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There was a time where life seemed to just slog along...where the mundane routines of life managed to roll over from one day to the next and where the thought of yet another predictable day was enough to make you want to pull your hair out. When the kids were little I was a stay at home mom. It was not really an option considering the fact that John and I managed to have 3 children in 3 1/2 years, however, I was happy to have healthy and lively little boys as my daily companions. Don't get me wrong, choosing to stay home was no small feat, and they were obviously a lot of work with chaos swirling through the house on many occasions, but John and I always felt fortunate that this was our mess, our brood, our family. At one point, John worked night shifts for over 3 years, it actually allowed him to spend time with the boys during the day and gave him the opportunity to do things with them that he couldn't otherwise, if he had a 9-5 job. The daily grind of raising a family was something that required a lot of teamwork, sacrifice and lots and lots of compromise. When you are in it, sometimes you forget to appreciate the repetition of the routines you worked so hard to establish; play time, bath time, and early bedtimes! John loved routines, he liked knowing what to expect and the predictability of them. He was such a homebody, and would rather stay home on weekends with the boys watching movies, or playing games, and enjoying his cheap beer. He hated wasting his hard earned money on frivolous things and he knew well enough that the boys were too young to really appreciate or remember a fancy vacation, or name brand shoes.
John and I would talk a lot back then about how great it was going to be once the boys were a little older and more independent, how the pay off for their closeness in age was going to be in our favor by our late 40's. We figured by that point they would all potentially be out of the house, away at college, or working towards a career they loved. We knew that there was going to come a time where we could finally sit back and observe how the fruits of our labor were no longer weighing our branches down... it was definitely something to look forward to.
Time, it's such a relative thing, looking back now I would give anything for the grind of a mundane week ahead...where snacks and naps were part of the daily routine and where we knew for a fact that John would walk in the door after a long day at work. Two years have come and gone...it doesn't seem possible...but life continues moving forward, whether I like it or not, whether I'm ready or not, or whether I want it to or not... There is a void, a hole, an emptiness that will probably always linger in the background, but I have come to accept that, to understand that it is a part of losing someone long before it was their time to go. The more difficult part is accepting a future that no longer exists the way we had envisioned. Letting go of that part, that reality, continues to be a work in progress.
I have a new found appreciation for grief. It is like a river that flows, always constant, and moving in the same direction. There are twists and turns, rapids and undercurrents and of course stretches of stillness and calm. But nonetheless, the river flows and you must learn to flow with it.
There is no handbook that tells you how to move on, what you are supposed to feel as time passes, what memories you will hold onto or images you will cling to. There is no control over the emotions that seem to take over when you were not expecting them to. And then there is the deafening sound of silence, the kind that reminds me that the sound of his voice will no longer be heard amongst all the chaos in the house. Two years have come and gone and it still seems like yesterday that John was on his way home and about to walk through the door...I hope I never forget that feeling!
