I've had some very kind e-mails, cards, and phone calls from friends letting me know they are they are keeping me and the twins in their thoughts. My dad has been visiting since last Friday (leaving tomorrow), and my mom and stepdad arrive Thursday to spend the weekend; I'm taking Friday and Monday off to relax with them, and I'm spending Saturday night away, without the kids, to give myself some time to think and be.
Some people have expressed surprise that I'm not doing Something. You know, Something. Except I don't know. I have no idea what that Something would be. Scatter ashes somewhere symbolic? Say a prayer over a candle? Look at old pictures? Remember "The Good Ol' Days"? It could be any or all of those things. Or none of them, in my case.
I'm actually looking forward to this weekend. I love to spend time with my mom and stepdad. I haven't taken a day off work since starting this job. I almost never get a break from the kids, and the way things have been lately, it couldn't come at a better time. I guess I'm not ready to do Something; it feels forced and inauthentic to me. The very thought makes me tired.
And yet the year mark does offer a convenient time to take stock. I can't believe the kids have gone from being babies who took bottles and couldn't yet walk to being toddlers who talk in complete sentences and call me on my bullshit attempts to sneak beans into their diet. I can't believe how much I've learned about myself—good and bad—and how much growing I still need to do. I remain grateful every day for the support of family and friends. The twins and I rely on someone's generosity daily. We're very well cared for.
But Friday is also just another day. I've found that in the past year, days I thought would be hard—holidays, or other "special" days—were sometimes very difficult and sometimes not. By the same token, I've found that there are days when the kids and I are all rested, when the sun is shining, when everything seems to be about as good as could get, and yet I still feel like shit. Some days I'm sad, just sad, all day. Some days I feel really, really good. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to it, and I don't expect that Friday will be different in that regard.
In the time we had together, John often chided me about not being kind enough to myself. He supported anything I did just for me, from eating ice cream without guilt to getting a massage to going to the movies to training for a half-marathon. In a way, this coming weekend is all about me. I'll be with people I love. I'll have help with the twins. I'll cultivate down time. I'll eat at a great restaurant, get a massage, and sleep all night. I have had virtually no time for myself since John died, and now I will get a sliver of that time I so desperately need.
And of course, during all of the things that I do this weekend, I'll be thinking of my Goose. That's no different from any other day since he died. I miss you, Love.