Day 7. One week

 This time last week, I was in shock.

 This time this week, I'm still in shock.

 Most of the time, it still doesn't seem real. Every time I come home from being home with the kids, there is part of me that expects her to be there. Like I'm just waiting for her. Well, I am, just on a longer scale.

 I've made it a point to start showing the little ones older pictures. Showing them their Mommy when she was healthy. I think filling my mind with those pictures, and those memories is helping a lot. I know she wanted us to remember her as healthy and vibrant, so I'm doing my best to do that.

 I really want to reinforce the kids memories of her, so I'm spending a lot of time in the videos and pics on the computer. The actual photo albums will come a little later.

 We picked her ashes up today, and that was very emotional. I know she isn't in there anymore, but I couldn't help it.

 At a week out, the pain comes and goes in severity. It is constant, but sometimes it is an ache in my heart. A resignation to the new truth of my life. Sometimes it swings over to utter despair, though, those are coming fewer.

 I'm being strong for the kids. I promised.

Day 6. Sorting Memories.

 Today, while I was out running errands, I felt I should go by our storage locker. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I stopped by. I sat down and started looking through all of our stuff. All our life together that we weren't currently using, and was kind of humbled that a lot of what we leave behind is just stuff. The chronicle of who we are can be boxed up and put in a room.

 So I sat down and looked. I found pictures from when we lived in California. Most of them were from a now Legendary Halloween party. I found some of Meghan's earliest days. I found pictures of us and the cats. We were so young, and so in love and that's all we wanted out of life.

 I found my book of poetry, and looked through it. Most of them were from high school and college. What a tortured young artist I was. Some of it is good, some of it not so. One of the last poems I wrote was to Robin. It seems my poetry stopped after I was happy.

 I also found one of Robin's journals from high school. It's funny the things you worry about when you are young. One thing she wrote struck me deeply. She wasn't worried about success or any other part of life. She just wanted us to be happy and together.

 I really think in our last two years together, we finally got it right. We truly enjoyed every moment. Even more so after she got sick.

 At the end of it all, every day we had, from all the way back to December 20th of 1996, every day was a blessing. Even the days when we were angry with each other, even the days we fought, they were all perfect. We fought for our love, and sorted our life out. It wasn't our idea to part.

 I can truthfully say we never stopped loving each other.

 Today was a better day. The grief hits at random moments. Putting away laundry. Driving. Making breakfast.

 I know this is going to hurt for a long time, but I promised Robin I would be strong. I will not lie down and curse God and die, though there was a time I wanted to. I will live, I will raise my children, because they are our legacy.

 I will live because I promised her I would.

 My only fear is I will live to be 100. It runs in my family, and that is too long to miss her.

Day 5. A little more healing.

 Today, I noticed that when I think of Robin, I haven't been thinking of her when she was sick.

 When I picture her in my minds eye, I remember her from when she was well. That makes me happy.

That's how I remember her. Vibrant, full of life, and happy. That's how she is going to stay in my heart.
Today I was uploading all our old phone micro-sd's to the computer, and I found a ton of videos that Robin had. That made me really happy, because I'd been trying to find something with her voice on it.

 And I have her laugh in a few videos.

 As much as it hurt, it was a good day.

Day 4. A little healing

 Today was the best day that we've had since Robin died.

 When I put it bluntly like that, it really leaves damn near anything open. What I really meant was that so far, today was the first day anyone could really talk about anything without getting choked up and sobbing.

 Not that I didn't do my fair share of sobbing, especially when I picked up Lily's ashes and read the "Rainbow Bridge" poem they tucked in with it, and thought about her waiting when Robin got to heaven, and how happy that made me. And I got caught in a sunshower walking with her ashes back to the car. I think that was heaven letting me know all would be alright.

 The part that is hitting me the hardest now is thinking about the future. All the things she won't be here for. Our Honeymoon we were planning, since we never had one. Logan Losing his first tooth, Morgan going to kindergarten. Meghan going to prom.

 I don't want to experience all those alone. I believe she will be watching, but I can't hold her through those.

 I miss her so much.

Day 3. Regrets.

 I only have a few regrets from our married life. I regret our fights. I regret unkind words we said to one another. I regret the honeymoon we never got to take. I regret that Robin won't be with us for Logan losing his first tooth, or Meg's first boyfriend. Not that she'll ever date.

 I am bitter right now over what we will never have. I am bitter for the moments when my brain registers the fact that my wife is dead.

 I take solace in the fact that she is in heaven, but I miss her. I miss her a lot. I hardly recognize myself in the mirror. I see someone else's life, because it can't be my life. My wife was vibrant and full of life.

 I miss her.

I hope time dulls the pain. There has been so much pain lately. Joe, Andres' mom, Robin. What the hell is next? A zombie apocalypse? At least then I could deal with it. I know what to do then.

 Eventually, I will have to stop self-medicating. Alcohol is not a good long-term answer. But, for the short term, go with what you know.

 Semper Fi.

Day 2.

Picking up the pieces.

 That about sums it up. As much as this hurts, and as much as I miss her, it is like any tragedy. Like the floods this year. After everything calms down, and the waters recede, you survey the damage and start to rebuild. Like in all of this, life has to go on as much as we don't want it to. I still have kids to raise, and they need me more than ever now.

 We are so blessed that we have been up here with her parents, as they have been everything through all this. Originally, it was because we were going to be building. Then, after Robin got sick, I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

 Now we can heal together.

 I took the kids to the park with my brother and his wife and kids, and that was a great afternoon. The kids always loved their time with their cousins, and I know Robin was watching us.

 Today was tough in spots. Some times I feel really strong, and then it will all come rushing back. My wife is dead. She is with God, and that makes me happy. I know she is indulging all her questions, and healthy, and watching us. But the fact she isn't with us hurts to much.

 The part that catches me the most is when the kids do something cute,  or when I see our bald eagle, I don't have anyone to tell it to. That's when it drives it home that she is truly gone for now.

 Though, I have to say that tonight, I got to sit down and talk with the kids about heaven, and sin, and salvation. Granted, Meghan is already saved and understands, but Logan is four and had some off the wall questions. I finished the night feeling uplifted and strong.

 I still miss her so much. You can't love that fiercely, and not hurt this deeply, but tonight was the first time since she died that I felt it would be alright after all. Some day, the trauma off all this will fade.

For now, I still see her everywhere and in the quiet parts of my day, I miss her profoundly.

Day 1.5 a little extra

 The healing process is a series of small heartbreaks. None of them are as big as the first though. God gave us the blessing that our brains can't process it all at once, so it comes in smaller bits.

 When I put Logan to bed tonight, he asked, "When will it get back to normal?" I asked what he meant. Then, he asked "When will mommy come back from heaven?" And I cried. I cried and held him tight, trying to explain how you don't get to come back from heaven.

 "Can we go visit her in heaven then?" I told him I wished we could, but we can't. Then he asked me why we couldn't be with Mommy in heaven right now.

 I cried some more.

 Some times, I just don't have the answers. So I just held him tight.