21 days

I told myself I wasn’t going to keep track of days or weeks or time – because one day can feel like a lifetime and other days I wonder where it went. But today is three weeks, 21 days and I can’t believe how much you have missed in such a short time.

Sitting at dinner tonight just starring at your beautiful children I am angry at you. I am angry that you aren’t here to share anything with anymore. I wish you could see their perfect faces as they sit and eat and talk about their day. They are just chatting about how much fun they had today at a birthday party and Mc Donald’s and you are missing it. I wish you were sitting with us just starring at them in wonder, in utter amazement, that these perfect children are ours.

Then the fighting starts and food is thrown and there is crying and of course someone spills their milk all over and yet they are still beautiful and perfect and all I know is that you are missing this moment in time.

In 21 days you have missed your daughter’s 4th birthday, your son loosing a tooth, soccer trophies, ballet classes, parent teacher conferences and report cards. You have missed a Metallica concert with your oldest son, at least 21 temper tantrums, 21 dinners, 21 bedtime stories and 21 nights of spending time with me.

I try not to look to far ahead at what else you will be missing, it is just too painful to think about. Instead, I like to think that you are not missing any of this. That you are somewhere wonderful, sharing the last 21 days with us. I hope you are happy my love and at peace.

I actually woke up today not wanting to get out of bed. A first for me and I wasn’t prepared for how heavy the weight of the world felt. It was only because your son couldn’t find Sponge Bob on TV that I dragged myself into reality. Since it was raining and I figured the day was already on a decline, I would do something I have been dreading. So with the help of an amazing friend, we took your clothes away.

I couldn’t possibly do it alone. I tried once, but would just pick up a shirt, think about the last time you wore it and crumble under the enormous weight of a cotton t-shirt. I got the kids to their parties and play dates and prepared for the worst. I could take the clothing out of the closet or out of a drawer, but that was as far as I could get. My friend would put your clothing into a bag as I turned away each and every time.

I saved your wedding tux – it will hang in the closet until I am old and gray. I saved your Mets t-shirts – maybe someday they can be worn in pride. Mostly everything else went to the homeless and needy and I feel good about that. Maybe 21 days was too soon to part with your stuff – but deep down I feel like it could be 221 days and it would be too soon. Maybe tomorrow I will want to get out of bed.

Your daughter’s prayer to G-d tonight was hard. She told G-d to tell you to eat your vegetables so you could be alive again – I hope you heard her.

I told myself I wasn’t going to count the days and maybe this will be my last installment in reference to time – because in a way, the day you died time stopped. Time is now in seconds or moments that I hope I can get through without crying.