It is one year today. I just lighted four candles in a ceremony I hope to carry on for many more times. I think Aubrey and I and Joey will appreciate it as a sacred ritual to remember you. A special memorial, and then we can talk about special memories. I'm going to see if I can get a video done of you with all the pictures I have of you and movie footage, too.
I need to say my thoughts out loud so I have a better chance of remembering them.
I miss you being proud of me. I miss you holding me. I miss you loving me. Everyone I was around today at the rehearsal dinner was married.
Seeing the picture video of Leslie and Joey tonight made me miss you so much. All the shots of Leslie and Joey kissing and the look of love they have for each other -- I remember that from us and I wish that it still was.
I miss you. It will never be right again. How can I find the gift I know is there?! Where is the lesson? Help me find it before I am ravaged by these strong feelings -- this emotional current that is dragging me under the sea of life, ripping my bleeding heart on the coral reef of love.
I wouldn't give up my life with you, my memories. But this emptiness and hollow void can't be filled until I meet up with you again. I want to make you proud. But I feel weak at the same time.
I wanted that life that we dreamed about. I wanted that big porch and sitting on the rocking chairs as we grow older, watching our children playing in the yard.
I'm holding my breath watching the candles flicker half-terrified, half-hopeful they will blow out.
I want to immortalize you but you are already immortal. I want to enshrine you but how can I move on? I don't want to move on. It seems so final, like I can never think of you again if I date another. How do I find a man that loves children -- that will love our children? I know you'll be proud of me if I raise our kids to be respectable adults; if I cater to their brilliance and find schools that will do the same.
I want to see the clouds rolling by because then I know the whole world hasn't stopped because I am in anguish. I hear crickets chorusing around me and I remember that life is eternal; it does not stop. It is ever evolving and revolving.
Randy gave me strength today. I am reminded of those who still care and want me to continue to fight to live.
Haze -- I should listen to the lyrics again. Everything -- friends, movies, songs, predicaments -- all have new meaning as a widow.
Three are out. The last struggles.
One year.
A lone plane engine rolls in the distance. Birds sound so mean here, indignant of being roused from sleep. Or is it bats?
Hospitality. Thankfulness. Grateful.
The orange kitten padded softly across the kitchen floor as I tried not to think of bats. The last candle blows out. The breeze ruffles my hair and caresses my skin. I don't want to go in. I want to stay outside in the dark and feel Rob's presence or hope to. Sometimes I think he must be too busy to visit but other times I know he is here. I don't want to face questioning glances tonight. But I must go in to see if Joey or Aubrey need me and besides the candles are out, I can't really see the page, what if those are bats? and I don't want to push too deep tonight because of the time commitment.
Am I still being responsible if Aubrey or Joey need me and I don't want to stop a 'therapy cleansing session in mid-epiphany'? So I won't start.
But one question (request actually): Please Rob, will you stay with me tonight? I miss you -- I miss us, that's the truth.
The crickets sound like they are fighting. I smell left-over BBQ exhaust fumes, grass and dirt. I love it. I am in Kentucky. If my mom moved here -- I would move to Mass. I miss Gerry and Lena and Maria and everyone else.
The sky is always changing.
Please help me, Rob, to point me in the right direction to bring me to the next highest and best part of my life. And so it is.
When does the war end?
I love you, Rob. I can't wish you a happy anniversary. Not this year. Maybe next. I hurt.
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