Agony. Heartbroken. A deep sadness for your loss. That's what I feel. It's torture. I wouldn't classify today as a "bad" day, but the evening was bad. It was my first night alone with the girls and there was such a void. Out of habit, I looked over my shoulder a few times towards the garage waiting for you to pull in. Despair. You're not coming home. Ever.
I don't know how to do our life without you. Last night, Emery woke up at midnight and had difficulty going back to sleep. Arabelle was throwing up by 4AM. I needed you. I needed your help. I thought Arabelle called out for you, but that may have been my sleepy mind playing tricks on me. The realization that there will be nights like that flooded me with grief and sadness.
I feel like I'm failing you. I've lost my patience with Arabelle a few times recently. We always balanced each other out, but now there's only me. I need to be better. She's hurting, I'm hurting, and I'm making it worse. I'm so disappointed in myself. She's fragile and I don't want to break her. Please give me the strength and patience to be a better mother. You left such big shoes to fill. I'm drowning in all of it. When will we be okay? Never? I know we won't be the same without you, but will this pain ever dull, even just a little bit so I can breathe?
Jake, the Elf, came back to visit Arabelle. She's been really happy about that. He's been rather sneaky and she's amused by him every morning. I'm thankful she's still enjoying the holiday season. I, on the other hand, am not. Christmas music makes me cry, I can't even think about decorating, and I definitely don't feel jolly. Thanksgiving and Christmas have always been our favorite time of the year. It's always been characterized with celebrations, joy, and quality time with friends and family. Now there's just a great sadness that you passed so close to your favorite time of year. My happy memories are tinged with sadness and regret, and some of them have become painful. We've lost so much. I know in my heart we still have so much and I should be thankful...but I'm struggling to see beyond my own pain.
At your celebration of life, an Edwin McCain song, "Shooting Stars," was played before I spoke. I selected it because I remember it speaking to me when I was falling in love with you. I remember thinking our love wasn't ordinary, that it was big love and extraordinary, and that it should be celebrated. You did celebrate everything about our life together. I'm not sure I celebrated our life enough. I'm not sure you knew you were my big love, that you were extraordinary, that you were my perfect partner, that your genuine love of people inspired me, that you made a better person, that I admired everything about you, that I adored your quirky hobbies like your love of Star Wars toys and wrestling, that your desire to keep things (so many things!) both drove me mad and made me love you that much more, that I strive to be more like you, that I am so proud to be your wife, that I hope I can be half the person you were one day, that I hope I can give like you did.
"Free your mind let your heart sing." I keep playing that line over and over in my head. I'm trying, Jay. I know that's how you lived, I know that's what you want. My heart wants to sing, wants to be thankful for everything we shared. My heart is full of your love and memories, but my mind knows what we've lost. My mind knows, it moves too fast and covers too much, it's scared. You always did tell me to slow my mind. I'm trying, Jay. I'll keep trying. I just laughed as I typed that, because I can hear you quoting Yoda, "Do. Or do not. There is no try."
I love you. I miss you. I wish you were here.