The difference of one second

Really, who ever thinks about seconds? They pass us by in the blink of an eye. Oftentimes, nothing monumental happens in one second. We remember days, major events, but the seconds usually just slip by. But a second really does make a difference.

Everything can change in one second. I found that out when I lost Ron. I thought my life had ended. And, in a sense, it had. At least the life I knew had ended. The woman that I was walked right out the door when she heard the words, "We tried for 30 minutes and we couldn't get him back." She ran like hell when my daughter, two and a half at the time, reached out for me crying, "NO!" as I fell screaming to the floor. She vowed never to return as I took charge and made the first real decision I'd made in years: asking the Chaplain to leave.

That woman, the 30-year-old mother and wife, blew right past us all in the following days and months. She was nowhere to be found. There was no trace of the strong woman who had soothed so many tears and held hands that made her world complete. Now, there was one less hand to hold.

So she left. And the new me evaluated what her options were. None of them looked too promising. And, of course, I made a lot of incorrect decisions. But now I look at how much I've grown and changed, and I can't help but think that this version of me is happier and healthier. I can make a decision if I have to. I can even stand up for myself some of the time. (I'm still working on that one!) But I've come to the conclusion that this new woman was given two feet for a reason.

So now, I'm going to use those two feet. I'm going to walk right up to that older version of me and tell her exactly what I think. "You did a fine job with all the seconds you had available, but now it's my turn."

Finding a piece of myself

"There is only one path to today."

I stumbled across this sentiment today. I've done some searching and can't find anyone to whom I can attribute it. There is only one path that would have gotten me where I am today. Somedays I lament that fact, and other days I celebrate it.

I think about my journey a lot. There are so many people along the way who have touched me in ways I can't explain. Some of them are still in my life and some are gone. And recently I've found a new someone that has been touching my life.

A while back, when paychecks from my job started bouncing, I began looking for work elsewhere. I figured that if they couldn't even make payroll it was only a matter of time before the whole place went under. For once in my life I got out in time.

I started working at a local restaurant/ice cream shop. Not exactly the most glamorous of positions, but you do what you have to to pay the bills. After working there for about a week, someone walked through the door that would change my life forever.

I didn't notice him at the time. I was seeing someone else. We talked just like any regular co-workers would. As a matter of fact, we had some pretty deep conversations. He told me about his divorce. I told him about my husband dying. He told me he was sure he would never find another woman that would be willing to deal with him already having 4 children. I told him that if she was the right woman it wouldn't be a problem.

Over the next couple of months we continued talking and sharing. For an outsider looking in, I suppose that the way we opened up to each other must have seemed very strange. But something about him made me know that I could share anything with him and be completely safe.

After finding out that the boyfriend I thought I would marry was not the one, this man and I began to date. We've been seeing each other for about 3 months and I can't say I've ever been happier. The hubby was a phenomenal man. I can't help but believe that he had a hand in bringing this man into my life. He always told me that he would want me to find someone else. True to my nature, I had to pick a few losers before settling on one that truly knows me.

Boyfriend 2.0 knows that there is room for both him and my husband in my heart. I can hardly believe it myself. He gives me the freedom to experience my pain and grief and still makes me laugh and smile on a regular basis. September is a hard month for me and he has promised to be there every step of the way. Knowing that I have him in my corner makes my heart feel like there's a reason to keep loving.

I could extol the virtues of this man for pages. Really, all you need to know is that he loves me and doesn't want to change me. He believes me to be the strongest person he's ever met. If he keeps treating me the way he does, I might just come to believe that, too.

To this wonderful man, the other side of myself, thank you for being a part of my path to today.

When it saves you

A friend said to me, "I can't believe you kept your faith through all the hell you must have gone through. I admire that." I told him, "You can't be angry at something you don't believe in." (Thanks for that one, Aggie.)

And it's true. I can't very well be mad at God for taking my husband away from me if I don't believe in Him. But as I was thinking about this conversation this morning, I came to an interesting conclusion. I wasn't talking about believing in God. Although I do believe in Him, it would be more appropriate to say that during that conversation I was saying I believe in Love.

For so long after the hubby died I was angry. The kind of anger that sucks what's left of your life out of you and makes you worthless for anything but rage. I was most angry with the hubby. HE was the one that didn't eat right. HE was the one that smoked constantly. HE was the one that didn't exercise. HE was the one that didn't care enough about us to stay. (I never said anger was rational, did I?)

