Giving Thanks

I struggle as the texts, invitations  and attempted phone calls have flooded my phone this Thanksgiving morning.  Everyone has good intentions, I suppose I should be thankful for the love of all of our family and friends. I’ll be staying home like always though, just alone this year.

I cried as I made my own cup of coffee, we all know on your days off I do not do that. I struggle because right now we would be waiting for my Mom to come over to start cooking while we watch the Macy’s parade, the best damn band in the land played in it this year. We would be getting our shopping list for tonight in order, I would be picking out gifts for the kids while you are focused on things you want for the house or for us. I struggle because the thought of football and drinks should be how our afternoon is filled.  Remember when we stood in line for hours at Toys R Us one year with no coats and it snowing? People still laugh about that. It’s never been about the deal as much as just the time spent together, although lets be honest, your desire to save money ranks pretty high on the priority list. I struggle because on the day everyone is giving thanks I am only questioning why life is so unfair.

I’ve spent the entire week trying to tie up loose ends, ordering our plaque for the mausoleum, HR paperwork and hospital billing. It is crippling, almost unreal,  saying the words “he has passed” over and over again. I’m mad that I work for attorneys and didn’t have our wills drawn up because I thought we had time. With each call from insurances, AECOM, retirement, etc. I see you took care of us, as usual. I am thankful for that. I have no doubt that you wouldn’t be shocked to know some of the things that have transpired with opening an estate. You would be PISSED, but as usual not shocked. As hard as it has been, I haven’t waived from your wishes regarding anything to do with that so you would be proud. I am giving thanks that you were the most honest person with our circle of family and friends, I’m thankful that they remind me always of what you would want in this life forced upon us.

Tonight will be the most difficult. Gathering with your family, you forcing people to try our vegan food, name drawing for Christmas gifts, and exchanging our shopping lists so we all make sure the other families get what is needed. It is so unfair to do those things without you. I made a Marge Farley cake to take, the frosting is whipped and shiny, I know you would be proud even if it doesn’t taste like Deb made it. I did have mom pick us up a hand blender. I will never forget when I made it and we had to take turns stirring the frosting  with a single whisk, seven straight minutes we switched out and our forearms probably burned for seven days afterwards. Oh the stories.  My mom is making the desserts so they will be joining the crowd,  I do not want to go, Amaya does, so I will.  She says Todd reminds her of you, I owe her the dinner where I’m sure she will stay close to him as long as I can keep it together. I noticed last week that when he would sit she would too, even in his lap when he sat in your usual place on the couch. She loves our family unconditionally, each person has their own place in her heart. My heart is broken for her, but she is resilient, I know she will still want to make you proud and for that I am giving thanks.

Each day I have a thought to do something small, go to the movie, Wal-Mart or meet up with someone for lunch but the time comes and I’m overwhelmed. Who will I call after or come home to tell about it anyway? This holiday season may be the hardest of my life. I just want to survive, I don’t need any life lesson or purpose to come from this tragedy happening to us now. I just want to survive and for that I will be thankful.

The Journey Begins On The Seventh Day

We went to church. I cried pulling into the parking lot knowing I wouldn’t hear your voice or see tears in your eyes during worship. I looked over and Amaya said “we don’t have to go”, I took a deep breath and opened the car door. I don’t even remember a time I have driven to church, I had never noticed how odd some of the cars park in the side lot we always park in, it isn’t what I do. We both know I’m usually still putting my makeup on or finding a song on Spotify. As we walked into the double doors, Amaya didn’t leave me for donuts or her friends, she wouldn’t go to class. I guess she gets that from you, her need to take care of me, to stay close by in case I suddenly cry or need a hand to hold. You’ve helped raise her well.

I stood through worship song after worship song knowing I could not sing along. No sounds could have escaped me that wouldn’t cause a flood to follow. But I stood. I saw people we interact with daily. They nodded with sympathetic eyes and some left their seats to hug me. I just kept taking deep breaths, it is now the thing that gets me through. Afterwards, I saw a sweet friend, one who I knew had prayed faithfully for you to get well, a part of me wanted to run but I knew she needed a hug and assurance that I am okay. I am not, but I assure people I am, which I know would irritate you to no end if you were here. When we spoke she said “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re alone”, she is an angel. Literally on this earth an angel. I am alone though my heart cried. I am alone. I gathered myself the best I could and I made it out of the building without talking or eye contact.

Normalcy is something I’m trying so hard to fake, for my sanity, for Amaya’s sake. I drove to LaCocina after church as usual and we were seated quickly as usual. The owner came by and with hope in his eyes he asked “your husband, he doing better?” I couldn’t believe it. I broke and I could feel the tears start to fill my eyes. Why did I go to eat? I’ve avoided the public since I got home from the hospital seven days ago, why did I do that to us?

Seven days ago I walked out of a hospital I had lived in for three weeks. Seven days ago I held your hand for the last time.  Seven days ago I lost all of the hope I had for a miracle. Seven days ago I lost you forever. No matter how many more seven days go by at a time I will never be the same. I have prayed every day for seven days that I can see you somehow, that God gives me a piece of you throughout my day so I know you are with me. On the seventh day I still look over to your side of the bed when I am getting ready from the master bath so you can tell me how I look or that I am going to be late, I still cry, I still take deep breaths to get myself together and I still say I am okay. On the seventh day I still miss you.
xoxo Cassandra

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

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