Normal Changes

Dear Mama,

I have had some of my worst days within the last couple weeks. I find myself lower than usual in this very moment. Something is going on with my brain and my heart. My brain is constantly reminded of you because of the never ending ache in my heart. My heart is never relieved of it's excruciating ache because of my thoughts. It's a ongoing process that I absolutely cannot get control of. I also have this over whelming claustrophobic feeling. Like I am completely stuck. It is hard to explain. I feel like I have absolutely no control over what is happening to me and it sometimes makes me want to scream out in frustration. I want to rip the invisible ropes from around my body that are keeping me from doing what I want to do. Then I remember what it is that I want to do....see you...... I remind myself that screaming, kicking, or completely flipping out cannot bring you back. I realize this. I KNOW this. Yet, the "trapped" feeling persists, and the urge to "break free" follows. My internal battle rages on, perhaps undetected by others. Perhaps not. I do not know. I often wonder if this will go on forever. I wonder if it is normal. I wonder what "normal" is anymore.

I have good days. I have alot of them actually. The other day, I cooked a huge meal and my inlaws came to eat. I noticed that after feeding us AND them, I still had a TON of food left. So, I called Ronnie. I always worry about Ronnie. Bachelor life is probably pretty great.....Until you lose someone you love with all your heart and soul. Then, all the fun stuff that accompanies single life is kind of back burnered....and you are left with your pain. His days are filled with his successful career and his buddies....But his nights....They are spent in a house that is rich with memories of you. So I called and asked him to meet me half way to get a plate of supper. He agreed. I actually tore away with only Mili in tow. I enjoyed my ride to meet him. It was quiet. I thought of you. How many times did you meet me to get a plate of food? I would cook and I so desperately wanted you to eat. So I would offer to bring it to you. "I will meet you half way" you would always say. So, we had a spot. And a couple times a week I would meet you there in hopes of fattening you up. I never knew for sure if you ate or just picked at the food. But you ALWAYS bragged on my cooking. And I loved every second of it. Like a praise junkie. I thought of you and as I whirled in beside his truck, I even fantasized about seeing your face behind the wheel. Lots of times, you were driving his truck when you met me.  I pulled up to his truck and we were window to window. I handed him his plate. I could see that he was down, as any sibling could tell about another. I asked "are you okay?" He hesitated for a moment. "Uh...." he paused..."No". His answer was accompanied by a trembling lip. This, killed me. He's so tough. It's hard to see him hurting. I reached my hand out the window. "What's wrong?" I asked sympathetically. He reached for my opened hand. We held hands the rest of the conversation, much like me and you used to. "I'm just having a bad couple of days", he admitted. Then, his next line, broke me down. "Nik, I don't think I can live in that house". He need not explain, mama. I already knew why. Not because it is creepy or haunted. Not because you died there. It's because you lived there. Every room is so full of you. You are all over that house, mama. I know you don't mean to be, but you just are. You're in the kitchen with your feet crossed and propped on the bar reading a Woman's World magazine while chicken and rice cooks on the stove. You're in the dining room urging everyone to "eat up, there's plenty!" You are in the living room, with that old mattress pulled out....You're rolling around and tickling the kids. You're in the laundry room, piling the clothes on the floor and vowing to "fold them later". You're in that bathroom, putting on your makeup in the mirror with a smile on your face. You're in my old bedroom, bragging about finally having a suitable guest room. You're in his room, griping about the volume of his tv. You're rocking in those chairs out front. You're pushing the swings out back. You're grilling a big feast on the patio. You are up and down the hall. Lastly and more so than any other....You are in that room. The room you never occupied until your body grew sick. Your old bedroom. You always slept on the couch, until your body just couldn't handle it....Then you moved into your bedroom. That room is full of you. You're in there watching The Voice. You are in there smoking. You are in there on the computer reading my blog. You're in there laughing. You're in there laying with us. You're in there hurting. You're in there sleeping and dreaming aloud. You're in there getting worse.............You're in there taking your last breath.  What I have never said aloud, to anyone...Is that sometimes I go to your old house. I leave the kids in the car. I walk in. I go down the hall. I walk in your old room. And I stand there and cry. I walk in your closet and I rub the sleeves of your shirts across my face. I smell the leftover scent of your smoke. And for once, it don't bother me. It brings you to me. I feel you there. I feel you all over that house. It is wonderful and sad. But me? I can get a dose of nostalgia and go home. Ronnie is locked in those memories all the time. I listen and totally agree with him as he describes in tears, his difficulty living in that house. I never let go of his hand. I can feel his guilt as he finally admits aloud that it is just too hard. The house is full of you. Full of you in a good way, but even the "good way" is sad. While memories are beautiful and priceless, dwelling in them sure makes it hard to heal. You knew you would die in that house. You knew it, and you worried about Ronnie living there afterwards. You told us that you didn't want him to be unhappy or uncomfortable. You said you were more than fine with it being sold. Like I said earlier, it's not the dying part. It's the living part. That house is so intertwined with our old life and you, that it is making it difficult for Ronnie to move on. First, I told him that you were EVERYWHERE. Not just that house. For me, you are at Wal Mart pushing the buggy with Nori in it. You are at Ryan's, getting you a chicken leg and bribing Neva with chocolate cake. You are in my passenger seat. You are at every turn on the route to Taylorsville. You are in Davids. You are on my couch. You are in the girls' room playing with their toys. You are EVERY WHERE. I wanted him to know this, before any decision was made. Then, I told him what you would want me to tell him: "I support you 100% in whatever decision you make. I just want you to be happy". And that is the truth. We don't need that house to keep our memories. We don't need that house to keep us a family. We just need each other and the values that you instilled in us. I got out of the car and gave him a big hug and kiss. His tears continued to flow. We talked for a while longer, then he left. I cried the whole way home. About him. About the house. About you. I later called Josh to go check on him for me, since he lives so much closer. Ronnie was fine. Full and fine.

In addition to the house possibly being sold (he's thinking about it),  We are putting your little bug up for sale as well. The money will go toward your headstone. That car was something that you wanted your WHOLE life and you finally got it on your birthday last year. It wasn't new. It was actually almost 9 years old at the time.....But it was new to you. And you loved it so much. I feared us spending that money on something frivolous was a bad decision, but more so, if your time line was indeed true, I feared your never owning your dream car ...We had no idea what the future held. But you wanted it and we wanted you to have it. My only regret is that you didn't get to drive it and enjoy it more than you did...Remember that day on your porch? You told me not to keep that car for the memory. You knew I would have trouble selling it. I promised you we would. Now, as we clean it up and assess it's value to sell, it is yet another thing that is changing.

Changes are happening at such a rapid rate, I feel I cannot keep up. Just over a year ago, I led a "normal" life. Now, I question whether normalcy truly exists or falls into the same category as Santa Claus. Is it just a figment of our imagination that is referenced occasionally to make people think or behave a certain way?

Perhaps, 4o is the new 20, Neon is the new black, and abnormal is the new norm.

Either way, I miss you....Wish you were here to guide us through all of this difficulty as you have done our entire lives. I hope you are proud of us and the decisions we are making. I love you.

Love,

Nikki