I wrapped my arms around my husband for the very last time on December 29, 2014. I kissed him good morning and told him how much I loved him as I buried myself into the warmth of his flannel shirt. His arms were closed around me like they always were and he kissed me and told me he loved me back.
We stood at the kitchen sink embraced for the very last time that morning. I felt the stubble of his whiskers and took in the scent of his skin for the last time. I heard his raspy voice that could calm me during any storm. For the last time I looked into his hazel eyes that melted me infinite times over our 13 years together.
For the very first time tragedy shook my soul like it never had. It took a piece of my little boy's innocence and robbed him of a normal childhood. Tragedy robbed me of a chance at pure, untainted happiness and security. I will never get that chance again because my heart will never regain its full composure.
As I fell to the gravel, in utter terror and disbelief, and screamed out, I hadn't the time to think of the most appropriate way to tell our son that his daddy was gone forever. I just more or less blurted out, "Conner, your dad is gone, bubba...he had an accident at work and he's gone."
I watched him fall to the gravel beside me with tears streaming down his innocent face. I helped him walk back to the house, where he had to stop and vomit outside our door. None of it seemed real to me then and it doesn't seem real to me now.
It seems just like yesterday I reached across the bed and felt for his presence feeling the rise and fall of his chest. It seems like yesterday when I fell asleep to the music of his snoring. It seems like yesterday that I was laughing, living, and loving like I had nothing to lose. Then one day I lost my rock. I lost the desire to laugh...to live like I did before...and to love anyone besides him.
But what now?
It has been one full year and I don't know what comes next. I wish it was some magically healing date, that once a widow reaches the one year mark, she is then set free from grief. I wish that the one year mark released all widows and fatherless children of all pain, loneliness, guilt, regret, fear, insecurity, shock, and disbelief. Maybe a sheild of armor that reads, "Wonder Widow: Warrior of Loss".
But it doesn't. Instead that one year mark brings back the vivid details of the worst day of my life. It brings with it more fear to top off the already mountainous list of fears I have. The day brings guilt for being a non-present mom some days over this past year; many days I have spent just sitting in the recliner, not getting dressed and not being a good mom. The day brings regret of not going to surprise my husband with lunch that day; maybe I could have helped him if I'd been there when he fell. The day also brings insecurities; unsureness of my son's and my future. This day brings with it the pang of the shock and disbelief that still makes my breaths catch in my chest some days.
And this day just adds the cherry on top of immeasurable pain and loneliness. Not just for me, but for every single person who knew and loved my husband. His mom will relive those horrible details just like me, but she will also go back to Mike's childhood and remember the tiny baby boy she held in her arms. Mike's sister and brother will relive childhood memories and will replay their own regrets and sorrows.
My family will not only remember the loss of Mike, but they will also remember the loss of my happiness. They will remember the sight of my tear stained face, of the text or phone call to tell them, of the way I couldn't breathe for crying so hard, or how I could not walk through my own house alone those first days.
They will remember my little boy and his immense strength that first day and the days following. They will remember how he helped me calm down each time I broke. They will remember all the people who poured into our home and brought food, drinks, and anything else they thought would be helpful. They will remember Mike and all our Christmases, Thanksgivings, and birthdays. They will remember happier days.
And the boys...what will they remember? I am sure it will be the same as everyone else; flashes of the day he left us and of the day we placed him in the ground. They will remember their favorite memories of playing in the floor with their daddy, of wrestling and special nights in the living room, of sitting in his office having talks for hours, of riding around on the farm and "helping" daddy all the way. They will remember warm chocolate milk in a sippy cup and picking up sticks to roast hot dogs in the field. They will remember playing catch in the yard and family vacations to Orlando, Branson, and our camping trips.
But they will also think of what memories they won't be able to make. And that will be the most difficult. I pray God wraps the boys in His Graces today, tighter than He has ever wrapped them. I pray the boys find strength in each other and in me.
And as for me, I will remember random little things like surprises of pizza and beer; post it notes trailing to the bedroom; flowers on my desk after our first date; opening our first Christmas gifts to each other while sitting on his bed; falling in love under the stars while we stopped in the middle of the field and just held hands in the old 'Yota. I will remember working with him on the farm; picking up walnuts with him and the boys around the machine shed; the summers we spent before we were married, me traveling around the state with him for work. I will remember our silly engagement story; the day we learned we were pregnant with Conner; the day we both cried when we learned we really were not pregnant with another child. I will remember the mischievous smile that crossed his face when I waited for him, all dressed up for date night; and the last date we had just weeks before he passed. I will remember the health scares we both had over the years and how neither of us budged because of them; how we were beside each other through our toughest struggles.
My memories will come like the floodwaters that rush the creeks and rivers of Missouri today, of our farm.
I will rely on my faith and on my family and friends, and on my widow sisters I have met along this journey.
So again I ask, what now? I don't know. No one knows. But life will unfold just as God has planned it and one day I hope to genuinely smile and laugh and live and love without any pain attached. I hope to relive only happy memories and that visits to the cemetery become less agonizing. I hope our son grows into an amazing man. I hope my heart,and the hearts of everyone who knew and loved him, finds peace.
I will always be your wife, Michael, and you will forever be my husband. We love and miss you more than words, baby.
#stillhis
Love,
Veronica
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