I started a new blog post a few weeks ago, but I just didn't finish it.
There are a lot of things I start, but can't seem to finish lately. Like thoughts, projects, grocery shopping, and laundry.
I'm more forgetful. My bills are paid, my kids go to their activities, but I can't remember anything without writing it down. Or remember at weird hours, and then don't go to sleep.
I am completely off whack, off balance, and out of sorts. I haven't exercised in months. I'm eating horribly. I think I forgot how to cook. Or maybe, it's just that I don't want to. No, I really don't know how to.
Because 79 days ago, I cooked dinner for 4-5 people. I meal planned. I knew what were having for breakfast, lunch and dinner, at least 6 out of 7 days of the week. But then, my world was thrown into a tailspin. My 4-5 became 3-4, and then, 3. And one of the most helpful things during that transition, was 2 weeks worth of delivery dinner. I don't mean takeout, but friends cooking wonderful meals and bringing it to our home. The only thing I had to think about, was who was coming over, and really, I didn't have to think about that. I wrote down who brought what, and think I've formally thanked everyone, but, I'm not sure. I'm afraid I forgot someone. I'm sure I did. And now, I'll have to check my notebook to find out.
But when you go from cooking for 3 adults and 2 kids to 1 adult and 2 kids, well, it's easier not to. Really, I want to figure it out again. I'm having a hard time figuring out what to make. Because when you are cooking for 3 adults, it's easier to make pork chops, or a batch of taco soup, the occasional meatloaf, pot of spaghetti, a roasted chicken or even a pot roast. I've always had a eat or don't attitude with the kids and the occasional picky-ness. But now, I just don't know what to make, because it's just me and I have my own needs, and they have theirs and well, I'm a little lost.
All because, 79 days ago, I lost my husband. My other half, my best friend. I didn't lose him. I was right there with him. I know where he went. And although I know it must have been his time, and that he is no longer in pain from a variety of ailments that plagued him; we were not ready for this. Yeah, no one ever is, but wow. I was not ready for this.
79 days ago, we were planning when we would move into the farmhouse, a trash the dress wedding shoot, and a week long vacation, for just the two of us. 78 days ago, I began planning when I would move with the kids into the farmhouse, how to cancel or transfer airfare, a funeral, and how to get rid of 6 wedding dresses, that I wore the night before my husband died, the last picture I sent him of me were a series of bad selfies in the dresses, want nothing to do with now, but can't seem to get rid of them.
15 days ago I moved into the farmhouse with the kids and my husband's ashes. I was not spending my first night here without him.
7 days ago, we had a party to celebrate him and remember how awesome he was, how hard headed he was, how he was a complete asshole, and how he took care of so many people - giving them advice, friendship, support, and love when they needed it most. The kids and I opened our home to our friends, our family, and his friends. I felt so much love that day. His presence, ever so big, was ever so big at the farm that day. I felt so at peace, cleaning up what little I had to clean in the kitchen, and seeing people having a great time chatting in the yard. It felt like home.
1 day ago, I went to the beach. At approximately the time Ghon had his last conscious moments; at the time he collapsed and went into cardiac arrest; I thought about him. I stood in "Family Funland" and thought to myself, "Oh, it's been a while since you've talked to Ghon. You should give him a call and see what he's up to and let him know what we are doing and that we are OK." Yep, been a while. I'll get right on that phone call, as soon as I make sure I don't start the flood works in the middle of Funland. Because who cries when you are having a good time at Funland, right?
At least the flashing neon sign on my forehead reading "WIDOW" is dimming a bit.
I've been called strong more times that I can count. But I really don't know what that means. I don't feel strong. I feel vulnerable. I feel weak. I feel incomplete. I want to cry when I can't open a jar of jelly, when I hear a certain song on the radio, or when my kids are testy - because I don't know if they are just being testy or are having a grief moment. If strong means determined, yea, I guess I am strong. We had goals, we had a few shared dreams. And whatever I can do to make those happen, I will.
We had an argument a week before he died. I told him I didn't have my own dreams. That his were mine. He told me to go get some. After he died, I told him I was going to take some of his dreams for me. I've accomplished the first. We are living in this house.
I still don't know what the rest of my dreams are. I'm only thinking about his right now. I'm not sure that is the right thing to do, but it's what I can do.
If you've called me strong, please tell me what that means.
If you have any dreams to share, do so.
If you can teach me how to cook again, send me a recipe. For the record, I'm sick of my kids eating chicken tenders.
If you can do anything to help, don't be afraid to talk about Ghon. Don't be afraid to tell the good, the bad and the everything in between. Share your stories with the kids. Know that Jonathan is hurting; and is always looking, although he won't say it; for someone to talk to or learn from. Stop by, say hi. Just chill and chat. It's good.
If you don't know what to say - it's ok to say, I don't know what to say. It's better than not saying anything. And it's nice to be asked, how are you. Just know, any particular day or time, I could say fine, or OK and be fine or OK. Or I may say fine, or OK and still lose it.
79 days ago, Ghon was taken from us. Nothing can or will change that. But everything we say and do can keep his memory and legacy alive so that we never forget. Help us all never forget.
I love you Ghon.