It is yet again that time of year. I have been to bed once tonight. And sleep is not coming fast enough for my mind. So I will blog.
I climbed into bed tonight and thought of 4 years ago on this night. The house was quiet. I stayed up all night, sitting with Brian and wondering what the coming day would bring. I prayed for him, for me, for our children and everyone who loves and cares for us. I knew this would be so hard. I imagined it so many times, ran the scene through my head repeatedly so I would be ready. But I wasn't ever really going to be ready. I sat at the edge of his hospital bed and thought how just 24 hours before, I didn't really think he would still be alive by this time the next day. But as the day progressed, I knew Brian wasn't ready. See, today (the 20th) is Trace's birthday. Brian's only sibling's first child. And Brian would always want Trace to celebrate that day and not have the day forever marked by his death.
As I sat there holding his hand, I said a lot of things I wanted to be sure I got to say. And yet there are so many other things I wish I would have said that night. I could barely close my eyes that night, for fear of waking and finding him gone. I had been there with him through the whole journey, and if God was going to make me give him back, I wanted to love him into the arms of the Lord.
Although I wouldn't want the suffering back, I would give anything to feel that peace right now, the peace I felt in the quiet of our home, as I held his hand and cherished the warmth of his touch, as I whispered into his ear sweet nothings, as I recalled each moment of our love story.
That was 2008. So now, 4 years later, Brian has been dead for 1/2 of Tye's life. HALF! Karis commented that I would have to be in my 60's for my mom to be gone 1/2 of my life. Maybe that is why the last week has been so difficult.
Tomorrow, the Mass is for Brian. Tye is saying the petition, and he is very excited. Forget fishing and playing catch with your dad, this is what my kid gets to do that is special about his daddy. I wish I could truly explain the anger I feel about that, but words could never express the pain I feel.
He is also taking a box of Brian's things to share with his class sometime tomorrow morning after Mass. He has chosen Brian's wallet with his driver's license, a Jeff Gordon car, his Twinkie the Kid, and a few pictures, plus a hand-held game that Brian played while he was sick. Looking for these items dug up some memories that I enjoyed thinking about, but causes the floodgates to open. Tye begged me to let him bring one of the big Gordon cards, but I wouldn't let it out of the house. He then begged to bring a George Brett baseball card. I finally settled with him that Daddy probably wouldn't let him bring it if he was here, so it wasn't leaving the house either. As he was asking me repeatedly, he said...well, let me just ask Daddy. (then he paused and looked up). This has been a tactic of his off and on over the years, and he usually responds with...yep, he said I can. I looked at him and laughed and said...so what was the answer?
And oh my God, I can't believe what he said.
Mom, I don't speak ghost so I don't know.
Lord, people must think we are total freaks with our grief. But THAT was funny!
We did get into my top dresser drawer and find Brian's MP3 player. It was an older one I got him when Tye was a baby, maybe for his birthday in 2005 or 06. I put batteries in it and listened to a few songs. Then I clicked on the menu and saw there were voice recordings.
My heart jumped. I forgot about this feature! I prayed with all my might that Brian's voice would be on there. My heart knew it wouldn't be. There were 4 short recordings. I remember now that I did a few recordings so when he opened it, he would have a special message on there. The 1st one I am saying I love you Brian, and I want you to always remember that. I smiled, but nearly passed out when I heard him in the background say something. What he says is irrelevant...he was asking something about the recording. #2 is too short to hear anything. #3 is me trying to get Tye to say I love you Daddy, and he does...he says Daaa-EE. Then he says I you you, which is how Tye always said I love you when he was little. I burst into tears. And sobbed.
Tye came rushing in and asked me what was wrong. I was trying to catch my breath, it was one of those hard cries. Before I could answer, he said...I think it is always best to tell someone how you feel (as he patted me on the back and hugged me). His daddy was always so loving and compassionate to me, and Tye reminds me so much of him. I asked him if he wanted to hear, and he listened. And he smiled. Oh God, how I wish I could have convinced Brian to do some recordings for Tye. It is a devastation surrounding Brian's death that I have yet to come to terms with. That the opportunity was there, and he refused it. I don't blame him, nor do I understand it. I was right there on the journey, but could never really imagine what it would be like to know you were dying. My counselor once told me that it wasn't my death to die, that I had to let him do it his way. That was one of the hardest things to do. I wanted the storybook movie version, where he makes videos for Tye to teach him how to shave, or writes letters to his wife and stashes them around the house for her to find after he is gone. In real life, death is not nearly as glamorous.
