Today marked four weeks since Sam passed. It almost seems surreal to me. Several times throughout the day I find myself wanting to text him to tell him something or ask his opinion or just to say hi. Each time it almost startles me to realize he is not here anymore. I do still talk with him, though. If I listen closely, he does respond...or at least, that is what I chose to believe.
Slowly I am responding to all the flowers, plants, cards, emails, calls, and texts I received from all of you. The support I received is almost overwhelming and deeply appreciated. My family (Glass and Evans) received a great amount as well. Thank you for your kind thoughts, words, and prayers. The two celebrations of life proved to be very different, each providing a closing to various chapters of Sam's life as well as a celebration of his passing on to the next.
For all of you wondering, I am staying in Alaska. Sam and I became Alaskans the minute we crossed the state line. It is our home.
As to what is going on behind these closed doors? Well, his clothes are still in the closet and dresser. One of his Oregon sweatshirts is still draped over the back of a dining room chair, right where he left it. His shoes are still tossed in a corner in the bedroom. Many things are still in the same place as they were before. Yesterday I made my first Costco run in two months and I also did laundry for the first time in a couple weeks, both of which forced me to put some things away or move them around. I have no idea how long I will keep his things with me, but I will not be doing anything with them until I am ready and not a minute before.
If I sound angry, I guess I am a little bit because those questions were asked of me in the first week he was gone. I admit, I was caught by surprise. Everyone grieves differently, though, as well as survives differently. For me, it gives me strength to have Sam's things around me, makes me feel like he is still here with me. I talk with him every morning and every night and it makes me feel good. One of these days I might wake up and decide today is the day to give his clothes away, but then again, it might not ever happen. I just do not know so I am just taking it one day at a time and doing the best that I can, continuing, and building upon, the life we built together.
Admittedly, it does help that my Denver Broncos are kicking butt.
q'ua
Monday, September 23, 2013
Friday, September 6, 2013
Imagine that, how sweet it'd be To have you here again with me Oh lord, I wish I had you back But all I can do is imagine that. "Imagine That" lyrics by Don Williams
Tonight one of our friends posted this on Facebook and it was the first thing I saw when I logged on. It truly is the only thing I can do. My heart hurts in ways I never thought it could. Yet, sometimes it seems like it is all a dream. Sam should be here with me, taking the trailer out for one last weekend, camping in the rain, getting ready for football, wondering if there is going to be termination dust on the peaks when the clouds finally rise, and every other little thing I am now doing alone. Yes, I truly believe he is here with me as my angel, but I want to be able to reach out and touch him and that is not possible. Evenings, nights and weekends are the hardest because those are the times I spent exclusively with Sam. Most of the time, there are no tears, just an aching pain that will ease with time but more than likely will never go away. I do not want anyone to feel sorry for me, I just want people to understand that just because I am not in tears does not mean I am not grieving. Sometimes the tears come suddenly and quite unexpectedly and other times, I am prepared for them because I am learning what triggers them. Tonight as I left our "adopted Alaska parents" house, I felt tears because Sam would have had so much fun with them this evening. I know he was there in spirit, though, because I felt his presence several times throughout the evening.
q'ua
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