to unflinch the rest of the year and I don't have a clear answer. Why after six  years am I still flinching? I don't have an answer to that, either. I have these high expectations every year that I will be stronger, more prepared and less emotional. But every year I am disappointed at how much I feel, hurt and want things to get easier.

This year is no exception. Every anniversary I try new approaches. This year I have packed my calendar with back to back appointments and will end the night surrounded by family and friends. If it were not for them, I don't know where I would be. Throughout the day it is inevitable that my mind will wander back to February 15, 2012 and I will think about what I was doing that day. The memories will come in waves of feelings as they do every year. The scenes from that day will mix with scenes from your wake and funeral as they always do. One memory that always comes to me on this anniversary is the last time I saw your physical self, right before they closed the casket and how my feet felt glued to the floor. I didn't want to see the actual closing but I couldn't bear to walk away knowing what was to happen as soon as I did. From then on, the closed casket wasn't you. It was a prop from the worse day of my life.

Te quiero Mi Amor. Hoy y siempre.

Tu Preciosa,


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