And so it goes…

It’s been about 10 months or so since I last blogged. A lot has actually happened to me and to us. In September, right before my birthday, I broke my right ankle in three places. Let me just say, since I have your attention, IT HURTS!! The pain was unbearable and yet, I felt like I deserved it. Sounds weird and I’m not seeking any sympathy, but that “pause” in my life was much deserved. I feel like the last 2 years of my life has been 1 step forward and 2 giant steps back, constantly. I have ups/downs/sideways kind of days and I try my hardest to speed through the day if only to savor the warmth of my bed and the covers that I throw over my head. The ankle travesty gave me perspective. It allowed me to just stop and rely on others. I hated it! For me, stopping was enough but then having to rely on others….holy shit was that the worst! It humbles you…truly it does. I felt loved and I didn’t feel alone. Situations like that, where you really take a big look out your window and see who really is coming to your rescue. I appreciate my family and my friends who kept me sane during my time of pause. I started off in a wheel chair as I could not put any weight on that ankle. Then came the crutches…..those damn things that most days I wanted to chuck out of the window! Then the god awful grey boot. Didn’t my doctor know that pink is my color?? Well, almost 5 months later and I am walking with an ankle brace most days and with a slight limp. I have healed well and I owe it to the excellent love and care from my circle. I love you all, truly. Lili and I attended the police memorial in Washington DC in October. I was in awe at the amount of families that attended for the years of 2020 and 2021. You look around and see the shattered lives of those who lost a loved one and it takes your breath away. I met some men and women that shared their stories and their grief. You see their children and extended family members and you realize, at least I did, how the ripples look. Then came our move to Virginia. In December, Lili and I decided it was time to leave Texas for a bit and start a new chapter in our lives. The sting of Alan’s death was harder each day that we lived in Corpus Christi. We pass by the hospital where we saw him on that bed, lifeless. We drive on the same road where he fell to his death. Seeing the police cruisers every single day made it hard to try to just live a normal life without the constant barrage of bad memories or trauma of his death. People start to forget him, I can see it. His memory is starting to fade to those that didn’t even know him. For my girls and I, we don’t get to do that, forget. If I don’t see his picture every day, or hear his voice on an old voice mail, or look at his clothes, or day dream about his smile, then I am seeing him in my dreams. For 2 years there has not been one single day where I didn’t think about him. What really hurts, way down deep, is my youngest daughter’s memories of him. I know she is starting to forget his voice, or his hugs or the nights when he would cuddle with her in bed right after he got home from work just to give her warm kisses before she fell asleep. It hurts me so to have those memories fade for her. She is growing fast and maturing into a young lady right before my eyes. Alan would be so proud of how much she has accomplished in school and being there for me. My girls give me that drive and motivation to continue on this journey. I don’t think I will ever stop questioning God about why he took Alan home when he did. Until you have lived the nightmare of our grief do you get to say you know how we feel. People say that I shouldn’t question God. Yea, well I do and I will. There is nothing harder than having to see your loved one’s body lifeless and cold and having to say good bye in front of hundreds of people that occupied that hospital and shared your heartache. Nothing about Alan’s death has been private or quiet for us. We appreciate how the community showed support, but I know it would have been easier to have grieved him in private. Our lives have been an open book since his death. Who am I dating? Did I get another tattoo? Commenting about my legal situation regarding his death. People can’t just leave us alone! All those busy bodies that have something to say should try to be me, even for an hour. I would gladly let them see and feel how this tragedy has been for us. I don’t ask for pity or for any advice on how to “move on” because honestly, no one can possibly understand. Even other widows will tell you this is not a “one size fits all” for us. Should I have moved on so quickly? I guess waiting until I am older and closer to my grave would be the right time to find love again. And who really finds love again? Maybe you just find happiness and that is what love looks like. You find someone else who makes you laugh again or shares an adventure with you. You see your child smile and laugh around another person because they make her happy. Who cares? Why should anyone care about our happiness? They certainly don’t care to help us during our sadness only to add their opinions where they know nothing about what is really happening in our lives. It hurts to see people comment about us, like they give a shit. Or the people who claim to have known Alan that never even met him or spoke to him. Those people just want attention through Alan’s death. Sad and ridiculous. Alan was a very private man, who had very few friends. His life meant so much to us, and I am blessed to have been with him for 16 years. I can still recall the night before he died and the conversation we had in our bedroom. I see his face and I feel his body close to mine when we went to sleep. We woke up and went about our day. The day was a nightmare, it really was. I see all his stuff in our room and bathroom. I smell his pillow and cry myself into a panic attack. Why us? Why him? I have said this before and will continue to repeat it….IT DOES NOT GET EASIER. Two years later and it hurts to remember that day. It hurts to see his name in stone. It hurts down really deep in the pit of your gut to be raising your child alone. To hear her talk about other kids and their dads, makes me wish I could make it all better for her. Am I enough for her? Am I doing this thing called “life” correctly without Alan? Most days are a blur, if I’m being honest. Still, I get up and I do it again for them. Another year is coming up, and so it goes.