Revisiting

Things I wrote this year...

JANUARY

Last night, thanks to a phone call from the east coast, we learned that President of the LDS church, Gordon B. Hinckley had passed away. Somewhat shocked, and intensely sad, I got online this morning to read the article I knew would be featured on the front page of the Deseret News in Utah. I don't have any words to express what a tragedy this is for our world. I know that he is with his wife now, and his welcome beyond the veil is something I wish I could have seen.

***

My wonderful husband left me sitting on the couch holding a sleeping Brooklyn, and proceeded to scrub the kitchen. I don't mean that he simply wiped down the counters and loaded the dishwasher, I mean he scrubbed the kitchen. He wiped walls, cabinets, and appliances. He swept, scrubbed, and shined the floor. He even pulled apart the leaves of the table to clean the ever present gunk from between the halves. He washed dishes, he cleaned the sink, he even shined the toaster! I was so impressed, grateful, and flattered that he was concerned enough with the success of my party to go to this much effort.

I can barely even express how grateful I am for a husband who doesn't sit back and support passively. When I undertake something monumental, like a large party on a day that is already brimming with activities, he jumps in and makes it happen. He's a wonderful testament to the kind of men I hope our boys grow up to be, and the kind of man I hope our daughter marries. Those people who thought we wouldn't last a year when we first announced our plan to marry? I guess the jokes on them, because the last 8 years of my life have been the sweetest of all.

***
Kadon continues to amaze us with those big brown eyes, and curly orb of hair.

***

So, last Tuesday was on Jeremy's birthday, and the only thing this child wanted to do for his party was go to Chuck E. Cheese. Why does he want to go to Chuck E. Cheese, you ask? Well, because PBS early morning cartoons tell him that it is the only place a kid can go 'to be a kid'. Knowing that this stage of childhood only lasts a small window of time, Ammon and I resigned ourselves to an afternoon of crappy pizza and arcade games, figuring this was simply a rite of passage that we could no longer avoid. We were wrong, people. Wrong on so many levels.

***
Did I mention how much we are loving having multiple toilets?

FEBRUARY

Mainly, I'm tired of the 'dead' feel of everything around me. I'm tired of dead grass, dead trees, and dead leaves on the ground. Winter without snow is just dead, ugly growth everywhere you look.

***
Unfortunatey, she can't fit the entire toy in her mouth. But she sure tries.

***
I absolutely love, love, love her beautiful blue eyes.

***
I took Brooklyn in to the doctor for her regular 4 month checkup last week, and our tiny daughter is weighing in at a whopping 10 pounds.

***
Thankfully in this situation, my ignorance saved us a fair amount of money. Instead of an oil pump and possibly an engine, it simply required a new water pump and timing belt, which set us back a mere $75. All in all, I guess I've never been so pleased to be a nincompoop.

MARCH

6. What sound or noise do you hate? An ambulance

***
Confused, I glanced across the parking lot to where their truck was parked, and saw a piano tied securely in the bed of the truck. As reality sunk in, tears sprang instantly to my eyes. I have literally hungered for a piano since I left my parents house behind 8 years ago.

***
Ammon's childhood friend Peter is scheduled to fly into Columbus this evening for a visit. Ammon has the next five days off work, and we're all looking forward to a little rest and relaxation. We don't have much scheduled past a lot of board games and fun, but it should be a nice break from the humdrum schedule.

***
I need practice remembering how truly blessed I am. We have so much to be grateful for, more than seems fair, really. We have health, resources, and a love that goes far beyond anything that can be described with mere words. Our children are beautiful, healthy, and caring toward one another. My relationship with my spouse is something beautiful and pure, something to be cherished every day for the rest of eternity. Really, what are a few missed naps and sleepless nights when compared to the blessings that I enjoy?

APRIL

Currently, Brooklyn is days, possibly hours away from cutting her first tooth. I've been waiting for a long time for her to reach this point, but now that it's finally here I'm kind of sad. She was six months old on Friday, and I keep thinking about how quickly the last six months have passed by. Six months seems like such a milestone to me; it's when all the exciting things start to happen: sitting up, crawling, getting teeth, sleeping through the night, the list goes on and on. It has always seemed to me that my kids remain babies until about six months of age, and then they begin the gradual process of detaching themselves from me. I don't think I'm really ready for Brooklyn to start doing this.

