Saturday, June 26, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Someone said to me the other day, “It’s not only the loss of someone you love, but the loss of someone who loved you.” Boy did that his home. It’s true. No matter who I am with, no matter what we are doing, even if I am laughing with friends or family, I’m alone. There was no one in the world who loved me like he did. And I knew it. Even my own children, who I know love me dearly and need me immensely, don’t love me as much as Bobby did. I would venture to say that even my mother (and father when he was alive) don’t love me as much as Bobby did. He had a way of making me feel special, like I was not just some regular person on the street.
There are so many things that you do with your spouse that defines the specialness of the relationship. How many times have you been at a party, talking to one group of people and your spouse is across the room, talking to a different group, and you can catch each other's eyes and know exactly what they are thinking? Or you finished each other sentences? That is a unique relationship, one that only comes with loving and living with someone for an extended period of time in a committed relationship.
I went out to dinner the other night with a friend of mine and my children. Her husband called to say he would be joining us in about ½ hour. So she suggested we all get appetizers while we waited for him. Then when we ordered dinner, she ordered for him without consulting him so that his meal would be ready at the same time ours were. That, to me, is a symbol of that connectedness that only two people who are committed to and love each other have. I thought about it as she was ordering, and I knew exactly what was on that menu that I would have ordered for Bobby had I been in her shoes.
It breaks my heart to know that I will never have these special times again. It’s really hard to accept that I am no longer “that special someone” to somebody else. That there is nobody out there that looks forward to seeing me at the end of the day. That there is no longer anyone kissing me goodnight. It's lonely and it really hurts.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Today is my son's birthday. He is 12. It is his first birthday without his dad. He asked me to buy him a cordless amp for his guitar, and I told him today that we would go to Sam Ash to look at guitar amps sometime this week. I also said we would look at them on the internet. He said, "The last time I went to Sam Ash was with Daddy." He looked sad.
My birthday fell 8 days after my husband died. I wasn't really in the mood to celebrate. But my sister, my cousin and three of my friends came over that night and we had dinner together and they gave me presents, which I did not expect at all!! I really appreciated that they came over to make the day a little better.
My husband always acknowledged my birthday. He would send me roses! Sometimes I would tell him that he shouldn't do that...it's too expensive!! And he would tell me I was worth it. He had a way of making me feel special...like he could see something in me that nobody else, not even me, could see.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Bobby: I hate this song, change the station!
Me: I love this song. (I'd make it louder).
Bobby: How could you like this song? (moan and groan, roll eyes, make face)
Me: I don't know. I just do. (laugh)
That is why I cried. I missed our conversation about how much he hated and I loved the song.
Then there was the banjo music. He loved banjo music, and we had an agreement that whoever drives is the one that can choose the music, the heat, the air-conditioning, etc. So when he drove, he would put on banjo music. Now, I don't hate banjo music, but it isn't in my Top Ten. One day, we were driving along with the banjo music on, and about fifteen minutes into the ride and the music I said to him, "Damn, this is a long song!" He just glanced my way (since he was driving) and said, "No, this is the fourth song." I said, "Really? They all sound the same to me!"
Then there were the dinner conversations. These would take place either in person or via email while we were both at work.
Bobby: What are you making for dinner?
Me: Whatever you want.
Bobby: I don't care.
Me: No, tell me what you want. I'll make it.
Bobby: Make whatever is easy.
Me: No, I'll make whatever you feel like having.
Bobby: It doesn't matter. Make whatever you want.
Me: I don't want anything in particular. I'll make whatever you want.
...you get the picture. This would go on so long that usually there wasn't any time for me to make anything and we would just end up ordering a pizza.
The other day I was talking to my sister on the phone and during our conversation she was bickering with her husband, who was in the background, about something completely ridiculous. It made me sad, listening to that type of conversation, the kind you can only have with someone to whom you are happily married.