October 20th. It's marked in my calendar as D-day, a sad reminder. How has it been three years? They say time heals all wounds, but I don't buy it. Anyone who has experienced loss will agree. Even now, as I write this, I miss Dugee, and the hole in my heart is just as big. Sure, the more minutes I put between myself and that day, the more familiar I get with life without him, but still.
I have a lot of memories from that day. I remember caring too much about the clothes I would wear to the hospital - so trivial in retrospect. I remember how he lit up when I walked into the hospital room, "Hi, Coli." So bittersweet. Those were the last words he would speak to me. I remember being excited to have him home that afternoon, but being so disappointed because the morphine rendered him unconscious. There was no pain. There was no nothing. He just slept (and snored) - all afternoon, all evening, and into the night. I remember getting ready for bed and noticing that his apnea was getting worse. At least he's still breathing.
But then he wasn't.
Most days, life goes on as usual. But occasionally, a random wave of emotion will bear down on me and flood my eyes with tears. Because I miss him. It's funny though...I see him everyday. In me. Even as his step-daughter, there are things about me that are undeniably him. I'll drive across town to use a $1.00 coupon; I stockpile toiletries (some of which I take from the hotels I visit) under the sink and under my bed just in case I might need a shower cap and shoe polish someday; I love retrievers more than I care for most humans; and I'd rather be golfing at 3:30 on a Wednesday afternoon than stuck behind a desk. I can still hear his voice when I leave the bathroom light on or take too long of a shower, and I can't wait until Thanksgiving so I can drink too much wine and eat 'til I'm miserable. I just wish I were eating turkey and drinking wine with Dugee.
But I can't.
October 20th. A reminder of our fragility. And a reminder to love hard, every second of every day.
Click here to donate to The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.
I have a lot of memories from that day. I remember caring too much about the clothes I would wear to the hospital - so trivial in retrospect. I remember how he lit up when I walked into the hospital room, "Hi, Coli." So bittersweet. Those were the last words he would speak to me. I remember being excited to have him home that afternoon, but being so disappointed because the morphine rendered him unconscious. There was no pain. There was no nothing. He just slept (and snored) - all afternoon, all evening, and into the night. I remember getting ready for bed and noticing that his apnea was getting worse. At least he's still breathing.
But then he wasn't.
Most days, life goes on as usual. But occasionally, a random wave of emotion will bear down on me and flood my eyes with tears. Because I miss him. It's funny though...I see him everyday. In me. Even as his step-daughter, there are things about me that are undeniably him. I'll drive across town to use a $1.00 coupon; I stockpile toiletries (some of which I take from the hotels I visit) under the sink and under my bed just in case I might need a shower cap and shoe polish someday; I love retrievers more than I care for most humans; and I'd rather be golfing at 3:30 on a Wednesday afternoon than stuck behind a desk. I can still hear his voice when I leave the bathroom light on or take too long of a shower, and I can't wait until Thanksgiving so I can drink too much wine and eat 'til I'm miserable. I just wish I were eating turkey and drinking wine with Dugee.
But I can't.
October 20th. A reminder of our fragility. And a reminder to love hard, every second of every day.
Click here to donate to The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.