***
My dear husband, who has been supportive of me doing whatever it will take to start feeling better about myself, suggested last night that we start a new schedule of meeting at the YMCA every Monday afternoon when he gets off work and spending an hour exercising as a family. Actually, perhaps 'exercising as a family' isn't the correct term. What I mean is that the children will be dumped unceremoniously into the Child Watch program for an hour while Ammon and I sweat it out together in the gym. Then, we'll quickly shower, pick up our offspring, and grab a quick bite to eat on the way home. I'm looking forward to exercising with my husband by my side, and hopefully beginning to reverse the trend that I've set up for myself for the past six months.

***
I know that we're not dirty people, and we keep our house as clean as is reasonably possible, but seeing bugs on the floor still has a way of making me want to scrub everything down.

***
Flamingos! And not the kind that are generally situated in the lawn outside some body's house!

***
I keep thinking this is absurd. It's absurd that this is happening to us. It's absurd that I'm a widow at 25 years old. It's absurd that he's gone, and I didn't get to say goodbye.

***
I wish with every fiber of my being that I had aimed the camera just a little bit differently, and captured more than his arms in the picture. I wish I had just one more shot of his huge smile, and the sparkle in his eyes as he held his only daughter for the last time.

***
An hour later, our lives were shattered and our futures became so terribly uncertain.

***
On the way home, I asked him why he hadn't wanted the furniture. His reply keeps running through my head these days. "I don't feel good about spending the money. I don't know, maybe I'm going to die, and you'll need the money for yourself." How I wish he had been wrong.

***
After we do hugs and kisses and I turn out the light, he's usually getting started within about ten minutes. His crying is the deep, hiccuping kind of cry that tears my heart out. When I go into his room, he can only sob "I miss my Daddy, I want Daddy back".

MAY

No, Friday is just another day without Ammon. It's another day that I have nothing to look forward to, nothing to break up the monotony, and the loss of so much to mourn.

***
The scheme seemed perfect.....until I realized that my family is a party of four now, no longer a party of five. It hit me like a ton of bricks that there would only be three adults in attendance tonight, not four. Tonight made me wonder, how long are my married friends going to want to spend time socially with me? How long will it before I become just another sad reminder of what happens to 'other people'?

***
I was happy. We were happy. We were goofy, deliriously, serenely, and genuinely happy, and the loss of that stings.

***
I am so lonely for Ammon. I ache for the touch of his hands, the warmth in his eyes, and the comfort of his embrace. I hate him for leaving me here alone.

JUNE

Laura then made arrangements to have care for her two children from Thursday until Tuesday, and we spent a really nice weekend together. I was grateful to have her here on a weekend that could have potentially been very painful, since the one month anniversary of Ammon's death fell on the same Sunday as Mother's Day.

***
I often have to remind myself that my kids aren't always crying about what they say they're crying about. A five year old and a three year old aren't articulate enough to say "I'm sad because I miss my Daddy, and I just want to cry for a while." Heaven help all of us get through this.

***
After dinner, Russ and Jeremy went out, Jeremy donned his helmet, and the lesson began. Jeremy did pretty well, and was only a little wobbly. My heart broke a little bit, though, watching them. As wonderful as it is that Jeremy has a grandfather that is more than willing to sacrifice his back to push Jeremy around on his bicycle, I know that it's a rite of passage for Jeremy. It's a rite of passage that only a father should enjoy.

***
I wish that you were here with us today, babe. I would love to have prepared a nice breakfast for you, and spent the previous weeks thinking up cute little things for the kids to do for you today. The kids shouldn't have to visit their father's grave for this holiday, but you already knew that.

***
I told Jeremy that if he would eat one cicada, I would give him five dollars. He immediately discarded the idea, but I decided to up the ante and appeal to the sensibilities of my adventurous fiver year old. I told him that if he would eat one cicada that I would buy him a Transformer.

***
I've been asked several times by friends, family, and acquaintances how I'm managing, suddenly being a single parent to three. My answer? I put the little buggars to work, that's how!!

***
Every day is so precious at this age, and I don't want to miss anything or have it erased from my memory.

***
I was sitting in the room waiting for the baptism to start, feeling slightly lonely, when I looked over and witnessed the time honored tradition of the father and the boy who is being baptized being photographed in their white clothes. The look on Ammon's brother James--a huge grin, pride evident in every line of his face-- complete undid me. Not wanting to ruin what should have been a special day for Nicholas, I had to leave the room. In the foyer, I cried bitter tears.

