Roommates In Heaven

In a way, I’m kinda glad you are where you are for this one.  Looks like your friend joined you.

I was devastated last Sunday when I heard the news that Sandy had passed.  I’ve known Sandy all my 28 years of life.  She and mom were best friends, her kids were Bailey’s and my best friends, and then you came along and also fit right into the best friends circle.  When Sandy was first diagnosed, I really thought this would be like a couple year battle until we just cleared it all up and she lived a basically normal, long life after that.  I suppose that’s how I thought your battle would go too. 

When you were both sick, the goal was to get better so we could all take a trip to Disney World together—healthy, happy families.  And now here we are… two husbands without their wives, two sets of kids without a parent, and both of you from basically the same circle of friends.  A one-two punch of tragedy, much too close together in time. 

I hated seeing Shannon and Brady having to go through this, knowing EXACTLY what they were feeling because it wasn’t that long ago that we felt it too.  We were just there, we just did this… why do our friends have to do this too?  I thought homecoming was hard last year—this year is going to be a disaster. 

But I’m glad you’re up there because I know that’s where Sandy was headed—I’m sure you two were very glad to see each other.  And now the rest of the team down here has some more grieving to do. 

There isn’t a point to this letter… I just wanted to say that I’m glad to have known both of you and had you in my life as long as I did.  I miss you both dearly, and I can’t wait to see you both again.  Take care of us and take care of each other.  We wish you were both still healthy, and both still here.

Always in my heart

I am amazed at how many times I think of you in a day. It happens first thing in the morning, and the last thing before bed. The other morning it was because of the ZBB song that I heard on the way to work. Today it was because of the Hala Kahiki pineapple beer that we had at the beer fest and because of the hair of yours that I found tangled in the string of your PSU hoodie. It's funny because I never in a million years thought that I would ever get to the point where my first instinct when I though of you would be to laugh and smile instead of cry, but I am so glad that's that where we are. I so desperately need to be able to smile and laugh when you cross my mind, as you constantly do, instead of crying and being sad. Your nephew misses you terribly and thinks of you all the time. We were at Giant the other day and he noticed the large Peeps display. He wondered what they were and I told him I was one of your favorite candies. He wanted to buy some for you, and I told him how hard it would be to get them to you in heaven. He suggested we throw them up to your star house in the sky, so come Easter, expect some Peeps to come your way! You'll have to let them get super stale, just as you would if you were still here. 

Special Occasions and The Little Things

If you were still here, I would do anything to hear that laugh of yours.  I remember one specific trip to the Brookville ER last year where you were eventually moved to an upstairs hospital room.  You grabbed your phone and wanted to take a selfie to send to Kirkland.  You said “Someone say something funny so I laugh for the picture!” and I looked right at you, arms crossed, serious face, and said “NOTHING about this is FUNNY!” and you rolled your eyes.  Dad immediately quipped with something you thought was hilarious and you let out a laugh and smiled and snapped a selfie.  He could always illicit a laugh out of you.  Today is his birthday and I’m sure it’s going to be hard for him. 

Last night I had a dream where I talked to you again, just for a second.  We were riding in the bed of papa’s truck – up Shanley Hill, towing the kayaks back to camp after a day on the river, and I moved my hand across your back and shoulders and asked how you were feeling.  You flashed me a peaceful smile and took a deep breath and said “Feeling really good”.  And that was it, that’s all I get in these dreams.  But they’re a nice little reminder that it’s better for you to be where you are than where were, you don’t have any pain now.  You have to keep reminding me of that, apparently.  A short time later in the dream, we were no longer interacting, but a lot of people were at a bridal shower or some other get-together, and you were there but I couldn’t really see you from my vantage point.  There had been peppermint patties in the favors, and you had put yours in the refrigerator.  Then, even though I didn’t see you anymore, I could hear your excitement of having a little chilled peppermint treat when someone retrieved it for you. 

The other thing I wanted to tell you is: I re-potted a plant!  All by myself (okay dad helped and Michael supervised…).  I would have called you to see what to do, obviously, and those are some of the hard times—when I just wanna pick up the phone and call you.  Anyway, dad guided me through it.  It was a dish garden mom had bought from the shop and had delivered when Michael first bought our house two Augusts ago.  It’s long outgrown its dish and  I’m terrible with keeping plants alive…. but this thing is resilient.  And now it’s in a much longer planter along the windowsill in the kitchen with lots of room to thrive.  I think for sure you would have been proud at that little accomplishment. 

