3 Months


So Saturday marks three months. One quarter of a year. I have been trying to keep my head down and stay focused. I’ve grown accustomed to small outbursts of crying when I’m by myself. It’s strange because I don’t seem able to cry in public much anymore. I don’t feel like sharing my grief. It’s private now. I wish I could talk to you because I have so much stuff I would love to bounce off of you. Emma’s upcoming trip to Europe is giving me some real unwanted anxiety.

People have gone back to their lives and I only hear from some of them when they are ready to reach out. Most just haven’t. It’s totally ok because I really get it but it’s weird how it’s a single time period event in their lives but to us it’s an every day thing. Every day I wake up and realize all over you are no longer here. Every day I look at your closed closet and wonder if I will ever be able to deal with that. Your toiletries are still in your bathroom where you left them. I just work around them. I’m sure the neighbors across the street notice that your bathroom light stays on all night, every night. The hole in the wall halfway down the stairs reminds me of when you tumbled down them with Ben in your arms. You were both ok (besides landing on your shoulder) but we never fixed that hole. Your basket on the buffet that contains your wallet, government ID and your everyday stuff you would take with you to work remains in the same spot. I drink root beer now because you did. Your car still sits in the driveway….I have no idea when they plan on picking that up. Apparently it’s not a priority to them. Now that it’s spring I’ve taken to mowing the lawn and I have a strong drive to get the front garden mulched and have the house looking good because you would want that. I got our taxes done. I did cry in the office even though I fought back the tears as much as I could. I need to learn to balance the hot tub but I’m not sure I will even use it. Your picture from the memorial service sits in the kitchen on the buffet and it feels like you are right here with me but you don’t answer when I talk to you. I really, really miss you. I’m still going to bed early. I can’t watch any of the stuff we DVR’ed to watch together. The recordings are still scheduled and I’m sure the DVR is full but I can’t seem to stop the scheduled recordings yet. But on the surface I try hard to play it cool. Like I have things together. But I don’t.


  1. Jessy Trigo D'Andrea

    Missy, I am truly sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine what I would do if I lost Bob. We lost my Dad when I was 22 and my Mom was 47. I remember her saying she couldn’t live without him and crying uncontrollably. It was the hardest thing to watch her break down like that. I know it is so hard to loose someone you love. I remember how her friends stopped coming over and inviting her to parties because she was single. It was such a hard time for us. But she managed to go on without him. My brother and I were able to stay close to home, but I’m sure that didn’t help her lonliness. The first anniversaries are the hardest, but somehow you manage to go on. The days become months and the months beocme years. Then one day you look back and say how the hell did I get through that horrible time. Time helps heal, but it will never repair the hole in your heart. I am truly sorry for your loss, I think of you all the time and hope you and the kids will one day be able to smile and remember all the wonderful times you had together. He will forever be in your hearts. God Bless you Missy!!

  2. Judy Goss

    The story behind the story…thank you for blogging, it makes me feel more like a part of your life. The bracelet above says “Be Brave” – what an understatement, huh? Sounds like you are “being brave” above and beyond, good for you 🙂 We love you from across the miles, thinking of you constantly. And the yard/house outside looks GREAT!!! 🙂

  3. Maria Calabrese

    Missy- so many of your thoughts sound so similar to Maura McGee (not sure if you know her. She lost her husband to cancer two years ago. They have six children). This tells me that it is “normal” and probably part of the feelings you have to go through. That doesn’t mean these feelings don’t stink! And are so unfair to have!!!!! But it means that you are doing what you have to do and doing a great job living for your children and in Chris’s honor. From what I’ve read on other blogs (I’ve read a lot since Maura’s husband died, trying to be there for her. And now have a new respect for any widow) you are going to find a new “normal” that will somehow let you feel happiness again. It won’t replace anything in the past but will be new. My heart breaks for you. I think of you every single day. I know we aren’t as close as some of your other friends but I am here if you ever need anything! Thank you for sharing! It really does teach all of us so many things and I inspires me to be a better mother, wife, and person. I hope it helps you too.

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