JULY

As I perused the aisles, it seemed appropriate to pick up a bouquet of flowers. In a small way, it's as though Ammon got me flowers for our anniversary. Every time I look at them, I think of him. I like to think that they're exactly what he would have chosen for me, if given the opportunity.

***
A wild animal, when it is mortally wounded, will lash out with teeth, claws, and hatred at anyone or anything that comes near it. Heedless of attempts to help, the wild animal will try to hurt whatever is nearest to it. I have felt this pain, and recognize the impulse to inflict hurt on those that are only trying to help.

***
Suddenly, it occurred to me that the food safety police couldn't read me the riot act if I disobeyed the rules. I placed the empty egg shell back into the carton, and the next shell, and the next until I had cracked enough eggs to feed my entire family for breakfast. Somewhere, I'm sure, Ammon was watching me and shaking his head.

***
I'm simultaneously looking forward to and feeling apprehensive about this trip. So much of my life with Ammon is wrapped up in Utah. The apartment where he proposed to me, the park where we got married, the town we lived in before we moved to Ohio. All these sights--I fear that they will engulf me when I drive into the valley and not relinquish their grip on me until I drive back out.

***
Nope, I'm not grammatically inept. I inserted the extra comma in my title because I know that Ammon would get a kick out of it.

***
Of all the talks, songs, and remarks, his made me tear up the most. Those of you that know John will understand. This big, burly, teddy-bear of a man was standing in front of all these people, and kept looking up and off to the side to blink away the tears. I have never seen his composure crack--but I did at the funeral.

AUGUST

My faith, as shaken as it has been, doesn't extend far enough to believe without doubt that last night was a visit from my lover. But I wish desperately that I could know that it was. I miss his touch, I miss his smell, I miss the taste of him on my lips.

***
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.

***
As long as we were sitting on the curb waiting for the bus to come I held it together, but the second my little boy pulled away from one last hug, I started to lose it.

***
I removed countless live bugs, and saw thousands more eggs nested into his lovely hair. On a recommendation from yet another neighbor, I slathered both Kadon's and my hair in copious amount of mayonnaise, covered it in a shower cap, and went inside to start assessing the damage to my house. I stripped bed, towels, rugs, stuffed toys, pillows, and clothing from all the bedrooms.

***
I pulled the hangers out and held the shirts to my face. I breathed in his odor--a subtle scent that the brain forgets, but the heart never could.

***
If I'm absent for a while, I'm busy trying to stay away from large doses of sleeping pills and hiding my butcher block. Please continue to keep us in your prayers as the fog of grief continues to lift.

SEPTEMBER

I plunge a toilet as most girls would--flushing the toilet, and then-without touching the disgusting black part, and with more force pushing down than pulling up.

***
I have also been told countless times "I don't know how you do it. If my husband died, I couldn't get out of bed for a month". To that I respond--yes you would. You'd get out of bed the very next day, get dressed, and brush your teeth. You would continue to make meals for your family and go grocery shopping because THAT IS WHAT YOU DO.

***
I am angry at God. I don't harbor much of the boiling, red hot resentment of months and weeks past, but I still don't understand why he would take a good honorable man from his family and still say "I do all these things for your good".

***
Our marching band went undefeated that year, and always the first thing I would do after we were released from attention during the award ceremony was find Jeremy. He would wrap his arms around me, and we would shed tears of victory and joy together.

***
Jeremy's last words ring in my ears even today--as he gave me one last warm embrace, he said to me "I love you. Say your prayers."

***
I am now older than my older brother. He never lived to see 26, and my husband who I always saw as so much younger than Jeremy lived two years longer. Some things just don't make sense.
***
As we descended into the Salt Lake Valley on Thursday I noticed two things--how BROWN it is in Utah, and how HUGE the mountains are.

***
As we descended into the Salt Lake Valley on Thursday I noticed two things--how BROWN it is in Utah, and how HUGE the mountains are.

***
I know I should be reveling in Brooklyn's achievements, and I do. I take pleasure in her sweet spirit, in her gentle laugh, and in her emerging sense of humor.

***
And God said, "Let there be light"; and there was light.

And God saw that the light was good. (Gen 1:3)

And the people piped with pipes, and rejoiced with great joy so that the earth was rent with the sound of them. (1 Kings 1:40)

***
Five months today. I miss him more than ever. Has it really been that long, or has it been forever? Most of the time it seems like a lifetime since he last held me in his arms.

OCTOBER

At this precise moment exactly one year ago, she crying lustily, and I was sobbing quietly on the operating table. Ammon was busily snapping pictures and taking videos of her, and the mood in the room was completely indescribable.

