Who would have wanted that?

Since John died, I find that I often say, "That's what John would have wanted."

When I'm making decisions about anything—where to have dinner, what outfit to wear, when to put the kids to bed, who to call to fix something—it makes me feel better to base the decision on what John would want.

The crazy thing about that, and this is something I know even as the words "It's what John would want" come out of my mouth, is that I often don't really know what John would want. I can make a better guess than anyone else in this world. And usually what he wanted was the same thing that I wanted, so it's a great way to justify doing whatever I want to do. Hey! John would have wanted it! Let's go for it! I feel a bit guilty using that line as a justification for anything and everything since really, it's just a guess.

What's really interesting to me is that people expect me to use the WWJD (where J = John, not Jesus) logic. At the memorial, many people said to me, "This is exactly what John would have wanted," and seemed surprised when my reply was, "I hope so; all I know for sure is that it felt like the right way to honor him." Despite the fact that I regularly call upon the WWJD reasoning, it makes me uncomfortable and feel somehow like a fraud.

I wish I knew exactly what John wanted. I wish he was here to ask. All I know for sure is that John wants me to be loved, to get enough rest and to eat good food, to take care of myself, to not be stressed out, to be surrounded by friends and family. To be happy, that's what he wants for me and the twins. He always worried that I was spread too thin. The best way I can honor him is by asking for and accepting help, by taking care of myself and our children, and by treating myself with kindness and love. That's the way he always treated me, and I am not always so good to myself.