So March 21, 2008...THE day finally did come. My memories of this day are etched forever in my heart. I don't want to forget. But remembering is so very painful. Please say a prayer for us today. Tye has had a bit of a rough time lately, asking a lot of questions, more than usual. I am in a different place with my grief than I was a year ago, and for that, I am very thankful. But all the progress in the world doesn't take away the memories of those moments, when the death of someone you love so deeply and so profoundly, becomes a reality.
Thanks for checking in on us. As Tye reminded me tonight, he is always with me in my heart. I just wish Heaven didn't seem so far away.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
Dream on...
1400+ days of mourning the loss of a man who changed my life and showed me how to love.
Time has not healed any wounds. I particularly hate that adage. I am sure it was written by someone who has never lost someone they truly loved.
Admittedly, time has given me space to begin to accept, because familiar with, adjust to, and deal with my loss.
But 1400+ days can seem like only 1 in an instant.
The last several days and weeks have gone well. I have been focused on being a better mother and a better person. I have worked to lose weight (11+ pounds since Jan. 2), and find time for myself and my own prayer life.
Yet when I crawled into bed last night, I suddenly felt so alone. More alone than I have felt in a long time. The quiet of my bedroom reminded me of the feelings of loneliness, and the darkness made me wonder about the night my mom died in that very same room. Needless to say, I was restless and had quite a time even getting to sleep.
So imagine my surprise when my alarm went off this morning. I found myself wanting to scream to keep my dream alive, and as I opened my eyes, I realized it was Brian who was there. As I stumbled to the kitchen counter and grabbed my cell phone, I burst into tears. I knew it was over, he wasn't really there. I crawled back into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. I sqeezed my eyes shut, hoping to slip back into whatever it was I was dreaming about. I could see him standing across from me. He had just arrived at our wedding, and he was running towards me. I could feel the love and happiness I miss so much from when he was here with me. But the dream was gone, just like he is gone forever. I know our love lives on, and it creeps up and smacks me in the face every so often.
So my Monday started off rough. I felt somewhat pleasantly surprised by his presence in my dream. For those of you who have followed me, you know I never dream about him and have prayed and wished I would see him someday in my dreams. But I started my day full of sadness that it was so short-lived. It is amazing how a moment or a memory, a thought or a dream, can catapult you back to the starting line. It is baffling to me how a grief can seemingly be growing and changing, then in a split second, feel as raw as the moment he lay dying in my arms. I spent half the day trying to remember anything else about the dream, and some of the details are hazy, others too personal to share.
Maybe it was my subconscious, trying to help me find a way to get those bottled up emotions out. Maybe it was my way of being able to turn on the floodgates before the dam broke, allowing myself a few moments of grieving today. On this Valentine's Eve, I am trying so desperately to remember the moments we spent together celebrating, and not our last when he had a bad seizure and my whole life flashed before me. More often than not, the wonderful memories are starting to take over the sadness, but I can't say I'm a big fan of Valentine's Day. The funny thing is, I keep reading and hearing every year about how others hate it because they wish they had someone in their life. I just wish I had my Brian. I wonder if I will ever stop living in the past and longing for what I had. To be loved as Brian loved me is something I miss the most. God help me survive this Valentine's Day, because Heaven sure seems like a long ways away right now.
Time has not healed any wounds. I particularly hate that adage. I am sure it was written by someone who has never lost someone they truly loved.
Admittedly, time has given me space to begin to accept, because familiar with, adjust to, and deal with my loss.
But 1400+ days can seem like only 1 in an instant.
The last several days and weeks have gone well. I have been focused on being a better mother and a better person. I have worked to lose weight (11+ pounds since Jan. 2), and find time for myself and my own prayer life.
Yet when I crawled into bed last night, I suddenly felt so alone. More alone than I have felt in a long time. The quiet of my bedroom reminded me of the feelings of loneliness, and the darkness made me wonder about the night my mom died in that very same room. Needless to say, I was restless and had quite a time even getting to sleep.
So imagine my surprise when my alarm went off this morning. I found myself wanting to scream to keep my dream alive, and as I opened my eyes, I realized it was Brian who was there. As I stumbled to the kitchen counter and grabbed my cell phone, I burst into tears. I knew it was over, he wasn't really there. I crawled back into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. I sqeezed my eyes shut, hoping to slip back into whatever it was I was dreaming about. I could see him standing across from me. He had just arrived at our wedding, and he was running towards me. I could feel the love and happiness I miss so much from when he was here with me. But the dream was gone, just like he is gone forever. I know our love lives on, and it creeps up and smacks me in the face every so often.
