I suppose it's fitting that my first real post here is on the day that changed my life forever. Truthfully, I've not been blogging for a while because I've had to deal with some pretty intense and personal trials that I did not know how to share here in a safe way. But I am hoping to be more of a presence this year. I promise to try...
I got the rare opportunity to get away for the day about a week ago with a dear friend and kindred spirit last week. We spent the day doing our favorite activity together, walking along beaches and hunting for treasures. It was a great day to unwind from the pressures of the previous days, and I really needed the quiet time to talk to God and to sort things out in my brain. It usually takes me a while to wind down the noise in my head and stop mentally checking off my "to-do" list. Frankly, I'm pretty good at busying my mind so that I don't have to dwell on the emotional side of grief and loneliness. After all, I do have a lot to take care of around here! But lately I've got it down to a science. Most times, I feel sadness coming on at the worst moments, so I just push it back into the box in my head, seal it, and stack it somewhere in the back of my mind. I'd rather deal with it tomorrow. But tomorrow, conveniently, never comes. There is always something more pressing to deal with. And so the grief box waits there...waiting to be dusted off and opened, to be given attention to. I think God pretty much has to take it and turn it upside-down and dump out its contents on top of me in order to get my attention, though.
But on this day it was hard to ignore the quiet, so I focused on that all-important box. Don't get me wrong--I don't look at it as a way to have a pity party, or as a way of dredging up all the intimate details of my loss. Rather, it's an important time to reflect, to mourn, to hang on, to let go, to grow. So on this day, instead of focusing on the morbid details surrounding my life without my soul mate, I chose a wonderful fantasy instead.
Sometimes I wonder what Bill would think if he could come back for a day and see what has been going on down here on earth while he's been enjoying his new heavenly life. I spend a lot of moments worrying that he would be disappointed in a choice I've made here, or a decision I've made there. I wonder if he would be sad that I had to let his business go, and feel sure that he'd frown upon my lack of consistency in raising the kids. If he were to walk into the house now, would he like the new changes, the new additions? Would he be surprised at who was still in my life? At who was no longer in my life? Would he approve of the things I've done for the kids? For the home? For our lives? I could torture myself with questions like these, but I try not to. It's foolish, really. I'm sure now that he's seen the glory that is heaven, all these things would seem so minor, so petty now...So I replaced this fretting with a better question: "What if he could come back for just one day, and it was the perfect day?"
Years ago there was a sci-fi movie produced by Steven Spielberg titled: "A.I." Artificial Intelligence. Maybe you remember it. The plot takes place in a futuristic world where robots have evolved to feel emotion. A family "adopts" a robot boy to take the place of their biological son, who is in a coma and never expected to wake up. But by some miracle, he does, and suddenly the robot son is pushed aside as the biological son comes home. Throughout the movie, this robot child longs to be loved as a real human. After all, that is what he is programmed to be. After many plot twists and turns, the robot is given a priceless gift: The opportunity to spend just one day with his human mother. He gets to dictate how it will begin and end, and everything in between. But the catch is that he only has ONE DAY. And it was the perfect one...So here is MY version of that perfect day...
I think the day would start with me waking up snuggled next to Bill in bed. To feel the warmth of his body, to hear the steadiness of his breathing, to listen to his first sleepy whispers of the day. Of course, we would only have minutes before the door to our room bursts open to reveal at least one wakeful child, ready for the day to begin. Lots of tickling and giggles would ensue, and finally we would get out of bed to find some breakfast. Will would make Bill's favorite breakfast (Bill never met a breakfast he didn't like ;), which would consist of scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, english muffins, and sausage. And on this perfect day, not ONE child would complain, but would eat everything in front of them ;)
After breakfast, each child would get the chance to show Bill around their new bedrooms and the new parts of the house. Will would take the time to show Dad all he's learned about computers and share with him his desire to become a videographer. I'm sure he'd like to watch a NASCAR race with him too! Spencer would explain to him all the in's and out's of his latest Lego World creation, and would surely make his now famous pizza for his father that evening for dinner :) Connor and Quin would play wonderful songs on the piano for him, and Annika would don her favorite ballet outfit and dance to the Nutcracker for her daddy. He would be so proud! Ian would ask him 100 questions about heaven, and Hanson would probably just want lots and lots of hugs and kisses. And then there's Ryder...Little Ryder, who didn't even utter the word "daddy" until well into his second year of life. My bad. I never thought to teach him. That sounds awful, I know. Maybe it was just all too painful. But somehow (after all, this IS my fantasy), he would know that Bill was his daddy, and he would jump into his arms and give him that famous smile and say, "I just love you, Daddy." I know Bill would love his little boy and want to be with him every moment of that day...
As for the afternoon, there are so many possibilities...maybe we'd go to the beach and build sandcastles and jump the waves, and stay until the sun sets. Then we'd come home and he'd take precious moments to tuck each and every child into bed, telling him he loved them more than life. Maybe he'd impart some fatherly wisdom to them, then give them one final hug and kiss. And then he'd be mine for the rest of that perfect day...Just him and me. We'd talk for a while. He'd ask me how I was faring. I'd be honest. Maybe I'd ask some important questions that I want answering, but then again, maybe it wouldn't matter any more. I'd ask him for advice and help on raising our now teen-aged boys. I'd ask him if he was proud of me. And on this perfect day, he would hold me, let me cry, and tell me I've done a great job, and that he loved me so much. I know he would tell me he had faith in me all along--that I was a strong woman, even though I don't think I am. He would tell me I'm the most beautiful woman he ever knew, and the only one he truly loved. And he would tell me that it's ok to want to be loved again. We would share one special, intimate night together before he returned "home." Yes, the perfect dream--one I would hate to wake up from...
And so, this post marks another milestone: Year 5. I pray it's a good one...