Ammon picked her up and placed her in my arms, and the joy on my face transmits through the photos he quickly snapped.

***
It has been promised that for every tear, every sorrow, every pain of this life, those that are faithful will be compensated 100 fold.

***
I had no choice but to inform her that Ammon is deceased. I had withheld this information from the credit card company, fearing that they would cancel my card--which is exactly what they did.

***
Six months today since I last held my husband in my arms. Six months ago today, we were sitting in the cafeteria at Ethicon enjoying our least meal together. Six months ago today I had no idea how bad I could hurt, or what I was capable of surviving. Six months ago today, my life was still perfect.

I love you sweetheart, more today than ever. I miss you.

***
I found myself uttering a eerily familiar and infinitely painful phrase-the same one I said over and over to Ammon as he lay dying on the pavement outside our home-'You've got to breathe, baby. Baby, you've got to breathe.' My heart in my throat, I pulled up outside the Emergency Exit, took Kadon into my arms, and ran into the hospital.

NOVEMBER

I admit it freely. I voted for the other guy.

***

Even now, I can feel his spirit near me-protecting me, guiding me, and loving me in his faithful, tender, patient way. Ammon taught me what perfect love means, and though it wasn't always easy to show that to each other-he taught me that it's possible.

***
I am grateful for people who notice when I'm having a bad day. My ward, as always, banded together today when they saw that I was struggling. My children were quickly farmed out to various welcoming arms, and I was led by the hand into Relief Society, where I sat next to a dear friend and wept through part of the lesson.

***
No matter what side of the proposition you stand on, it is horrifying for members of the church to hear about our beloved temple being picketed and vandalized. I am incredibly grateful for the chance I had to worship unmolested today.

***
I am struggling to find a handhold to keep from falling down the slippery slope of grief, but everything I try to grab crumbles beneath me. I'm scared.

DECEMBER

Happy birthday, sweetheart. I wish we could have spent many more together like we planned. 28 isn't nearly enough.

It takes a special man to celebrate your birthday by wearing a large plaster fish head.

***
Visiting Ammons grave site is always hard. It's sobering to look at a hard, cold patch of ground and know that his earthly body is entombed there. No matter that I know that his spirit lives on and is with me still, I miss his earthly body--and all that I shared with it--as only a wife can. To think of it there, underground, undoes me every time we're there.

***
However, this girl? She just made the Deans List for winter quarter.

***
He would have taken his place at my side through so many things that this year has brought. It's so cruel that he wasn't able to. His loss still reverberates through every facet of my life. The grief is still changing shape, changing its plan of attack, altering my soul in ways that are painful, new, and terrifying. When will it stop?

***
I suppose I'm still reeling. I put on a good face, I think. Those who don't know me well couldn't guess at the grief my smile holds. Still, though, I miss the old me. I miss the Victoria who laughed without thought, and saw the world through hope-filled eyes. I have seen so many photos of myself taken in the last 8 months. Before, the smile reached all the way to my eyes. I was simply brimming with happiness, with light--with hope and expectation for mine and my family's future. Now, that light is gone. Even when I'm fully smiling, even when it's so big that my missing tooth is visible, that light is missing. My laugh sounds hollow to my ears. My joy, in the infrequent instances it exists, is always tainted. The loss of Ammon from my home, from my bed, from my arms-taints everything I do. It is a loss that I carry with me always, and it is oh.so.heavy. I feel it settle around me, like a cloak that is inescapably dark and weighted. It settles itself heavily around my shoulders, and I know not how to shake it.

I was sitting on the curb, and the officer stood in front of me. How meaningless I felt. How helpless and small my existence seemed in that moment. I don't remember the words that he said before he broke the news. He was stalling, I'm sure. Nobody wants to tell a 25 year old woman that she's a widow. Not when she's staring at you with wide, terrified eyes. Not when you're keenly aware of her loss. Not when you're the first on the scene, and watched helplessly as the woman knelt over the body of her motionless husband and begged him to breathe.

"It's over. It's over". "Yes", I thought. "It's over. My life, my happiness, my family. It's over".

***
It is nearly Christmas day, on our first Christmas without Ammon. There are no words to describe how I feel right now, so I won't even try. Perhaps later, when the emotions aren't as fresh and raw. Perhaps never.

***
I want it all back. Can we go a year backward instead of a year forward tonight? I just want it all back.