Month: October 2016
A Baseball Story: That One Time I Said, “Sure.”
It was last Summer (2015). It was dusk, and the kids were asleep. The heat of the day had broken, yet there was still a big, fiery sun lying low in the sky.
Scott was outside straightening up the yard, while I was doing the dishes or checking Facebook or something completely ordinary. He popped his head in and with a very loud whisper said, “Meg, come on out here.”
And I did.
When I got out, we discussed plans for our yard, while picking up children’s toys from the grass. He used a baseball bat to point at a tree that needed to be trimmed. Then with his other hand, he tossed a ball in the air and gave a good swing at it with the bat. I watched the ball as it flew to the other side of our yard, landing and rolling toward the back corner of the fence. I took a deep breath through my nose and sighed with contentment.
“Wanna play?” He looked at me and asked. After spending all day with our three little ones, I truly just wanted three little things: wine, sweatpants, and junky TV; the last thing I wanted to partake in was physical activity. I looked at him. His eyes were playful and filled with hope.
My reply surprised me,
Once I decided I was going to play, I was all in. We proceeded to set up the bases. We went over the rules, and I could feel his excitement. I hope he felt mine too. It was like we were twelve again, riding our bikes to the neighbor’s house and playing baseball until the sun set. We ran and laughed until our lungs hurt, and we very well could have played all night if it weren’t for the interruption.
“I see you over there,” Said a small, squeaky voice from our back door. We were busted. Our 6 year old daughter got out of bed for water and saw us playing baseball outside. She laughed, and I made a note to myself at the gratitude that I felt. My daughter got to see her parents having fun together. My daughter would know her mommy and her daddy loved each other.
And what was my gratitude is now my hope…that somehow this remains the same. Please, sweet girl, know: Mommy and Daddy loved each other: then, now, always.
Texts and Tears
The last meme I that I texted to Scott:
It was my signature move. The scene would go like this: I hug him whether he wants it or not. He grumbles a bit before letting out a nervous laugh; ultimately, succumbing to my adorable display of affection and hugging me back. I annoyed him in the best way possible… and the plan was to do it forever.
I was supposed to grow old with this man. We looked forward to being old people, reading our papers and getting our senior coffees at restaurants. He was naturally an old man already — one of those guys who was growing into his personality, and he particularly couldn’t wait to be a grandpa (which I always thought was odd but very sweet); he looked forward to being fun and playful and spoiling the heck out of our grand babies. My heart is broken, knowing that this dream is gone. Poof. Taken. Just like that.
It’s moments like these that I fight. I’m trying my best to not be an emotional mess, but when I look into the future too far, I feel great despair. Surviving grief has taught me to stay in the moment as much as I possibly can. Do not think about the silly, stupid, naive past. Do not think about the lost, never-to-be-seen, taken future. Sometimes that’s easier said than done though…
And suppose that’s ok too… I have no clue.
The Fantasy of a New Widow
I wish I could take up a drinking habit. I fantasize about it often these days.
Not the kind of habit where I go out with friends, get hammered, and hit the drive thru on the way home; All of us laughing, listening to Rihanna songs.
I want the nastiest most painful vodka. I want to be alone with my misery. I want to be alone and lose my mind. My eyes smeared of mascara, my hair greasy and unwashed… This is the fantasy I have for myself. A drinking habit.
It can’t happen though.
I have little people looking to me for guidance through this confusing time. I have dear loved ones watching me, ready to catch me… and I really don’t want anyone to have to catch me.
I also have a belated husband who took great pride in my happiness. So I have to be happy. I have to wash my hair and drink coffee. I have to cry into a glass of good wine before going to bed early because the kids wake up for school in the morning. For him, I have to find happy.
But I really want vodka.