Yesterday it became obvious. I am taking another trip through emotional hell. I love those. Not.
Yesterday I paid off the house. It is a good thing, a glorious thing, and Rob made sure I had the money from his life insurance to do that. However, I kept thinking of how we were going to do this together, and then we would travel, take pictures, and enjoy the rest of life. I almost didn't make it through the 30 minutes it took to finish the paperwork and wire the money. I was sobbing by the time I reached the van. I just sat there, with my head on the wheel, and cried.
Tonight the children and I are walking at Relay for Life. Our team is special this year. Everyone is either a cancer survivor or caregiver. It is a special team to be on. It is also hard. I miss my mom.
Tomorrow is our delayed family Easter dinner. I usually love these things because I have an incredibly cool family, but this year my thoughts and heart are heavy. Last year I knew Rob and I were coming apart, and I was at a loss of what to try now. Rob went to the dinner with us and pretty much isolated himself. He didn't want to play games. He didn't go outside with us for the Easter egg hunt. We have family pictures from last year with everyone in them...but him. I remember seeing him sitting in one of the stadium seats in the theatre room. That is the only place I remember seeing him last year. Will he still be sitting there when I walk in tomorrow?
This week is Anna's birthday. Yesterday I met one of Rob's friends--one of our family's friends--to order Anna's gift. Rob had it on his list on his computer. As dumb as it sounds, I can't bring myself to erase it. Anna is sort of dreading her birthday because Rob isn't here. I totally understand.
Next Sunday is Mother's Day. Not only do I have no one to buy a card for, but there is no one to take my children to buy a card or gift for me either, and they love to do that. The last text I have from Rob on my phone was sent the evening before he died in the night. It says, "Thank you for being such a great mom for our kids." It's my pleasure, Rob.
And my tears fell fat and hot yesterday, and they fall even as I type.
It is a very rare thing for me to want to drink myself into a place of oblivion to silence the noise of the last year or its effects right now, but yesterday was a rare day, and it is seeping into today.
However, instead of succumbing, I worked out yesterday morning, mowed a yard, walked nearly an hour last night, and spent time with my children. Today I will mow my yard, buy a new fridge since mine went out Monday and is not worthy of repair, and I'll reread the speeches I gave the last two years at Relay and the thoughts I jotted down in case I was asked to speak again this year and remember why I walk. And I will pack water bottles and snacks, put on my good walking shoes, and head to the track where hundreds are gathering to honor the lives of those they love--to mourn the ones lost, to encourage the ones still walking, to stare death in the face and declare, "I still believe in life."
And I do.
So I choose to keep walking.