So my Monday started off rough. I felt somewhat pleasantly surprised by his presence in my dream. For those of you who have followed me, you know I never dream about him and have prayed and wished I would see him someday in my dreams. But I started my day full of sadness that it was so short-lived. It is amazing how a moment or a memory, a thought or a dream, can catapult you back to the starting line. It is baffling to me how a grief can seemingly be growing and changing, then in a split second, feel as raw as the moment he lay dying in my arms. I spent half the day trying to remember anything else about the dream, and some of the details are hazy, others too personal to share.
Maybe it was my subconscious, trying to help me find a way to get those bottled up emotions out. Maybe it was my way of being able to turn on the floodgates before the dam broke, allowing myself a few moments of grieving today. On this Valentine's Eve, I am trying so desperately to remember the moments we spent together celebrating, and not our last when he had a bad seizure and my whole life flashed before me. More often than not, the wonderful memories are starting to take over the sadness, but I can't say I'm a big fan of Valentine's Day. The funny thing is, I keep reading and hearing every year about how others hate it because they wish they had someone in their life. I just wish I had my Brian. I wonder if I will ever stop living in the past and longing for what I had. To be loved as Brian loved me is something I miss the most. God help me survive this Valentine's Day, because Heaven sure seems like a long ways away right now.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
9 Years
9 years.
And yet it seems like a lifetime ago.
Or only yesterday.
9 years ago tonight I walked down the aisle and became Mrs. Brian Halley.
Thank you, Brian, for showing me what a real marriage is, and how to love unconditionally. Thank you for always encouraging me, and for believing in me. Thank you for loving my girls and giving me Tye.
We alternated who was in charge of the anniversary plans. I took care of the 1st anniversary, since he had planned a little honeymoon getaway. We went to Cheaper by the Dozen, and I was almost 8 months preganant by then. We shopped for a carseat, then came back to get frozen custard at Sheridan's. Which was closed for the evening. So we ended up at Baskin Robbins.
By my count, it should be my turn again. What I wouldn't give to go back to those days of pure love and innocence, a life not yet ravaged by cancer. I would take him to the new Brazilian restaurant in St. Joe because I just have a feeling he would totally have loved it. Whatever else we would do would hardly matter, just spending time together was so precious to us both.
I almost went to the cemetery today. But I didn't. Not now. I went over the weekend because the weather was nice, and I hadn't gone for Christmas. My dad had his grave decorated so nice for the Christmas season. I sat on his grave with the wind blowing and the sun shining. I still wanted to just crawl in there with him, just to stop feeling so sad. So today, I didn't feel like going. Tye was excited to repeatedly tell me Happy Anniversary, and when we sat down for dinner, he asked if this was an anniversary dinner. He ate for a while, then said he thought that his dad would have liked this dinner. Made me smile.
Time is passing so quickly. We celebrated 5 anniversaries together, and now I have celebrated 4 more without him. It isn't fair. It never is. The years will continue to pass, and I will never forget how I felt the day I married him.
I miss you, Brian, now and always!
And yet it seems like a lifetime ago.
Or only yesterday.
9 years ago tonight I walked down the aisle and became Mrs. Brian Halley.
Thank you, Brian, for showing me what a real marriage is, and how to love unconditionally. Thank you for always encouraging me, and for believing in me. Thank you for loving my girls and giving me Tye.
We alternated who was in charge of the anniversary plans. I took care of the 1st anniversary, since he had planned a little honeymoon getaway. We went to Cheaper by the Dozen, and I was almost 8 months preganant by then. We shopped for a carseat, then came back to get frozen custard at Sheridan's. Which was closed for the evening. So we ended up at Baskin Robbins.
By my count, it should be my turn again. What I wouldn't give to go back to those days of pure love and innocence, a life not yet ravaged by cancer. I would take him to the new Brazilian restaurant in St. Joe because I just have a feeling he would totally have loved it. Whatever else we would do would hardly matter, just spending time together was so precious to us both.
I almost went to the cemetery today. But I didn't. Not now. I went over the weekend because the weather was nice, and I hadn't gone for Christmas. My dad had his grave decorated so nice for the Christmas season. I sat on his grave with the wind blowing and the sun shining. I still wanted to just crawl in there with him, just to stop feeling so sad. So today, I didn't feel like going. Tye was excited to repeatedly tell me Happy Anniversary, and when we sat down for dinner, he asked if this was an anniversary dinner. He ate for a while, then said he thought that his dad would have liked this dinner. Made me smile.
