Friday, November 13, 2009

Stuff

I threw out your toothbrush today and wear your jacket every time I leave the house. My wedding band is securely on my finger and yours I wear around my neck. You are buried, Shiva is over and all I am left with is your stuff. I am comforted and haunted by all your things. The house is full of children and laughter and I still see you everywhere. I see you on the couch watching Fox News, pacing on the phone and eating ice cream. I hear your voice and feel you here in this full house, which feels ever so empty since you have been gone. When do I let your things go – how can I ever part with them? If everything stays as you left them does this mean you are coming back? If everything goes does this mean I will forget?

I feel faced with the impossible task of living my life without you. I miss you more than words can say and can’t stop looking at your photos on the wall. The kids and I hear the house creaking and think it is you. We hear the next door neighbor open their door and think it is you coming home. We all look at the door expecting you to somehow burst through with smiles and love for us and though we don’t ever say it – we are all thinking it. You are not coming home – ever.

Your children continue to ask me “is daddy still dead?” and I suck back tears as I nod my head yes because words are impossible – and when I turn away from them they ask why my face is leaking.

Your 4 year old daughter talks to you every night at bedtime – she turns into her pillow and whispers to you about her day – then she will turn to me and say “daddy said wow.” Your 6 year old son makes sure when we pray at night that you are safe and happy in heaven. I tuck them both in at night keeping a smiling poker face on and then go into the bathroom.

I cry in the shower so they can’t see – I sob with reckless abandon because the pain is so real now it feels like nothing else I have ever known. We miss you so much and still 20 days later can’t believe you are really gone.

4 comments:

  1. Sam, I had no idea what an amazing writer you are.

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  2. sammy your writing is heartwrenching and beautiful at the same time. i know we all wish we could take on the pain and sorrow you feel just like you are doing for the kids. you have many shoulders to lean on.

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  3. Thank you so much for sharing your very personal story. I hope your writing serves as a healing tool for you and your family! Your writing is amazing!

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  4. I'm praying so hard that God transfer your pain to me and to give you some relief.

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