"...basically...we are chasing numbers..." This is what we were told at the end of Jason's fight. I felt like he had left a couple of days before...as I saw him do so in a dream I had while at the hospital. While saying a final goodbye to my husband was ONE of the hardest things I think I ever have done...I did it, it meant something, I felt at peace with it...or as much as I could at the time. For me, the next hardest thing I have EVER done, is tell our children that he had passed away...for me, a year later, this is a moment that still haunts me...
It isn't something that is in the front of my mind constantly. I did, however know how hard it was going to be. I vaguely slept that first night back home...I knew that when the sun came up, I was some how going to have to explain...some how tell them...some how let them know how much he loved them...how very lucky they were to have him as a father...some how going to have to help them understand...all while trying to maintain my own emotions. I only had one chance to do this right, as if there were a right way to do it, but I was searching for one none-the-less.
My heart still aches a little, and my eyes get more than misty, thinking about it...not for myself, for them. I remember I went into each of their rooms and asked if they would come down and get into bed with me. I figured if I could some how get them all in bed with me, with pillows and blankets I could some how try to hug them all at once. Each child who could speak was immediately asking a million questions...when did I get home? where was Dad? why was I here and he wasn't? when is he getting home? All the while, I just kept saying, "Let's get down to my room and we'll talk about it when we get there..." Meanwhile knowing, that in about 5 minutes, I was going to break their hearts. Not the kind when a kid doesn't get what they want for their birthday...the kind you can almost physically hear. I heard it, and all I could do was weep for them, wishing I had better answers to their questions, better solutions to their one main problem...no, your Dad isn't coming back.
While that moment haunts me, at times worse than seeing Jason lose his fight, I think it's because they are still living. I think knowing that at such a young age, that was a defining moment for them...The weeks after Jason passing I would nearly chant to myself or anyone who would listen, in the dark of my bedroom...how am I going to do this? how can I do this alone? how am I going to make it? I remember asking my Mom the same questions. At the time I wanted a more concrete answer, but the one she gave me was stoic and very true...she merely said, "...You just will, Kate."
Here I am a year later. As Atticus was in full on 'beast-mode' today, I decided to treat us all by having a dinner without him. He was fed and but to bed early. Something someday I'll have to answer for, as it happens a couple of times a month. But, everyone at the table tonight was in agreement, it was fabulous. We talked, we laughed, we ate baked mac-n-cheese and salad. I caught myself thinking...I'm doing it. I watch these children, grow into these amazing people, full of ideas, humor, and a little bit of a 'sauce-box' at times. I'm so proud of who they are, and what they are growing into. I'm, in a way, watching them grow and now I'm chasing numbers...theirs. Their accomplishments, their pitfalls, their heartaches, their life, unfolding. The helpful, curious, wonderful people they are becoming. Wondering how the next 5 years will be?
So, on November 7, 2013, after a year of celebrating surviving month after month...we are heading to our favorite old restaurant...one I haven't gone to in a year, as the last time I was there, it was with Jason. We are going to eat, and laugh, and talk about their father, and what we want to accomplish in the next year...and I will have a smile on my face. I'll be watching them hit milestones, a year ago I couldn't even imagine...while a year ago, I thought I'd never have the strength to do any of this...turns out I have had it all along, times 4...
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