In the midst of moving in and adjusting, I had to write. I needed to get things off my chest and this is just the brink of what is running through my mind. I wrote this on 3/23/10...
Something that I just cannot do. I cannot accept that this is my life. Our path was clear. We had our game plan and within a matter of seconds that was completely stopped. Ceased. No more. Never again will things ever be the same.
I now live in a big house with my mom and 5 dogs in Fort Myers Florida. I used to live in a modest apartment with an outrageous rent, in San Diego with the love of my life and our two dogs and cat. We were going to start trying for kids around 2013. We wanted our own home in San Diego. I was going to graduate in 2011. I was going to graduate again in 2013 with a second bachelor’s degree. My husband, my tayte, was going to be commissioned as an Officer in the United States Marine Corps in 2014. We were going to grow old together and retire in our beachfront bungalow in Key West asking each other about cottage cheese and prunes in 2050. We had so much life ahead of us. If Michael was supposed to die, it was supposed to be in Iraq doing his job. The entire two years he was gone I had in the back of my mind that I would get that knock on my door with two Marines regretting to inform me that my boyfriend/husband was killed while deployed to a foreign land. Not while he was home, while he was safe. Instead I got a phone call in a mall by one of his best friends who was scared shitless to tell me that my husband, my tayte, my Michael was killed in a motorcycle accident.
I can’t accept it. I don’t think I ever will. I know that in this process called grief, you are supposed to go through these things, depression, anger, denial, bargaining, and acceptance. But I can’t. It just cannot be that my HUSBAND IS DEAD! He was indestructible. Untouchable. The pieces of this puzzle just do not fit together in my head; they don’t make sense. The pieces of my perfect life puzzle fit perfectly. Not this time. I would have much rather would have died in the place of my love. He was so much better than me. I don’t deserve to live, he does! What do I do now when the best part of me was him? I am forever broken. There is no man, no medication, mechanic, no amount of time talking to a professional that will fix me.
The huge part of me that cannot accept this is the same part that keeps me from visiting him so much. When I go and see where he is at, it’s just a rogue wave in the midst of a semi-calm ocean. It’s acceptance slapping me in the face. My husband is in there. He cannot breathe, he cannot open his eyes, no words will come out of his beautiful mouth. I do not even want to begin to imagine what Mother Nature is doing to his beautiful body. The body that I knew like the back of my hand, every scar, every freckle, every rough patch of his skin, I know it all. And now it’s just a memory. A bittersweet memory. Going there brings that pain that I know all too well how to avoid. Feeling the pain of Michael being gone just makes it even more real.
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I'm waking up in the mornings thinking about the same thing I went to bed thing about. My son is gone, my son will never say "hello mamacita", I will never see my son's children. I find it so hard to function during the day, everyday someone new comes up to me and thanks me for my son's service, and that their sorry for my loss. I find notes on my car, I've held on to those, good notes. I've got a pain in my heart that will never go away. It's a dark cloud, a cloud that hangs over me, no sunshine can make it go away. We were so proud of Michael, words can't express, even when he would speak to us, he never made himself look important. He was a special person, not only in the military but in life.
ReplyDeleteAllison, I've told you this before and I'll say it again, whenever you need to talk just make the call, and if you don't want to talk, but you feel the need of a hug from someone who is feeling the same way, just come by. Our pain will always be there, and the memories will always continue of Michael. I visit Michael every Sunday, it's a routine we now have, it's go to church at 7:30am followed by breakfast then the cemetery. The person who's taken Michael away will have to delete with this pain on his own, and I will have to find it in me to forgive me one day, but that day isn't now.