Ryan was home to me. Right now I'm feeling homeless. Where do I belong? The world is turning and I must take my place. But where?
Our bedroom is the hardest room for me to be in. I only noticed a few days ago how I avoid going in there. I use the boys bathroom during the day, instead of my own. When I go in our room at night it feels sacred. A giant photo of him leans against the wall from the funeral. For now, I like it there. His smile is so genuine...I feel like he's telling me how proud he is that I've gotten through another day. I pray harder in there. I cry harder in there. Everything is rawer in there.
Today was a struggle. Being in church without him by my side hurts. I sat at the end of the row feeling naked on my right side. I told the boys on the way home I need them to sit on either side of me for now on. They nodded and completely understood. I'm so lucky to have them. I was surprised how jealous I was of the husbands with their hands around their wives. I miss his embrace. I miss felling his fingers around mine.
I miss HIM.
I am thankful for the knowledge that we'll be together again one day, but my heart breaks thinking how long it will be until we hold each other. Too long. Just waiting one more day seems too long.
Thank goodness for my boys. They are why I get up in the morning. As difficult as it is waking up only to realize this is all real, as soon as I walk out of my room and see them...I'm OK...or at least better.
B announced yesterday that he wants to start playing baseball. Today I was outside playing catch with him...fumbling with the ball, trying to remember the correct way to throw it. The correct way to catch a ball? I'm not sure I'm teaching him correctly. Ryan was always waiting for one of his boys to show interest in baseball, and now here B is ready to embrace it and he has only an inept mother to coach him through.
The leaves are changing and I'm not sure how I feel about that. Seasons are rolling on, time is moving forward while our family sits static in our grief. We try to normal through our days, keeping busy is our best defense against the tears. When the boys are around their cousins or their friends, they are alive. They laugh. They are kids. My heart sings when I hear them laugh together.
I guess the best word for this stage is melancholy. I'm lonely without him. Lost. Homeless. We spent every day together, practically every lunch together. When you and the love of your life are inseparable, and then you are alone...melancholy. That is the only word.
It is completely overwhelming knowing I am responsible for the boys wellbeing...emotionally, physically, financially. Failing them is not an option. But here I am wondering how I will make a living. I need to jump in...but where to start? Call me. I'm for sale.
Despite all the melancholy, I have an overwhelming sense of predetermination. Something is waiting for me out there. Something. Seems completely unfathomable, but at the same time I am certain there is a path I am supposed to walk now...I just feel it. I only wish someone would physically take my hand and show me the way.
The question marks are the worst. The question marks and missing him.
Faith isn't always the easiest road, but I can't image traveling by any other. Where would I be without the hope for a better day? My brain tells me there is happiness to be found ahead...my heart is not sure. All I know is I have no choice but to move forward.
One day at a time.
One hour at a time.
Sometimes...one minute at a time.
One step at a time.
The world won't stop for me, so I will move forward, working diligently to find my place again.
And hope that somehow, the place I find will feel like home.