My husband was ripped from my life in literally the blink of an eye. I was crouched in the gravel by my truck as I screamed at the top of my lungs, not knowing how I was going to survive. I had to speak aloud the words to my son that broke every ounce of me that might have remained: "your dad is gone, Conner. There was an accident at the concrete plant and your dad is dead."
Did I say that with grace? No. I was barely breathing and my brain sure wasn't functioning at even a fraction of capacity. Do I regret how I told our 10 year old son? Yes. But I hadn't control at that point.
For weeks, and yes weeks, I literally walked in a fog. I remember needing help to make it from the recliner to the bathroom during those first few days. And I literally mean it was like a fog. My limbs would just stop working at some points and my body would almost convulse into terrible and draining sobs. I couldn't drive myself for days. I didn't eat, didn't sleep, didn't speak unless I had to. I remember being fed Xanax after I would have a panic attack and massive hyperventilating/crying/screaming spell. I remember crawling into that huge king size bed feeling like it would swallow me whole at any minute because my super strong, always present husband was no longer in his spot.
I relive Every.Single.Detail.
The feeling in the pit of my stomach returns every time I see the first text from Mike's ex-wife which prompted it all into action. I feel the nausea take over every time I see myself shaking uncontrollably as I had to get dressed and begin calling Mike's family and my own. My breaths become labored every time I see him on that cold metal table, his body covered in a white sheet with his left arm exposed so that I might hold his hand.
There is not one single detail of my husband's passing, of the immediate days following, of the funeral and the Marines and the flag and the family and friends and the cows that walked up to the fence at the cemetery, of the words spoken by our preacher, of the songs that played and thinking how Mike would have appreciated the songs I chose, of the weeks it took me to be able to work through a full day, of the counseling and medication that my son has had to endure, of the images of Conner throwing up daily because his heart and soul were ripped open that day as well, of the "big days" Mike has already missed, of the utter despair that I have felt so often the last 17 months.
But let me tell you something...I PROMISE that one day, not immediately and not fast enough to satisfy your broken life, you WILL climb from the abyss of pain and loss and suffering and guilt and on and on and on...
You have to FIGHT! You HAVE to!
You have to claw your way out...kick and scream and fight to get to the other side. Because listen, NO ONE ELSE can or is going to do it for you. You will be bruised and tattered, exhausted and scared. But you WILL survive this, despite what your heart and soul sometimes scream at you.
When it takes control, and that's the ugly reality about grief and it being its own living, breathing animal, you will still have break downs. You will still cry, but it won't be every day. You will miss him or her, but you will also look forward to the day. You will still wonder if you're making the right moves, but you will take a step forward despite it. You will NEVER stop loving him or her, but you will begin to recognize that life does go on. I know that 17 months ago, I didn't think it would and quite frankly, I did not want it to. Not that I contemplated taking my own life or anything like that, but I just did not want life to go on without Mike in it. That realization that life does go on, did not sit well with me and it really pissed me off.
But I can't be angry about life's continuing cycle anymore. And I can't be afraid to breathe new life. And I can't give up on everything I've ever enjoyed and loved just because my husband died.
I will NOW, FOREVER, and ALWAYS TIMES INFINITY love and miss my husband Mike, and the life and love we made together. But I PROMISE that I WILL survive and live my life to the fullest! I WILL laugh until I cry, love someone else, dance to my favorite songs, sing to the top of my lungs, giggle until my side hurts, smile a true smile, raise my son to be a good man, and pray thanks to God every day for bringing me this far.
And I PROMISE...you will too.
My hope is that one day I CAN and WILL be an inspiration to others. I hope one day to speak to groups and tell my story and encourage others to keep fighting so that they too can one day say... I SURVIVED!
So please don't give up. Please read and retread this blog as many times as you need. Remember in my earlier posts, I was just like so many of you: full of everything BUT hope. Today I'm filled with hope.
I will visit my husband this weekend, as it is Memorial Day weekend. I will place a flag for him and I will remove the old flower arrangements which badly need replaced. I will tell him how we are doing and I will confess my deepest love for him. I will walk away from the headstone able to breathe.
I will NFAxI love and miss you, Michael Richard. You taught me so much about love and I have so much of that love left in me to give to others and to myself.
I hope you're dancing in the sky...I hope you're singing in the Angel's choir...I hope the Angels know what they have...I bet it's so nice up in Heaven since you've arrived...
Love,
Veronica
#stillhis
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