Attempts

This is the stone that my brothers, and their families, gave me. It was part of a beautiful arrangement at the service. They bought it because I had noticed it at the florist when I had gone to order the family flowers for Leonard's service. I was so much in shock, so wanting to just be done with it... to not force myself to think about it. We did the funeral home and florist in one morning and I was having a horrible time. Someone mentioned about getting extra papers with his obituary and I said,"Leonard can do that." So much of it was stuff that Leonard would usually take on, take care of, or just do... Only he was not there. As we were placing the orders (I wanted all yellow roses for me and the children because yellow roses were his only favorite flower and what I had made for him to wear at our wedding) I was starting to "lose it", drifting away, zoning out, wishing I guess. I looked over my sister in law's shoulder and saw this garden stone and it was if (I know this sounds really silly) he was talking to me. It 1. made it so very real and I completely realized at that moment that he was lost to me and 2. became something that I had to have. I was going to go back to buy it, but my brother did instead. And there it was, at the funeral home. It is currently in the living room but, next summer, I plan on building a little garden in the back yard surrounding the stone with maybe a little bench. It is too late in the year to begin anything now, so it will have to wait.
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This next picture is of me (well the back of me which is the only part of me that I am confident in showing these days), my son, and my dear friend from England. We are walking in one of the pedestrian walkways between the Ren Cen and Millender Center. It really was a nice day (despite the spitting rain) and it went by too fast. I really hate saying goodbye to people these days.














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Why is my post titled "Attempts"? Because I am going to attempt to pick up my husband's ashes for the eighth time today. I have gotten as far as the parking lot and have had to come home. But I hate the thought of him being there alone. But I hate the thought of that being all that is left of him... I hate thinking at all these days.

I had a dream last night that he had died. I used to have these dreams about once or twice a year. I always believed it was my subconscious mind giving way to my worries. And I would wake up, roll over and give him the biggest hug. Only this morning I couldn't do that. This morning it was too real.