I’m hitting a tough time. I didn’t think I would, somehow I thought I would avoid it, but it’s coming up on the one year anniversary of Ron’s death. Memories I’ve held at bay for a year now are flooding in. I haven’t mentioned it to many people at work but I did tell my supervisor today what’s going on with me.
I haven’t blogged for a while on how I’m dealing with losing Ron. At times it seems I’m doing remarkably well. I’ve leaped over a number of personal hurdles.
When I found myself out of work shortly after I lost Ron, after a brief time of inertia, I managed to get up and find another job. I know that somehow it was meant that I be where I am.
I got up the guts and drove to meet Cindy. That took a lot, that first visit, but since then we have found a real deep friendship I think, even apart from our mutual love of romance.
And not long ago I took t he train by myself to Toronto to meet Ames and Nath and Cindy. That was another leap for me.
And then there was the trip to Dallas. That was huge!
I left early in the morning and as I sat in the plane, I held my hand to the window and thanked Ron. You see it was his lifelong financial planning that allowed me to go.
There was one time in Dallas; it was at the Harlequin party, when I was kind of sitting by myself for a moment just watching all the fun times going on around me, when I felt Ron’s presence so strongly and he was happy that I was happy. I began to cry a few quiet happy tears that the trip was even more than I expected.
Yet I do go through really tough times too. I still can’t watch the Jays on TV – and I love baseball.
Ron coached for years and every day on my way to work I pass the baseball complex where he coached a lot of games. If the complex is empty, like it is in the mornings and just about every day when I drive home after work, I’m fine. But if there are cars there and people playing, then it devastates me. I was never as proud of Ron as when he was coaching a bunch of kids, knowing he never had that when he was a kid and knowing how much he loved coaching, even though it was difficult for him.
Because my oldest son didn’t have a car of his own, I gave him Ron’s car. I drove with him in it recently and it was all I could do not to start pounding and hitting my son, making him pull over and screaming that he had no business driving the car – that it was his Dad’s and for him to get out – get out now!
I didn’t – I didn’t say anything because I know that at times it’s difficult for my son himself to drive the car with all its memories.
When my youngest sister was here and we were going up to the cottage, I was driving. At one point I was driving down a highway Ron and the kids and I used to take when we were on vacation. I didn’t say anything to my sisters, but I came so close to pulling over and asking one of them to take over – I was hurting to much to drive.
When the pain comes – and it does – it is so sharp and so hard to bear, I almost double over with it.
Memories are coming fast and furious now, especially of the last year when he was so sick. I suppose it was a defense mechanism that I didn’t relive them until now, but they won’t stop and I feel on the verge of tears all the time. They are like waves that are washing over me harder and harder and at times I’m being knocked under.
Wendy and Jane and I had a conversation about soul mates and I really believe with everything I am, that Ron and I were meant to be together. That helped get me through the bad times we went through. There was never a day, a moment that I didn’t love him with all my heart. Mind you there were a lot of times I didn’t like him a whole heck of a lot, but I’m sure he felt the same about me and I think that just comes part and parcel with living with someone on a daily basis, in particular if in some ways you are so different from the other person. And Ron and I were different in a lot of ways. First off, he was a guy, enough said there. What woman can really understand what all makes them tick. He was a pessimist, me the optimist; he a glass half empty kind of guy, me a glass half full. He liked things neat, me, as recently pointed out, not so much.
He disliked being around other people, even though he coached baseball. Me, I need to be around people although I do have times I like to be alone.
I don’t know how I will spend the actual day. Lisa the sister has invited me to her place for the weekend. I’ll probably go. Ryan will be out of town so I don’t have to be there in person for him, but I’m not sure what to do about Brent.
I know both boys – well men really – are still deeply affected by their Dad’s death. We still haven’t talked about it, but they each either have or are getting tattoos in remembrance. So I don’t want to dessert him, but I don’t think I can be around this weekend.
I think about his mother too. We’ve never been that close but she is a nice person. I can only imagine the heartache she will be feeling. The year before Ron died, his father died so she lost not only her husband but her youngest son.
One thing that keeps me going and gives me comfort is faith. It’s knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will see him again sometime.
But still my heart aches at time. The sense of loss is just as deep as it was the day he died. I’m coping and coping quite well at times, but half of me is still missing, or if it’s there, it’s deeply scarred and it will never heal quite the same again.
I’m not a weepy, crying person, but I don’t think I’m going to get through this week without breaking down a few times.
I know I’ll get past this sadder than normal time and I’ll still have moments of being the old me, but I’m going to allow myself to be sad this week, to not have a ready smile on my face. I’ll allow myself to cry – whenever it hits and not feel like I shouldn’t, even at work. I’m going to allow myself to feel sorry and sorrow at what I’ve lost.
And I’m going to continue to love Ron with all my heart.