It’s evident I’ve been thinking about you quite a lot.  I know you’re up there watching us, and you can’t be worried or have anxiety so I know you’re just taking care of us best you can.  I know you can see dad having a hard time, but I think we’re all making progress really.  If you hadn’t been so awesome, we wouldn’t miss you so much!  For dad’s birthday, we’re going to eat dinner tonight at Grandma Judy’s house, and your friends and I are going to take him to see a band in DuBois tomorrow night.  That will have to do as a birthday celebration this year.  We know we’re not as good as you… I know you would have had a card on the kitchen table waiting for him when he woke up this morning, and some other kind of grandiose plans with just you and him maybe, if you were still here.

I want to say thank you

If you were still here I would say thank you.  I regret not telling you how grateful I am for all that you taught me and shared with me over the years.  So often I find myself wanting to call you and tell you what I'm doing for the mere fact that it would make you happy living vicariously through my experience.

Thank you for teaching me how fun it is to explore.  To take that extra side road just to see what's waiting at the end.  To look less at my phone on trips and more on the beautiful scenery around because the journey there is part of the adventure.  Thank you for showing me the value in getting excited about local businesses and eclectic shops.  Every time I go to a place like that I feel a mixture of appreciation for the new memory but sadness because the first thing I want to do is call or text you and tell you all about it, and then plan a trip so you can appreciate it too.  It's going to be six months tomorrow which is hard to believe. I am used to not seeing you for a long period of time because I moved away but the fact that you won't be there when I do come home sucks.

It hurts so bad to have lost you because you were just such an awesome person and so I really have to be thankful for how hard it is live without you because that just shows how much you blessed us all while we were lucky enough to have you, so thank you for that.

You Don't Know Until You Know

If you were still here, I could just drive like 10 minutes and see you. 

I’ve said it before, “I miss you”, but every day that goes by since you’ve been gone, I learn a little bit more of the actual feelings of those words.  I talked to Bailey last night and she mentioned that this weekend will mark 6 months you’ve been gone already.  That doesn’t feel right, does it?  Could it be 6 whole months since you left?  I mean, on facebook it was just only one year ago that we were throwing your Tshirt party and we really formed #TeamAr… and you were right there fighting and we were right there beside you.  We were so optimistic—all of us. 

6 months is a long time, but not in comparison to what’s ahead.  Because 6 months ago is the last time I saw you and it doesn’t feel like it was that long, but it could be a VERY VERY long time until I can see you again.  Just thinking of that fact makes me feel so sad.  Gotta wait a really long time.  And waiting a long time is so much harder, I think, when you really love a person and just wish you could see them every day.  It makes me so grateful for the signs you send, and when you can visit me in my dreams, and all the beautiful pictures of you and our family that I can look at and cherish.

It kinda hit me yesterday for some reason, before Bailey ever called.  They say grief has stages and for a long while I thought I was just bouncing back and forth on all of them like a bunch of trampolines stuck next to one another, not really on a schedule but hitting all the stops on a regular basis.  I’ll let Bailey tell her own story, but when she called last night it was apparent that we were both kinda on the same page and having the same types of feelings… so now I’m wondering if we’re all syncing up on the schedule or if it was just a coincidence that she had a lot of the same things to say that I was thinking about.  Grief is hard to figure out, but there are a lot of truths in the literature.  Most of all, and most hard to understand in the beginning, is that you can’t do anything except go through it.  You can’t skip it, you can’t avoid it—it’s happening whether you think you're actively participating or not.

I try not to dwell on it, because I know that you’re healthy and not suffering at all, and human earthly emotions are silly.  They're just something temporary that we have to deal with until the thing that happens after life on earth.  I know you don’t have the anxieties we have here, or the pain or sadness, so that’s also comforting.  I can’t really control the feelings I’m having down here, but I can say for sure I’ve identified my anticipation to see you again.  My excitement for another hug, another conversation, another laugh.  And that’s something I’ll hold on to, as well as the memories and the guidance you've given me along the way.  And sometimes reliving the memories and imagining how you would help me out in situations like this makes it almost as if you were still here.