But I loved him. And I know this is true because it would be impossible to be so angry with someone you didn't love. I also know that his love saved me.

The hubby walked into my life at a time when I was living in a loveless, abusive marriage. My self-esteem was at an all-time low and I was certain that nothing I did was right, let alone worthwhile. And this man, this great big bear of a man, walked into my life and gave me the courage to leave that situation. He showed me that despite what my ex-husband was telling me, there were people in this world that would love me for who I am. People who wouldn't put restrictions on that love.

I'll say it again, I did not leave my ex-husband to marry my hubby. It just turned out that way. And that's how his love saved me. It gave me options I didn't know existed. And because he loved me so much I'm able to continue on each day.

His love saves me every moment in the form of a beautiful little girl that we made together. She's laying on the couch right now, playing with her legs, and asking me what I'm doing. And pretty soon, she'll tell me that she loves me. I'm saved all over again. Every night when she hugs my neck and tells me she loves me before going to bed. Every morning when she curls up next to me in bed and nearly suffocates me in her hug. Every time she looks at me and shows me that grin that can only have come from one place: her father. I'm saved all over again.

My parents have been behind me 100% for the last 19 months. They make sure that I have what I need and even the things I don't need but just want. They take this task of parenting seriously. They show me they love me every day. And their love saves me.

I have friends that show me how much they love me and they save me too. You all know who you are. And I hope you also know where I couldn't have gotten without you. You're amazing people and you make all the difference in my life.

Yes, love saves. And it comes when and where you least expect it. It would seem to me, though, that it always comes when it's most needed.

A lasting aftereffect of trouble

Why are scars shiny? Shiny usually connotes something good, something new and exciting. Birthday parties. Little girl's patent leather shoes. Sunlight. In contrast, scars and their stories are often rife with pain. You may hear the story of a scar told with great bravado and excitement. At the time, few people would express such pleasurable opinions about the activity that caused the scar.

Being a widow has taught me a thing or two about scars. Science tells us that scars never completely go away. The scar left by Ron's death has not gone away. In time, I'm sure, I'll continue to see changes in its appearance. I have already noticed a change in the pain. I feel myself and the scar changing. But it will never be gone. There's a part of me forever irreparable because of what happened.

But is my injury, my pain, really a scar? A scar does not form until the would is completely healed. I am not completely healed. I am moving through my grief, but I'm not sure that part of me will ever be healed. I am moving forward and looking to the future. Maybe what I have isn't a scar after all. I'm left with a weakened spot. That weakness allows memories to sneak in and open the wound again. Scars are physical marks that show healing has occurred. My healing is not all in the past. I will have many more moments of healing. But maybe, just maybe, there's some shiny skin peeking through.

Scar tissue is different than the original tissue of the skin. And I am different than I was before I was on my own. That thought no longer scares me. I used to worry that when I got done changing no one would recognize what was left. Underneath it all I'm still me. A lot has changed. Some parts are very different. Look at all I've learned. I am more confident, independent, and willing to take on whatever life tosses my way. My experience would not have been the same without all the pressure applied in the last year and a half. Ron's death prepared me for so much that I never would have felt comfortable with before.

I prefer to think of scar in the etymological sense. The word "scar" is derived from the Greek word schara, meaning place of fire (fireplace). And if that's true, when I'm left with a scar from this experience, I hope there's still fire left in me.

Gratuitous song reference: Scars by Papa Roach

I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut

My weakness is that I care too much
And our scars remind us that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel

Walking with a friend

Recently I've spent a lot of time on the phone and online with a dear friend who has needed some encouragement. She's going through a rough time and is often unsure of herself and her path. Talking with her has taken me back to experiences from my first marriage. Yes, for those of you who don't know, I was married before (to my high school sweetheart) and it did not end well.

But this woman, this wonderful friend of mine, has found so much in such a short time. Where I apparently had an operation to remove my spine while I was married to my disaster, she has found hers. Not that she ever really lost it, but some of the moves I've seen her make in the past few months astonish and inspire me.

She's building a life on her own for her children. She is doing everything within her power to make their lives the safest and most consistent she possibly can. Heck, when I was in her position, I wasn't able to do that and all I had to deal with was myself.

And I watch her do what she feels is floundering. All I can think is, "This woman has incredible grace and class under pressure." She knows what she will and won't accept, and she's going for it.
She seems to think that some of the advice I've given along the way is helpful. We talk on a regular basis, vent about our bad days, and share our triumphs. She pats me on the back and encourages me and tells me what a great job I'm doing. We are there for each other. We both routinely walk to the edge of the insanity cliff and contemplate what it would take to push us over the edge. And when one gets too close to that edge, the other one pulls her back again.

