I didn't blog this weekend because me laptop lost a key and 5 or 6 of the other keys didn't feel like working six out of every ten times I hit them. I was getting frustrated and decided to go out and buy a new one. One with hopefully sturdier keys. Or maybe I will take better care of it. Leonard was always telling me that it was disgraceful, the way my Vaio looked...with the crumbs and the worn off letters etc. It was a "well used" laptop. I am going to refurbish it and give it to my father. He has done so much for me he deserves it.
Saturday and Sunday were filled with missing who I used to be. My aunt and uncle are up from Texas and they came over on Sunday for dinner and visiting. My aunt really wanted to see the DVD that his cousin had put together and watch the video of the service. They were not able to make it up for the service, given the short notice. It was...it was that day again. And all of us-my aunt, my uncle, my father, his girlfriend, my daughter, my son and I cried for what has been lost. This incredible man...this giving husband, and perfect daddy. I had been missing watching the DVD because I do love it, but I am afraid to watch it alone. I can watch it with others around, and cry because they too are crying.
And I hate myself for slipping backward. For screaming and shouting and crying in the car every morning when I drop my son off. Or any second that I get to myself. For wondering who I will be when my children grow up and go off on the lives they rightfully deserve. I find myself wishing it was not my life he had saved that night in January of 2005, but his own. My father begged me to come back today. He begged me to be who I was before all of this. Only one can't do that when they are missing their driving force. This is not how I want to be. I don't want to hurt. I don't want to care. I don't want to wonder. I do want to be existing purely for the sake of my children. But the book that was my life is only half written and there is nothing here to fill the other pages with. That is my fear. I am trying. God, how I am trying. But, when you close your eyes, and your mind is filled with your husband's face, and your last sight of his hands...the hands you wept over, kissed and attempted to breathe life into-in desperation of bringing him back-you lose the ability to know how to finish that book.