Overwhelmed

I am feeling incredibly overwhelmed. The last few weeks have been so hectic with all the different things the oncoming fall is bringing into our lives. Jeremy starts school at Batavia Elementary next Wednesday, and I alternate between feelings of joy and deep sadness at this approaching milestone. I have been awed and amazed at my dear little boy. I can't believe that it is time for him to take the great step into kindergarten, and along with dealing with the emotions that come along with such a huge change, I am still constantly dealing with the loss of Ammon in our lives. I have all the usual anxiety about kindergarten, but it is multiplied many times over knowing that Ammon won't be here to help me put him onto the bus his first day, or to hear about the adventures when he returns later in the day. Kadon is also starting pre-school, a two day a week program that is reasonably affordable. I start school on the 24th of September, and in the meantime I have a week long visit to Utah to think about. Things are moving at breakneck speed, and the finality of it all scares me. I want to make this weekend last--the last weekend of Jeremy's little boyhood. From Wednesday forward--he will be officially growing up. I feel as though as long as I keep him cocooned in our household, he is in a fairly static state. Once I hand him over to the outside world, I know he will be swept beyond my control. I wish that I had another parent to share all of this with. Friends, family, even other widows all understand. But only another parent, only the one person who shares DNA with my children and was there to watch them grow in my womb, cradle them in their first hours, and gently usher them through early childhood--only Ammon could truly understand the pain that these milestones bring. I miss him, more so now than ever.

Lately I've started to think of the last few months of Ammon's life in a different way. Instead of mourning all that was lost when we lost him, I am trying desperately to see his last few months as the closing scenes in an amazing life. I look at some of the most recent pictures of him, and I drink in the look in his eyes. I see there an absolute peace, a sense of accomplishment and deep pride that few people ever achieve. Ammon loved, and was loved, in a way that few people are fortunate enough to experience in this life. I don't kid myself. We weren't perfect, and I refuse to look at the past with rose colored glasses. This I do know, though: we were perfect for each other. We still are. Our eternal marriage, if I can manage to live worthy of that throughout the rest of my days, will be a replica of what we shared on this earth. The majority of our marriage was beautiful and fulfilling, but when I look back at photos of him taken in the last six months of his life, I see a man who is satisfied. I see a man who has achieved all he had set out to do, and the fire of love and peace burned from within. I am grateful that we both were blessed enough to recognize that peace before he left us. I don't want to admit that Ammon finished the work that he was sent here to do. It boggles my mind that his work could have been completed, when I look around me and see so many things left unfinished. I want Ammon to be able to help me raise his children, and not only to ease the burden of responsibility from my shoulders. I feel that burden acutely, but I mostly regret the things that he is missing. I know that we are an eternal family, and I know that the children we created together will someday know him for the loving father that he is. What pains me is knowing the things that his physical body will miss in the meantime: the first time Brooklyn said Mama. Jeremy's first day of school. Kadon's first day of pre-school. My acceptance into college, and the struggles that adventure will surely hold. I know that he would be proud of our family. Ammon always put great stock into my ability to accomplish things, and I know that hasn't changed. I feel that he still has great faith in me, and the times that I feel his presence near me, I am reassured of that fact. I ache for the milestone's that he misses, though. Soon, too soon, I will have to find a daycare provider for the children so I can attend classes full time on campus. I was able to find Internet based courses for the first quarter of this year, but in January I will be forced to switch to on-campus classes full time. I can't think about daycare too much. I never in a thousand years thought that I would be one of 'those ' parents, and I know in my heart that I still won't be. I regret the loss of my stay at home status, though, and everything that will mean for my children. I want desperately for Brooklyn to take her first steps, say her first word, before spring quarter starts. I couldn't bear to miss those milestones. It's bad enough that Ammon has to miss them, and I find myself completely unwilling to hand any other major milestones over to anybody else. Kadon starts preschool two days a week in September, and his first day is scheduled to be the Monday that I will spend in Utah. I know that Russ and Mary would be more than happy, and are perfectly capable, of shuttling Kadon there and back, and dealing with any first-day anxiety. I, however, can't do it. I can't handle not being there for my baby's first day of preschool. I wonder in coming years, as I get more and more wrapped up in my education and the search for a career, how many other milestones I will have no choice but to pass on. I try not to think too much about what the future holds, but look instead at the past, and all that we have been blessed enough to experience. I was loved by a man that saw me for who I am--for the eternal spirit that I possess, and for the daughter of God that I am. He saw me that way in this mortal life--and loved me with all my flaws and imperfections firmly in place. I can only guess at what his eternal self sees me as. I look forward to the day that we are reunited with all my heart, but right now I stand fixed at the precipice of a future that terrifies me. I try to carry the peace of his final months with me, and see his life as come full circle instead of being cut tragically short. Our loves knows no bounds, and is not a love that can be disturbed by death, tragedy, or separation. I will love him with all of my soul until the day we are brought back together again. I only can hope to live worthy of his love until then.