The year mark.

It’s bad enough that the year mark was during winter, but a week before Thanksgiving and just weeks before Christmas. Really? Really???

The week leading up to the year mark was the most devastating, horrific feeling I’ve had since the day I saw Derek lying in the hospital cold and lifeless.

I cried in the car, at work, at home. The entire week. Shock versus reality is brutal when you have no control over your feelings and all you want to do is lock yourself inside and sleep all day.

There really should be a mourning period of time off around the year mark. I felt numb again. I was depressed. After that day passed, days continued to pass and I kept thinking about how I felt LAST YEAR AT THIS TIME. None of it was good feelings, of course. I guess I would say it all went by kind of fast. I just think life will always be less because of loss no matter what time of year and how much time has passed.

I’ve been all over the map with my vices too. From overeating to working out like a crazy person, not drinking a drip to overindulging, going to mass to missing it week in and week out. I can’t seem to get a routine down because my feelings are never consistent.

And the WORRYING. Worrying about dying young too. Although it’s not top of mind, I still think about that a lot. It’s funny because after Derek died, I thought nothing of dying and being right there with him. But wanting to grow old with Mike and see my girls grow up, get married, have families, I don’t want to go so soon! But I have to think that if he got cancer this young, how could I not?

One thing I wish I could do is talk to Derek and have a conversation with him. I remember that was a question people would ask on job interviews or in school. If you could speak to someone (past or present), who would it be? It would be him. I would give him a great big hug and never let him go! I would tell him I love him over and over. I would hold his hand and tell him I miss him.

Sometimes I put my hand out in the car when I’m driving, in case he’s sitting in my passenger seat. It’s silly but it’s comforting in ways.

When we have dance parties at home, I hope he joins in.

Family parties – he better be there like he always was.

When I visit him at his grave. I hope he knows I go there. I talk to him there.

I hung his picture with each of my girls in each of their rooms and every morning we either wave or say good morning and good night before bedtime.

I really hope he has a glimpse of what’s going on here. It’s SO HARD because we don’t have a glimpse of what’s going on there.