Today.

Today is the day.  It’s the one that I knew was coming, and nothing in my power could stop it.

October 19th

The day you died. Two years ago today.  I remember dozing off on my brother’s couch after a day of carving pumpkins with Jillian & Nash.  I may have only slept for 20 minutes or so, but when I woke up I was completely wiped out. I remember saying to myself “Wow, I don’t remember being this tired ever”.  I remember thinking it was a strange fog and complete loss of energy.  I drove home in that fog but it started to clear as we put our pumpkins on the porch and lit little tea lights inside them that lit up our hard work.  We sat together – the three of us – and waited for you.  It was about 8pm.  We waited out there, I called you a few times on your phone and it just rang and rang.  I wasn’t worried yet, and I knew you’d be home soon. I gently tucked the kids into bed and heard their concerns that you wouldn’t see their pumpkins lit on the porch.  I whispered  “… oh, Daddy will see them as soon as he gets home.  He’s be so proud of your hard work.  You’ll see him in the morning when you wake up.”

As hours turned into worry, and the worst news a wife could hear, the shock and panic that took over and honestly I barely remember those first few days.

I look back now on that time in my life with a little bit more clarity.  I know now that your soul departed your body while I was napping on the couch at my brothers. And that I woke up so drained because you had come to me to reassure me that it was your time to go and that we were going to be ok. You told me we would see each other again soon.

It’s taken me two years of books, research and opening my mind to the possibility that you are still here with us every single day, and especially when we need your guidance and to feel close to you.

We feel you.  I feel you.

I can almost “feel” your smile when it happens instead of imagine what it looks like in my mind.  I see so much here more clearly than I ever thought possible.  I can almost “feel” a sunset or sunrise when it’s a sign from you. And no, I don’t think that the sun rises or sets with these amazing colors & glory just for me but rather I feel you “nudging” me to notice their beauty.

Yes, I know.  It sounds crazy.

But there is no other explanation that I have for the signs, the feathers, the messages and most importantly the strength that you’ve sent us to carry on.  That Grace that washes over me when I need to be strong for Jillian & Nash, when they look up at me with those wondering eyes and ask those hard questions about what happened or where you are now or if we’re going to be ok.  The Grace and courage to say yes to love again.  It’s quite amazing.  That feeling is so tangible, although words can’t nearly explain how it feels.

Your death has given me a depth in myself that I never would have found had I not experienced your loss.  I am eternally grateful for that.  Losing you – one of my soul mates – made me question my own existence, God’s existence, and nearly everything that I know. I am so incredibly thankful, for those questions brought me to answers that have helped me carry on.  And reminds me that you are still here, and that you are still everywhere.  And that this lifetime that we shared together is but only a blip on the map, one lifetime of many lifetimes that we will share together.

We still have our days. And here I thought grief was a timeline.  And that it was supposed to go a certain way, and then right at 18 months it would get easier.  Ha, that’s pretty hysterical now that I think about it. Grief never “goes away” or “finishes”.  It is something that you simply absorb, and grow from.  It’s a human experience that allows you to see inside yourself and discover what you’re made of.

And what you’re not.

You could in some way compare grief to a grand adventure of the human spirit. Kind of like a great vacation. (Stay with me)  This vacation takes you through valleys and peaks and let’s you stand on the highest mountain and on the shores of the biggest ocean and feel insignificant and tiny for a few moments. It also gives you a few challenges, cancelled reservations, maybe a flat tire.  But at the end of this vacation, you feel like it almost became a part of who you are, and in turn made you a better person for experiencing it.  It becomes a part of who you are, your history and your life experience.

Wow, yes.  Like that.  Grief made me feel like that just as it did when I stood in the sand on our trip to California and spread his ashes privately as my family slept in the tiny cottage behind me and over the hill. Yes, I chose the number 19 purposefully. I felt so tiny in that moment. Here I am one human, experiencing sadness and loss.  And at the same time, so filled with hope and what lies ahead on our next adventures with Joe.  He has also taught me so much about this lifetime, even more about the connections that make us all soul mates. He’s also taught me how to feel tiny in an infinite universe.  And that our past, our present and even our future really is already written in the stars. Looking out into an ocean that day, made me feel tiny and overwhelmed at the thought that it has been here for thousands of years, many many many lifetimes.  I’ve never felt so insignificant and so empowered in the same moment as I did that morning.

But even though this great experience and darkness of you not being with us here on this Earth – in this space and time – we miss you.  We miss everything about you.

We miss your smile.  Your dry humor.  I miss standing in the doorway and watching you read to them and tuck them in.  I miss the sound of giggles & morning snuggles being my alarm clock.  Gosh, we miss you.  And still can’t believe it’s been two years since we hugged you and kissed you and heard the sound of your voice or covered you in “pick up hugs” the minute you came through the door.   We would give anything to have just a few more moments like those.

We have so many promises to you.  We promise to honor the life we had together.  We promise to carry on your legacy and to make you proud of us.  We promised to love without fear. We promise to always ask questions, and speak up for what we know is right.  We promise to give without expecting anything in return.  These are all things that we learned together as a family and what you taught us.

We don’t want you to worry about us. We will be ok.  For now, we grow and forge forward knowing you are still here. We still find reasons to laugh.  To love.  To fill every corner of our lives with adventures that remind us how lucky we are to be here and to have each other, and to feel safe, loved & protected.  I know that somewhere we are all soulmates and that this was all part of the plan.

And I’m ok with that.