Baptism Day

I have a housemate now. Before she moved here in January, I had a mini meltdown. Although I had moved a lot of things, given away a lot of things, and entertained guests on several weekends - there were still many areas of the house that were just as Joe had left them. Just thinking about clearing his closets and drawers made me cry. Yet deep down inside, I knew that having a housemate would probably be a lovely thing.

It has definitely been a lovely thing. She is young (younger than my brother!), sweet, and fun. She makes me feel young - until she mentions something only 20 year olds know about, and I give her a blank stare. She is also studying mortuary sciences and has been to too many funerals for too many loved ones. So the situation is really quite perfect. We're both crazy fun-loving people with an odd sense of humor. But when we have certain moments (okay, mostly when I have certain moments) we understand each other. I like to pretend that I'm helping her in her training. :)

Life has actually been quite wonderful for me. I've been excited about the future, excited about life, and feeling overwhelmingly blessed in so many ways. Life has been good. So good.

Yet for the second year in a row, I thought that Joe's baptism day and our wedding anniversary would just pass quietly. Last year, when it was harder than I had expected, it made sense to me. Everything was hard last year. This year has been different. Despite hearing from other widow(er)s that the second year is often even harder because people expect that you've moved on and they aren't as obviously supportive - my second year has been significantly better. I made it through every milestone grinning from ear to ear and knowing that I have my own personal angel watching over me. Then this week, the grief monster caught me by surprise and swallowed me whole. It is the most peculiar thing to be completely happy about everything in your life, yet still feel so sad about missing someone. It's emotionally draining. How is it possible to feel content and sadness at the same time? This year is still far better than last year. The ache is still very real, but I no longer feel as though there is a hole in my heart. Life is good. So good.


My new housemate and I try to have movie night every Thursday. We bond over cookies, milk, and a DVD. Last night we watched, "P.S. I Love You." I had never watched it before, although I knew what it was about - or maybe because I knew what it was about. But I knew that I wanted to watch it at some point. My roommate wasn't going to subject me to it last night because she knew I was emotional this week. I insisted that we watch it. I knew a good cry would be cathartic. The movie is about a young widow (Hilary Swank). Her husband dies from a brain tumor. In the course of the next year she is surprised with letters that her husband had written to her to guide her through her grief. It was a beautiful movie full of hope. The last letter is the real tear-jerker. When it was being read, I totally heard Joe's voice. Joe had shared very similar words with me before he died. I couldn't comprehend it at the time, but it became one of his greatest gifts to me.

If you can promise me anything, promise me that whenever you're sad, or unsure, or you lose complete faith, that you'll try to see yourself through my eyes. Thank you for the honor of being my wife. I'm a man with no regrets. How lucky am I. You made my life, Holly. But I'm just one chapter in yours. There'll be more. I promise. So here it comes, the big one. Don't be afraid to fall in love again. Watch out for that signal, when life as you know it ends. P.S. I will always love you.

How blessed I was to have Joe in my life. The movie did indeed provide me with a good cry. Afterwards, I "forced" my housemate to watch some of my wedding clips. Interestingly enough, those made me laugh and smile. Joe was a gift. An angel sent to earth by God to arm me with some lessons for life. Life is good. So good.