June 11th is coming. Like a storm brewing in the distance that you are powerless to stop. Just like the freight train that May 16th was… So too is June 11th. I woke up and knew it was Monday. It’s a week from today. A week from today, it will be a year from that morning that I had to walk out of the hospital without him, for the last time.
And I remember standing at his bedside, singing to him, and telling him it was ok to “let go,” it was ok to “sleep well” and telling him I wouldn’t make a big deal of the date. Promising. Because he thought recognizing deathaversaries was ridiculous. He teased me about my “obsession with dates.”
But that was before I was widowed at 36. That was before my love, the man I gave my heart, who I had babies and plans and dreams with, died in my arms. That was before I was in the hot young widows club and was familiar with the word “deathaversary.” I think of how he responded when my friend died. How he felt for her husband. And I think he would forgive me.
But I think I can honor him by not making a big deal of June 11th with the kids. We have the baseball game coming up next Saturday, followed by Father’s day. Where we will honor him, we will celebrate and remember, like we did for his birthday. But I think the idea of them noting his deathaversary he would have really disliked. I decided to take the day off work. I could plow ahead, and work that day. I worked May 16th and 17th… I’m sure I could do it…but when I considered taking December 11th off for The half year mark, and didn’t go with that… I ended up with R in the ER the night before and taking off anyway. So I took the day off. And we’ll see how that goes. But I am not telling the kids I took off, because I don’t know how I’m going to be. And if they learn that I didn’t go to work, I am definitely not going to tell them why.
I worry about them all, constantly. This time last year top priority went with A, when her interest in what was happening was heightened… That it wasn’t just a party with friends showing up at the house all the time… But something was really wrong. And why could everyone else go to the hospital to see daddy and she couldn’t… Right now she’s the one I’m worried about most too. Will she know or find out what Monday is even if I don’t tell her? Last night she did something that upset me for the first time. At a girl scouts end of year pool party we had pizza, then she asked for a cookie AND a brownie. I was fine with it so long as there was still enough for everyone. Maybe another parent had said one or the other (my standards have dropped in the last year) because a friend said to A “no fair.” And I heard her say “don’t you know what happened to my dad?!” I was shocked and I let her know. Only one other parent heard it and it was a brownie’s mom so I’m not sure if she knows… I went over and told A that what happened to her dad is incredibly sad but it does not mean she gets extra desert. They are completely unrelated. Goodness, sometimes I have no idea how to do this. We had another sad, sweeter moment over the weekend where I chose to sit down and look through her selfies with Dad book with her. I hope it helped. Without completely understanding the calendar, I can’t help wondering if she feels what this time of year brings.
June 11th will come. I can’t help that I know what day it is. But I think I can honor him by not telling them. But I also remember that these tiny humans I look at every day aren’t only half-Tim. They are also half-me. So I have to hope they forgive me for not telling them what day it is. Some day, they won’t be able to help knowing, and they can chose to do as they want with that information. But for now, I will keep it to myself. And we’ll see how this goes.
“You have stolen my heartAnd from the ballroom floor we are a celebrationOne good stretch before our hibernationOur dreams assured and we are, we’ll sleep well… sleep well… sleep well… sleep well”~ Dashboard Confessional “Stolen” (Our wedding song)
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