Two Years Later

Year two.  Hasn't gotten any easier.  In fact, I feel like it's worse this year.

There have been so many missing pieces with you gone.  Especially this year.  I really needed your guidance this year.  Help with issues at school.  Help with making some big decisions this summer.  Help with figuring out how to parent these two crazy boys I've got.  There have been so many times when all I could think was "I'll ask mom.  She'll know."

I just, more often than not, feel lost without you.

You were my sounding board.  My voice of reason.  My reassurance.

Not a day goes by that I don't have flashbacks of two years ago.  That morning, we were feeding Michael some smashed banana before we left to go shopping.  You changed his diaper while I finished gathering some things together.  We joked with my two friends (also teachers) who were joining us on our adventure.  We all laughed in the car about the numerous (and seemingly random) Hallowed Ground signs on our drive.  "What's with the Hallowed Ground signs?  Where's the Hallowed Ground?  This ROAD is Hallowed Ground?"  And then we shopped.  We picked out matching lunch bags, because we both just loved the pattern so much.  You needed shoes -- you found them.  We both found some great pieces to wear for back-to-school.  We sat on a bench together for a few minutes while we waited for one of my friends to finish in a store.  You and I talked about how much money we'd spend at William Sonoma, and how it was a good thing that it wasn't a store we could easily get to when at home.

We went to the teacher store.  You picked out two posters for your classroom.  I picked out some things for mine.  I told you about something we did at our school -- I can't remember what it was -- but I do remember you saying that whatever it was, it was such a nice thing for us to do as a school.

We went to lunch.  You ordered a salad.  I ordered a sandwich with cheese.  Michael was doing something silly, and you laughed, telling him that he was such a precious boy.  We got refills on drinks.  We left, and started to make our way back to the car.

And then everything turned.  I have a hard time breathing every time I think about what happened next.  How I wish I had put someone else on the phone with 911 so that I could try to reach dad faster.  How I wish I had tried to do more to give you comfort.  How I wish I had done something else -- anything else -- that maybe would have saved you.

When I lost you, I lost myself, too.

I tried to spend today thinking of the happy memories.  I looked through pictures and tried to remember what was happening at those moments.  But I kept coming back to what happened two years ago.

I try to focus on the good things.  But it's easier said than done.