Aside from close family and friends who see me on a regular basis (or texting, JJ) I have been relatively quiet the past 76 days while I have grieved. I still grieve, daily, hourly… But I think I’m ready to open up a little bit.
I have been told a lot of things in the past couple of months. And because in general these people were also grieving and possibly didn’t take the second it would need to realize to whom they were speaking, I did not respond in any of the several ways I should have. First, when you have gone years at a time and most recently months without seeing some one, it’s just poor character to tell his wife that lived with him, “I knew him better then anyone.” Or, “I know he blew his brains out because he was wearing a wig at the viewing.” Even if he were wearing a wig… that’s a horrible thing to say to the person who had spent almost 2 hours alone with his body! And if a wig or any alteration had been required there would have been no viewing. As it was, Rob looked like he was simply laying in the grass watching the clouds when I found him, his hands were still warm. Knowing I would find him, Rob took extra care in insuring that he did not create a horror scene with his final moments. The most horrible thing about it was absolutely not how he looked, but the fact that he was GONE. The only thing I would sacrifice that time for, would be to have him back. He chose to give me that time and that is our time. This has not been the cause for my lack of sleep, but how on earth would you know he wasn’t wearing any clothes under the blanket he was wrapped in for the viewing? And what makes you think I needed critiqued for that a day later? Not to mention, if I were clairvoyant enough to predict that you or anyone else would LOOK under there, I would have found a way to stop this from happening! Shame on you, you’re related and he was dead! And to go a step further, Rob loved being naked and after everything he’s done for all of us, letting him say good bye’s in the buff was the least we could do for him. In fact, after his mother called me a “whore” and said that I “may as well have been holding the gun.” I almost wish that he’d been on his chest so that if she had bothered to come to his funeral, she could have kissed his ass. Is this how she respects his memory or even his wishes? How awful! I’m entirely grateful that some force kept me from hearing the rest of what she said. No Rob would not be proud of me airing her statements publically. He would say, “It’s bad enough that she said them. You don’t have to retell them.” But in these days and weeks that is the only thing I have done that I know he would not approve of and when he was physically here, he encouraged me to be my own person and do my own things. In the letter he wrote and left for me to read upon his death he told me not to let people take advantage of me. So I’ve spoken my mind just as you spoke yours. Several people have said, “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” Truthfully, you don’t want to know. There are no words to explain it and the only feeling stronger then what I’m feeling now was his love. If you could take every negative, hurtful, painful feeling that 50 people could have at one time and roll them together… that is close to this feeling. Except that feelings at least fill you in one way or another and I only have emptiness, an empty seat at the table, an empty side of the bed, an empty seat in the car, an empty patter to my heart, empty memories because even the very best ones all lead to 10:00 am on Sunday the 31st of January 2010. I don’t always feel this way. With my anger, sadness, confusion, depression and upset it is natural to want to destroy things. I’ve lost enough, my kids have lost enough, my family has lost enough, so in stead I choose to create. My dad made a wonderful urn of cedar because Rob deserves better then the black plastic one he came back to me in. In this new urn, I have freely given countless tears burning letters to him, from myself and our children, I’ve burned a fond memorial to him on the front and back, and pictures and designs. All filled, filled with the love, filled with honor, filled with respect, filled with kindness, filled with caring, filled with generosity, filled with smiles, and so many things I can’t list. Each mark is filled with all of the things he gave me so freely, that he gave us all so freely. I also have been painting. In respect to all of the work Rob did with his hands, and to the time I spent alone with him on the hill, with my thumb on his tattoo as a reminder of his faith, 3 weeks ago, I got a tattoo. I got a cross between my index finger and thumb like his was. Mine is on the right hand like his, which he had so often comforted me with, held me with held my hand with… I remember he told me it had meant, “help”. And that it had provided the ‘help’ he was asking God to provide. I believe it will represent the same for me. Now it will be my cross to bare. Only it has a heart because everything is done better if you put your heart into it. I know I need to write an addition to the tribute page I wrote for Rob years ago. I write to him each day. I promised him when we were married to share my life with him. He kept his vow and it’s only right that I continue to keep mine.
Posted at: 04:19 PM | Add Comment
