I guess I really need to start by telling you that it was standing room only at the Synagogue. The Rabbi truly embraced what it was about you that lead me to hold the service there. Brandon, myself, and Billy “Lou” Palmer all spoke. The Easton High Alumni sent you off with one last “Get Some Air Under It”. Afterwards, our house was packed! It was such a glorious tribute to you – everything I wanted for you and more. So many people there to celebrate your life that I could hardly talk with them all.
To celebrate our anniversary, I dressed up in what I worn when we got married. It’s a little looser on me than on our wedding day. I don’t have you around to feed me and I already miss breakfast in bed. HEY – speaking of – you left before paying up on a Chicken Alfredo dinner for Jay, Katie, and Ginny. I think I can come close to it though and will make dinner plans with them in honor of you.
Mom and Dad came over this afternoon just in time for your ashes to arrive, via restricted USPS delivery. Our mail lady didn’t even know you were sick. Then again, everything happened so fast there were so many people that had no idea. She told me it was an honor and a privilege to carry you in the back of her truck back to your home. The post office stamped cancellation stamps all over the box and now I can’t bear to unwrap the package.
Your in-laws and our sons went to Mason’s to celebrate our anniversary with me. Three of us ordered steak frites and I shared with them our time honored tradition of you insisting that I order green beans while you order fries, so you could share my beans and I could share your fries. I always said that I wanted all my green beans and none of your fries, and you would always press a fork full of fries towards me saying “try these”. I always buckled and shared my beans. Not only was Mason’s the restaurant we always ate at on our anniversary, it was also where we went for lunch the very first time we met. You picked me up from work in your Cobra, which totally impressed my co-worker. Meanwhile, I had no clue at all that it was such a special breed of Mustang. I definitely learned quickly about how magical that car was. I know what a sacrifice it was for you to trade it in on my little Mazda.
Last night I caught The Damnwells at a little cafe called the IOTA out in Arlington, VA. My new Rick Springfield friend, Marcia, joined me as well as Agent Jay. Our waitress was a beautiful blonde Ukrainian woman so Agent Jay was in flirt mode. It was fun to watch. You would have loved the food. I had a chance to approach Alex Dezen after the show to tell him that I lost my husband and that The Damnwells’ music has kept me going through all of it. I know, I know – this is like that Jack Wagner autograph that left you asking me why I bothered since you didn’t know the artist. They may not be Led Zeppelin, but they both wished us well. Every wish counts.
I am about to head out for a New Years Eve with Kitson’s family and with Danny and Lauree – my first one without you. The only thing that will make midnight a little easier is knowing that were you still with me, you would have fallen asleep long before then. So strange that I find myself counting “firsts”. Just a few weeks ago, I was counting our lasts – the last time you were home in bed next to me, the last time we had a dinner date, the last time you spoke to me, the last time we told each other “I love you”, the last time I heard you breath, felt the warmth of your skin, saw your face. Now we pass through our first Christmas without you, our first anniversary, our first New Year. These are the big ones. Its the small ones that get me. Like the first time I left the house to go to a Christmas party – which started with my usual 10 minute cry as I drove up route 50. Even when you were alive, I always felt that tug on me whenever I traveled from home. The tears would start and this need to turn the car around and go back home to you would overwhelm me – to be with you, near you, hold you, touch you, talk with you, to never let you out of my sight. I know neither of us were ready for you to go. I love you and I must send you off – and the Damnwells say it better than I ever could –
“just follow the stars and speeding red cars into the great unknown”