Some friends rely on manicures and spa days together. We rely on the every day. Because every day is all we've got. Each day is its own moment. Each day holds the answer and is the grand mystery as well.

I just hope she realizes that there's no one I'd rather explore those mysteries and answers with.

Let me just tell you...

The week of January 18-24th was a difficult one at my house. Shall we run down the list?

On Tuesday I did some checking. Apparently, I make too much money to adequately care for my child, but yet I don't make enough to adequately care for her. Even if I weren't working right now, because of the money that we receive from Ron's Social Security income, we are over the income limit for Medicaid. For me, this isn't such a tragedy. I can take decent care of myself on my own. But for the munchkin, healthcare would be so welcome. And that's a hard pill to swallow. Once I get bills paid off I'll be able to put aside enough money that if either of us needs to go to the doctor, it won't break us. And I'm also in the process of looking for a job that offers medical benefits. So all is not lost. But, I guess, I was really hoping that we could get some help.

Wednesday we were having rotten weather around here. Bitterly cold, high winds, freezing rain, blowing snow, etc. Because my daycare is out of town I asked my parents to go pick up the munchkin. When I wasn't a single mother the weather didn't seem so much of an issue. But, things are what they are now, and so I deal with it the best way I know how. Maybe I'll move to some warmer climate.

Thursday was my wedding anniversary. The stress of the event was enough for me, but not sleeping well for several days ahead of time made me a basket case. In order to not be alone that evening, I invited all the girls over for Stitch and Bitch. I made some great dips and a chocolate cake. It wouldn't have been a day to remember Ron without chocolate cake.

But Friday was the real kicker. In the last few weeks both my parents and I had noticed that the munchkin was squinting and closing her left eye when looking at things close up. I was of a mind to believe it was just something she "did". However, Mom chose to freak me out by googling the information and finding that it could be lazy eye or any other myriad problems. Did I have the money to take her to the optometrist? HECK NO! Bless Mom and Dad, they made it happen. So, Friday Morning at 8:15 we showed up for an eye appointment for a (nearly) 4-year-old.

First they took us into a side room where they did some measurements and tests to see if she could tell which animal "popped off the page". She did OK, but was much more interested in telling us about the animals than which one looked different. Then, they pulled out the book with pictures designed to test whether or not she was color blind. The woman asked her to trace the numbers, and the munchkin is not overly familiar with the concept of tracing. She shocked us all a bit when I asked her if she could see a number in the picture and she piped right up to say, "Oh, the 7?"

In the end, the optometrist determined that she has a "significant" prescription necessary in both eyes. She wouldn't even cover her good eye with the paddle in order to test the strength of the weak eye. Don't ask me how, but they did get a good look at both eyes and determined that she not only needs glasses but should also do some work at home while wearing a patch in order to strengthen the weak eye.

The optometrist also commented that children will often greatly change their behavior greatly upon beginning to wear glasses. They feel more secure in their world once they can see better. I'm hoping that this will be true in our situation as she can be difficult to deal with at times.

However, the munchkin did love trying on glasses. After all, Mommy and Nana wear glasses all the time anyway. So now she'll be just like us. We chose an extremely cute pair of pink glasses with bright green butterflies on the ear pieces. She's been asking when she can wear her glasses. I'm hoping they'll be in today or tomorrow at the latest.

It was a week certain to make the strongest of people feel a bit overwhelmed. But, now it's over and I feel like I can again take some time to breathe.

The lesson in all of this is that I have to learn to slow down. I need to realize that everything will work out in the end. One way or another, she and I will make it through all of this and be stronger because of it. Currently, I can't say I'm feeling all that strong, but I'll get there.

Strength isn't something that you either have or don't. Certainly some people are emotionally stronger than others. Am I one? All I know is what I've told many of my friends. I'm only a woman playing the hand she's been dealt. I have no other choice. Sure, I want to throw my hands in the air and just go back to bed. But that doesn't accomplish anything. And it's not what Ron would have wanted for us either. He taught me a lot. And now, I have to teach the munchkin those same lessons.

What I keep

If you were to walk through my house you would begin to think that I'm either completely mental (which is a definite possibility) or have a strange sense of that which is sentimental.

There are so many things hiding in different spots around the house that would have meaning only to me.