Time is passing so quickly. We celebrated 5 anniversaries together, and now I have celebrated 4 more without him. It isn't fair. It never is. The years will continue to pass, and I will never forget how I felt the day I married him.
I miss you, Brian, now and always!
Thursday, November 10, 2011
A Day That Lives On in Infamy
He knocked on my door. I was waiting for him. I acted like I wasn't waiting for him. I think I had been waiting for him my whole life. I had never seen him before. Heck, I had never even heard of him until a mutual friend (thanks Cindy) called to see if it was ok for her to give him my number. I figured, why not? Either something special will grow from this, or I will make a new friend. When he called me earlier in the week to see if I would like to go to dinner, the conversation was relaxed and easy.
Even so, I opened the door. My first thought was...yep, he's short. Second thought, very handsome. He would later tell me that his first thought was...wow, she has big hair. Tee hee! As he stepped into my house and introduced himself, it felt as if we had already met. My anxiety and nervousness disappeared. He glanced up at the pictures on the wall, those of my 2 very young daughters. He nodded towards the pictures, as if acknowledging my baggage, then smiled and said...they are adorable. He never treated them like baggage from that moment forward, instead like added bonuses.
And then the day came. And he suddenly was on the other side of the door. My heart raced, mostly because of the unknown. I had a lot of baggage. I was hurt and damaged. I was healing and didn't need to be hurt again.
Even so, I opened the door. My first thought was...yep, he's short. Second thought, very handsome. He would later tell me that his first thought was...wow, she has big hair. Tee hee! As he stepped into my house and introduced himself, it felt as if we had already met. My anxiety and nervousness disappeared. He glanced up at the pictures on the wall, those of my 2 very young daughters. He nodded towards the pictures, as if acknowledging my baggage, then smiled and said...they are adorable. He never treated them like baggage from that moment forward, instead like added bonuses.
Today is a difficult day for me. It has now been 10 years since that day, Nov. 10, 2001, when Brian Halley walked into my life and changed the course of my future. He showed me how to love, how to really love, how to be loved. He brought much laughter and happiness into each day. He made me feel like a million dollars, offering me encouragement, compliments, advice and friendship. He made me feel alive and evoked in me a passion for life. I fell in love with him over and over again in the coming months and years. He was genuinely fun to be with. His whitty humor, his ornery smile, I tried to soak in all of his affection and love. He always put the girls and me before himself.
A few months after we met, I stopped by his house one day for a few minutes. I was trying to tell him a story about something that had happened that day. He kept kissing me and interrupting the story. Then he jumped to his feet, turned on the stereo to this song, and whisked me around the house. When the song ended, I burst into tears. He kept saying, Sweetie, what is wrong? I was overwhelmed with his love, and thought then that I could not live without him. That is the song we are dancing to at our wedding in the picture below.
Loving Brian for our short time together here on earth was enough. I figure if I say it over and over again, maybe I will eventually believe it. I am selfish and want him here with me, and I know I will never stop loving him. But in truth, I love him enough to know that Heaven is where he belongs now, this earth could not keep him, I could not keep him. It is true, what they say about loving someone so much that you put their needs above yours. You see, Brian did that for me almost everyday we were together. So it was my gift back to him, to put his needs before my own, and to let him go on to live eternally with the Father, free from a cancer only Heaven could cure. Oh sure, he was headed out, whether I gave him permission to go or not. I love him enough to want him in Heaven instead of physically suffering here with us. The love we shared was enough to sustain me, to change me for the better, to permeate my soul.
My life was inexplicably changed by the existence of this amazing man, and I am thankful each day for the impact he has made on my life. I will die happy someday, hopefully a long time down the road, knowing I had a love of a lifetime, one that so many only wish for but will never experience. And I know he will be waiting for me. I imagine what that moment will be like. I imagine seeing him and feeling like no time has passed since we were together, even if it has been 50 years. I imagine his arms around me, and long for that feeling of security, comfort and love that I felt each day with him.
I wonder about him now. I know he would be proud of me, at least I hope so. I also know he would have words of encouragement, and would want so much for me not to be hurting. His smile is etched forever in my heart and mind. I am so thankful for that day in early November 2001, a day that changed the course of my history and brought to me one of the biggest blessings of my life. Cancer could not take those precious memories from me, and only made our love stronger. His humor and whit lives on in our son, his love lives on in my heart.
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