First off, thank you very much Heather(anonymous) for your words. The person in question was not my father, but someone still closer to me, whom I adore with all my heart and whose pain is my pain. I find it comforting to know that so many still wish to read the words that I write. This (along with my paper journal) is my outlet and I do, sometimes, find myself hiding from myself. I guess, wanting to present a healthier, processing this all fine-thank you, kind of me. A lot of times it's a bit farcical. Those are the days I immerse myself in reading the blogs of others (read: all of you) and forgetting about things for awhile.
Nicole was okay with me not going. My children realize (on some level) what a truly magical (yes this sounds flighty and Danielle Steele-ish, but it's the truth so I can't help it) family life we had...before. They realize and work with me on trying to forge ahead to something new. If not what we want, at least palatable to us all. This is tough at times. There are days where James would give everything to just work on something in the garage, with his dad. Last week I stood at the window, crying, as I watched my son hammer together a bench all on his own. I superimposed the image of his father, on the ground next to him, over the image. There were so many times I could pick that image from. They spent so much time putzing out there together. I have pictures of my baby boy with a shovel 2 times his height, out in the snow with daddy. My favorite picture is of my 1 1/2 year old sweeping the driveway, while his daddy and his grandpa (both now gone) talked above him. Too many images that leave too big a hurt on some days.
I have images, really all too recent images of Nicole and her dad...hunched over the engine block of the Intrepid. He, wanting to give her all the knowledge she needed as a new driver. She, eager to please her dad and cleaning up the car...down to the detailing. He was so proud to give that car to her and to see her drive off for the very first time. I know that hurts her every single time she gets behind the wheel. Sometimes in small ways. Sometimes... again in ways that hurt too much.
It is hard to explain...this love we shared. I miss the man who finished my sentences or knew when to leave me be on a very bad day. I miss the man who gave me my life back...who made my daughter ours...who soothed his new son in his first moments on earth...who cried and begged me not to leave him on the way to the hospital that one scary night...who worked 6, sometimes 7, days for us...never complaining...even though I knew how weary he was. I only ever wanted him to be happy. And he was. And we were. And so were our children. So when I say he was the biggest thing in my life I guess I mean he was the biggest thing in all of our lives. Without him, we are not we anymore. We're attempting to find a self, a family, without him. And that wasn't in the blueprint.
Oh. About the title? I couldn't really think of one and am running on a lack of sleep of late so...well...there it is.