In the refrigerator is one, lonely Miller Light. Ron drank Miller Light and this is the last can of the beer that was bought by my brother after the funeral. Ron made sure to drink all that he had in the house before leaving for his surgical appointment because he knew he wouldn't be allowed to drink afterwards. So this one can hangs out in my fridge. I won't drink it (although I really don't mind Miller Light), won't let anyone else drink it, and, if I needed a beer for some culinary experience, would go out and buy a new six-pack. He never touched it. But somehow, it means something to me.

In the basket by the bed is the shirt he wore to the hospital the day of his first surgery. I have not washed it. The rest of his clothes I washed and put away when I did the laundry for the first time after he died. Like he was coming back. When I switched his stuff into the spare bedroom closet I couldn't deal with giving away any of his "hanging" clothes. Anything that was in his dresser drawers I dealt with. But anything that had been hanging in the closet is still hanging there, untouched. Most of these clothes I never saw him wear. But I can't get rid of them. At least not yet.

On the fridge is a whiteboard type perpetual calendar. You fill in the dates. I've left it just as he last did. It shows an appointment with the surgeon before the actual date was set for the surgery, an appointment with my attorney to deal with car accident issues, and nothing else of any consequence. But I can't erase it. Please don't do me any favors and erase and update it. I need it there.

I've also left his pill case with the medicine in it stuck on the fridge. He'll never need it, but I can't seem to put that away.

Every day leaving and coming home I'm confronted with much that is Ron. Hanging on the wall downstairs we have a set of longhorn horns that span at least 5 feet. Those will never be given away even though they don't suit me in the slightest.

On the coffee table in the living room sits his copy of American Soldier. I'm sure I'll never read it, but it was the only actual book I ever saw him read. That's where he left it, and you can believe it's going to stay there. I just don't know for how long.

In a bathroom that I completely redid to make "my own" and removed his lighthouse stuff in the process, there are two reminders. There's a lighthouse windchime hanging from the ceiling vent. I don't know why I don't take it down. It just seems to belong there. There's also a lighthouse picture hanging on the wall. Over a year ago I purchased a picture to replace it. For whatever reason I can't hang it.

Down in the garage, if you knew what you were looking for, you'd find the box of his ashes. They're in the garage because that was his domain. That's where he found peace. You might wonder why they're in a box. Ron would have thought it silly and pretentious to buy ANYTHING to put his ashes in. So, I just leave them in their box. I haven't opened it. Can't make myself do it.

And lastly, and quite possibly the most bizarre memento, in the glove compartment of my car you will find a partial pack of his cigarettes, a pack of the gum he liked, and a lighter. I always hated that he smoked. I chewed the rest of every other pack of gum he had around. And I don't use lighters. But they're still there 16 months later.

Someday, maybe, I'll be able to get rid of these things. Maybe not. For now, they just hang around reminding me what a special part of my life he was. All of these things aren't Ron. They're just reminders of his presence. He was an amazing man that brought love back into my life and showed me what I had the capability of being. Giving these things up feels like I'm giving him up. And so I hang on to them. Am I hanging on to him as well? I suppose I am. None of these things are part of a shrine. None of them represent a daily fixation without which I would stop functioning.

I wonder what people would keep around to represent me if I were suddenly no longer around. What do I leave this world? You know what? I don't think it really matters to me, because 50 years from now when my family has to decide what to keep and what to give away, the meaning will be for them to find. Right now, I'll just keep putting bits of myself out there and hoping that someday there will be so many fond memories that they'll have a hard time choosing items to give away.

Taking a look at the past 12 months

The holidays seem to be notorious for putting people in a pensive frame of mind. And I'm no different. In the last few days, amidst the chaos that is the holidays, I have again been taking stock of my life.

15 months ago, the man I was married to, my best friend, died. So many of you have been there for me during this journey. I am still working to find peace. There are days that I feel that things will be fine and that the world is finally slowing down enough to let me back on. Then, night falls, and I find myself alone and aching. Grief is not for the weak.

Last night, after the gifts were put away and my daughter was in bed, I found myself crying. The second Christmas without him. Sure, I've moved forward, and things are improving, but there are some things that are not the same. Some things can't be fixed. A part of me will live forever with him. And those memories come back to me at night.

So, what has changed for me over the past year while I have taken a break from this blog?

I've taken a different job. I am no longer working as a Technical Writer. The job and the company I was working for created too much stress. My health and my personal relationships were suffering. I now work as a manager at a local lingerie shop. I love what I do and I am much happier than I ever was at my last job.

