Two Months

12/06 Arc de Triomphe

The question of what I would say about the two month mark started circulating in my thoughts several days ago.  Mostly, my reaction is disbelief.  How can 60 days have passed without you here?  

Today was a normal day.  Now when you read that last sentence you must read it with the understanding that my scale of 'normal' used to be my scale of cruddy.  This day was a little higher on the scale of cruddy.

Both of the kids have had colds and Maya woke up at 2:30 a.m. when her cough medicine wore off thus she found her way to my bed.  I have never been a co-sleeper.  It was a rule Chris and I had: our bed was OURS.  However, it was nice to have the noise of another person next to me for a change.  Her soft snore, her warm little feet on my side, the giggle she let out in her sleep.  Usually I would take her back to her bed once she fell back to sleep but last night I let her stay.  I did fear, however, that Owen would wake up early and I'd have a happy toddler and a grumpy preschooler to keep me company at 6 a.m.  Luckily Owen slept in.  This morning the three of us snuggled in my bed and I kept thinking that if the two month anniversary of Chris' death was going to come, I was glad it started with my babies snuggled in my bed.

So, I suppose the question is what happens next?  I ask myself this bloated question over and over. 

I have managed to slightly define my beliefs.  I can feel my life being guided; people reach out to me at times I truly need the hand up.  In the end, I believe that those who cross over are still here.  At moments, I am reassured by this thought.  During the 'witching hour' this thought makes me angry and I demand signs, demand Chris go to Maya in her dreams to help her, demand I be allowed to feel his presence.  Logically, I know it doesn't work this way however late at night, I feel like I have the right to demand these but truly it's just an ugly moment of self pity.

Tonight I watched an episode of "How I Met Your Mother".  Initially I saw it on my recordings and flipped past it.  It was a show Chris and I always waited to watch together.  However, I sat down to write on the blog and instead decided I would divulge in a little procrastination first.  The question driving the episode was, what do you want your last words to be.  Can you see the blinking neon sign now?

 If you read my first blog about Chris' death, you know we had a conversation that morning.  Prior to the last conversation he joked with me about elbowing him out of the way to get at the coffee.  Always joking around, that boy.  During our last conversation I remember looking at his frumpled hair, thinking how cute he always looked sleepy, hair messed, old t-shirt on.  I remember the smile on his face and he watched goofy Owen walking around the living room.  He looked so happy and I sat concentrating on that face, that smile, the twinkle in those eyes.  Honestly, his last words were "Ok, I'm going to go shower so we can get going."  During sad moments I wish we had said more.  It was a normal morning...what else would he have said?  I know I was meant to remember those last moments of happiness.  Juxtaposed with the events of the following hour of my life, it has taken these moments two months to shake the dust and shine in my memory.

Two months feels like two weeks.  I  wonder what six months will feel like.  Today, I feel like I am surviving and that is good enough for now.  I found myself at the same class at the gym that I attended two days before he died and it left me thinking about our last night there, Maya at swim, catching a late night class.  The instructor played a new song called "My First Kiss" that night.  I remember thinking about my and Chris' first kiss and that in itself let butterflies go in my stomach and made me smile about the man I love.

It was a moment I said to myself "I really do love him this much."  And, I do.  Always, always, always.