Beauty in the broken
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I've gone back and forth all day about what I should post today. About if I should post today. But to not post, seems a little not right. Letting the day go without mentioning you. Goodness knows I would if you were here.
We'd be celebrating our 9th anniversary tonight. We'd probably have been too broke for a fancy dinner, because we always were. Maybe we'd spring for something sit down. But since you'd have worked, I probably would have tried to make us something basic instead.
You'd have probably brought home some chocolate, another unicorn, or another something simple -- I always preferred simple. I'd have had your notes all ready and posted for you. You always seemed to like them and I loved reminding you of those things I loved (still love) about you.
Then, we'd have settled in and relaxed over one of our favorite shows, while I crocheted on the couch and Bucket snoozed. In a dream world, Luna would be there, too, in her favorite spot behind your chair, and Bucket wouldn't be battling his illness so he'd be in the chair with you.
But you're not here. And a dream world isn't reality. So reality we must face. Instead, I started the morning slow and lazy. Did my Bible study and wrote a little. The rest of the day, I tried my best to keep busy with walking dogs, working at the daycare, doing stuff with the auxiliary, taking Bucket on a ride, and a million other things. A million things to distract me from the fact that we don't get to celebrate again.
We won't get to celebrate again.
I still remember that day, the smile on your face as you cheered before we walked back down the aisle. How happy we were. I hope it never fades, as memories do.
Some of your memories are starting to fade, try as I might hold on. But there are some I hope never do. Your beautiful eyes. Your full belly laugh, when you thought something was really funny. The way you called me beautiful. Your hugs. The look you gave me, the one that made me feel like the only person in the room.
You'd have probably brought home some chocolate, another unicorn, or another something simple -- I always preferred simple. I'd have had your notes all ready and posted for you. You always seemed to like them and I loved reminding you of those things I loved (still love) about you.
Then, we'd have settled in and relaxed over one of our favorite shows, while I crocheted on the couch and Bucket snoozed. In a dream world, Luna would be there, too, in her favorite spot behind your chair, and Bucket wouldn't be battling his illness so he'd be in the chair with you.
But you're not here. And a dream world isn't reality. So reality we must face. Instead, I started the morning slow and lazy. Did my Bible study and wrote a little. The rest of the day, I tried my best to keep busy with walking dogs, working at the daycare, doing stuff with the auxiliary, taking Bucket on a ride, and a million other things. A million things to distract me from the fact that we don't get to celebrate again.
We won't get to celebrate again.
I still remember that day, the smile on your face as you cheered before we walked back down the aisle. How happy we were. I hope it never fades, as memories do.
Your heart for helping those around you, whether they were worthy of your efforts or not. Your deep love and loyalty to your family, blood and chosen.
Some days, I'm doing OK. Some days, it still hurts so bad it feels like I just left the hospital after saying goodbye.
I don't blame anyone. Unlike some cases, for you there was nothing to be done differently. No way we could have changed it.
But it definitely sucks. I think that's another thing that will never change. It will always suck, for lack of a better phrase.
They say that the ninth anniversary is pottery. Somedays, I feel kind of like the broken pottery. Not much use right now, but I can't help but hope the Lord is putting me back together for a purpose.
Some say there's beauty in the broken. I'm always looking for it. Some days, I think I see it.
“A break is something to remember, something of value, a way to make the piece more beautiful, rather than something to disguise.” — Penny Reid
But there's always a little reminder of the broken. I'm trying to see it as beautiful, too. Part of the story of us. I'm still here, living and telling our story.
I keep trying. I keep moving forward and doing the best I can.
I'm chasing those dreams. The ones you'd always encouraged me in but I was too scared to try. I finally really started my business -- multiple. I know you'd be proud of those efforts.
You'd love hearing my stories about the dogs I met and the cats I saw. You'd want to meet some of my new dog friends. I have a few you'd really love to play with too.
And sometimes, I can hear your voice in my head when I make a new thing, commenting on the colors or the work. You rarely had a negative comment for the stuff I created. I so miss your feedback though, because even if there was criticism, you always tried to make it constructive. Sometimes, I'm just critical on myself.
But I'm really trying. I keep trying to hear your voice telling me how good I'm doing. It helps drown out the other side of me, the one that says I can't.
I wish it were really your voice -- I guess I always will. I'm sure that will never change.
Thanks for always being my cheerleader. And for always seeing the me that could do the things.
I miss you so much. And I love you so much. That will never change either.
Lava you always.
Some days, I'm doing OK. Some days, it still hurts so bad it feels like I just left the hospital after saying goodbye.
I don't blame anyone. Unlike some cases, for you there was nothing to be done differently. No way we could have changed it.
But it definitely sucks. I think that's another thing that will never change. It will always suck, for lack of a better phrase.
They say that the ninth anniversary is pottery. Somedays, I feel kind of like the broken pottery. Not much use right now, but I can't help but hope the Lord is putting me back together for a purpose.
Some say there's beauty in the broken. I'm always looking for it. Some days, I think I see it.
“A break is something to remember, something of value, a way to make the piece more beautiful, rather than something to disguise.” — Penny Reid
But there's always a little reminder of the broken. I'm trying to see it as beautiful, too. Part of the story of us. I'm still here, living and telling our story.
I keep trying. I keep moving forward and doing the best I can.
I'm chasing those dreams. The ones you'd always encouraged me in but I was too scared to try. I finally really started my business -- multiple. I know you'd be proud of those efforts.
You'd love hearing my stories about the dogs I met and the cats I saw. You'd want to meet some of my new dog friends. I have a few you'd really love to play with too.
And sometimes, I can hear your voice in my head when I make a new thing, commenting on the colors or the work. You rarely had a negative comment for the stuff I created. I so miss your feedback though, because even if there was criticism, you always tried to make it constructive. Sometimes, I'm just critical on myself.
But I'm really trying. I keep trying to hear your voice telling me how good I'm doing. It helps drown out the other side of me, the one that says I can't.
I wish it were really your voice -- I guess I always will. I'm sure that will never change.
Thanks for always being my cheerleader. And for always seeing the me that could do the things.
I miss you so much. And I love you so much. That will never change either.
Lava you always.
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