My daughter and I are beginning to adjust to living on our own. Right now we are dealing with some abandonment and separation anxiety issues for the munchkin. Even when I leave her with my parents she often worries about whether or not I will be coming back. She turns 4 in February and is beginning to grasp that other people have Daddies and that hers is not around. She still isn't sure why he isn't. She knows that "Daddy's in heaven with Jesus" but I believe she is only repeating what I have taught her. I don't think she grasps the concept of Daddy being in heaven. If I'm honest, I'm not sure I grasp it. :)

I've begun dating again. On June 21st (Father's Day) I met a wonderful man (Hereafter referred to as "the boyfriend".) who has been a friend of the family for years. I was able to contact him through Facebook and ask him if he'd like to get together. Six months later, I still get excited every time I know that I'm going to see him. He treats myself and my daughter like a queen and a princess respectively. He's kind, honest, patient, caring, attentive, generous, intelligent, and gentle. He's everything I could ask for. It's amazing to me, but he seems to understand the position I am in. I'm fighting every day to find my way and I believe he enjoys watching me grow. I get phone calls and "check ins" for no reason. He manages to find that fine balance of taking care of me when I need it and letting me have my own time and space. He has a daughter of his own and the four of us enjoy spending time together. The munchkin adores him and he adores her. I often tease him that I'm not sure if he's dating me or my daughter.

My financial situation is much different that I've been used to in the past. I am by no means destitute, but paying the bills is often an exercise in patience and prayer. I am in the process of paying off medical bills. This month was big for me. I paid off the first of the balances. Now, that money will be rolled into another payment. I am excited to begin to see things snowball. Never before in my life have I been the one in charge of the finances. Up to this point, there had always been someone else who dealt with it. Now, I keep track of what's coming in and going out, and I make sure that things are being paid on time. It's actually quite a feeling. If I were to get married again, I'm not sure I would want to relinquish control.

I've learned when to ask for help and I've also learned all the things I can take care of on my own. I've learned that there are so many people out there willing to help me if only I can swallow my pride long enough to ask. I have learned that independence is a wonderful thing, but being all on my own is not my goal in life. Thankfully, my daughter provides me with constant companionship.

Munchkin has gotten another year older, another year smarter, and another year sassier. She always makes me smile and more than once has pulled me out of the pit. She's wonderful and she's the best thing I ever did.

So, dear readers, there's a snapshot of my last year (or so). The ache is still there, but it is beginning to dull. I have wonderful people in my life that believe in me and care more than I ever knew. Thank you to all that have been there for me.

The Last (Ten) Year(s)

Around the time I was three years old I decided I was going to marry Kenny Rogers. 25 years later, I brought home the man who would be the father of our daughter and would take me on the ride of my life. And sure enough, he looked a lot like Kenny.

A year ago today I lost my best friend...my Superman. I can't tell you how many times I came home from work and found Ron listening to this song. He would tear up while listening to it. The image of him sitting in his chair by the patio, head back, eyes closed, and the music around him is one that I'll never forget.

I've done a lot of thinking in the past couple of months. Would I go back and change it? Would I bring Ron back if I could? I still don't know the answer. There are a million things I would change. There are a thousand times I would turn around and give him one more hug and kiss. And there are only 86,400 times a day that I think of him and wonder what he would think of what I've become. I don't know the answers. I only know this. He loved us. All of us. And without him, the world still manages to go on. But, we're going to miss you, Ron.

Collective Soul

He always makes sure to let me know he's still around. And I'm sure he is feeling better now.

When It Don't Come Easy

I wonder if I'll ever get home.

When It Don't Come Easy
by Patty Griffin



Lyrics are here.

Last Easter

For this one I'm looking back, too. This time last year, we were all visiting the hubby in the heart hospital after his heart attack. He was so completely hopped up (no Easter pun intended) on morphine and nitro that he hardly remembers us being there.

I remember thinking how this had to be the worst way to spend an Easter. Turns out, I was wrong.

So many times over the past year, and particularly the past 6 1/2 months, I've been so wrong.

This year is worse. And I didn't anticipate it being that way. But for the second year in a row I woke up knowing that I was celebrating Easter by myself, with my daughter. It was my job to get her Easter basket ready. It was my job to make her look beautiful in her Easter dress. It was my job to make her day amazing. And I think I did a pretty good job.

Easter is about rolling the stone away from the tomb and looking forward to a new life. And so, I choose to try to do that. Munchkin and I are building a new life together. We're trying to roll that stone away and be amazed at what we find. We're trying to relish the fact that the tomb is empty and that this means so many good things. At least, we're trying.

Pendulum

Lately I've been thinking of my life sort of like a pendulum. I swing back and forth between moods. The bottom of the swing, where a pendulum stops if no force is applied, is where I go when I'm at my darkest. And I will stay there - unless I apply some force.

And I've been at the bottom of that swing.

I decided it was time to move from there. I'm not willing to stay there very long anymore. It's time to take action...apply some force.

So I still swing back and forth, and I hit that bottom point every now and then, but it's a moment, and I'm only passing through.

There have been some pretty great moments at the high points of the swing. And someday, if things work out, maybe I'll tell you about them. But for now, know that things are still moving back and forth here.

Spiral

I haven't been saying much for the past two weeks because, even with something new and wonderful in my life (a topic for another post someday), I've been in a spiral.

These last few days have been pure torture for me.

Friday was my daughter's 3rd birthday. I did OK at work until about 3:30. Finally, about 4:15 I had to leave because I knew that I was losing it. I knew that if I didn't get out of there I would be a wreck. My mother is the secretary for the music department at our local university and we had all been invited to a music alum gathering. I went. It was a mistake. All kinds of well-meaning people asking me how I am. Then, my mother asked the entire music faculty to sing Happy Birthday to my daughter. I decided I had to make it out of the room after they were done before I completely dissolved into tears. It was so, SO bittersweet.

Saturday was the dreaded day. I never really thought it meant anything to me until it hit me that "his girls" weren't getting anything this year. And it wasn't the gift I wanted. He always thought of it as the day he got to bring us presents in the hospital. Our first Valentine's Day together was actually our first full day as a family as well. I feel sick even thinking about it now.

Today was her birthday party. About 8 this morning I was convinced I should cancel it because I just couldn't do it. I was tired, grief-stricken, and certain that I couldn't make it through the party without sobbing.

She had a great time in the pool and everyone was wonderful. Not really any pressure on me. Now I'm home alone with an exhausted munchkin and fears of what I'll do with myself once she's in bed. I feel like it's me against the world.

I'm just beyond grief. I'm exhausted and have to go back to work tomorrow. Nope, no Monday holiday for me. I could have taken it off but chose not to in an attempt to finally save up some PTO.

I don't know what to say or feel. I want numb back.

3 years

Tomorrow my baby will be 3.

What a mix of emotions that is. Granted, it's a wonderful and happy day. But it's half wrong. And I don't know what to do about that. I don't know how to fix it.

There's nothing I can do. So I guess I'll just throw that beautiful little girl the best birthday party I can manage. There will be cake and swimming and family and friends and fun. She's my girl and she deserves the best I can give her.

So I'll give her my heart.

With?

For 4 months I've been telling my 3-year-old that Daddy is with Jesus.

Tonight my parents were over and she asked, "Mommy, where's Daddy?" My mom said, "Where IS Daddy?"

Without hesitation she responded, "Daddy's with Jesus."

I cried happy and sad tears at the same time.

Blessid Union of Souls

There's nothing to say except that this is perfect..right down to the name of the band.

Rough go of it

Sorry again for the lack of posts. I have several things about which I would like to post, but I just can't seem to find the energy. The waves are hitting again and I find myself dragging through each day with my only thought being when I can get back in bed. I don't know what's wrong with me. So I assume one day this will pass. Until then, please satisfy yourself knowing that I'm just doing the best I can. Really. I am.

Anniversary

Three years ago today...

My father gave me away, barefoot and pregnant, to the most wonderful man ever.

Tonight there was chocolate cake, because any of you who know the hubby know that he wouldn't have considered it a celebration without chocolate cake. There was Bluegrass Beatles because it was "our" favorite. Munchkin made Daddy a foam card. You can catch pics of all the action on my facebook page. After she goes to bed I'll be writing a note for him in an anniversary card.

This morning I heard this song on the radio. It had no business being played on the station I listen to. I can only conclude it was a message from him. Sums up my feelings pretty well.

Memories

I'd do it all again. And I can't imagine what I do now. Thank you for the best 3 1/2 years, Bear.

*Additional Note*

Ron was often mistaken for Kenny Rogers. Mom even commented on it the first time she met him. Kenny Rogers and Hulk Hogan.