Bob and Haircuts

Weird, weird weird stuff. Yesterday at 8:08 am, Justin said, "Hey, look Mom! The clock says "BOB!" When I saw the digital clock, I had an odd feeling come over me. 8:08 means something totally different to me, something Justin isn't aware of. 8:08 was the time of death printed on Adam's death certificate. 8:03 was the crash (probably based on the 911 calls) and 8:08 was when they pronounced him dead. I often wonder how much before that time that the police arrived. I know it was before that--I know that they put pads on Adam to attempt to revive him. But he was already long gone. Five minutes could feel like an eternity. I know Justin always says how it felt like he waited in the car of the man who helped him out of Adam's car for "like forever." Ugh.

The thing about Justin's "Bob" comment was what he doesn't realize (because he never heard anyone call Adam by that name) that was Adam's nickname from some of his friends...from Adam's younger years. So it was a weird coincidence. But it gets weirder. We then got in the car to go to school. What did my odometer read? 808. Yep. Our little trip to Kansas City upped the miles on our new "borrowed" (as Spencer calls it) car. 808. What's up with THAT? It was all the more annoying-nagging when Justin noticed the 8:08 time again this morning.

Tonight, after my monthly night out with my young widowed group, I ran to get a quick haircut since I had 30 minutes before going to relieve my friend who was watching the boys. I then realized that the haircut place (where I'd never stepped foot into previously) was the one where Adam went because he didn't like the one closer to our house where I would occasionally take our boys. The hairdresser and I got to talking and somehow my being widowed with little boys came up. And then she started in on the questions. How long? How did it happen? What did my husband do for a living? Bam. Then she pieced together who we were. She said that when she saw Adam on the news that she ran and called a friend--that she remembered that he was one of her clients. So she started up on the usual (none-of-anyones-business) questions--Where is the guy that did this? How long is he in jail? Did he have insurance? What happened to all the student loans? How are the boys? How AM I DOING? How do I do this alone without family around.....BLAH! But then came the funny one. "You're not wearing your wedding ring? Do you wear it anymore?" I answered truthfully, that sometimes I do, but not much anymore. She then went off on how she would "NEVER remarry" if this were her. When I reminded her that I have 2/3 of my life left and that being alone without a companion ever again is a very difficult thing, she stopped a bit to think on that, as though it were a plausible answer. I just sort of smirked in my head. People are interesting how they think it is their business to give you the third degree. But then, it was so stereotypical, chatting with a hairdresser. I mused to myself how it is a good thing I'm this far out. If it had been only 6 months since he had died, I probably would've wigged out on her. I'm glad that I can answer questions like that easier now, that they roll off my tongue and I know how much (how little) to say.

Ah. Another day in widowed world. I wonder how my hair will look when I try to "do" it tomorrow. Good luck to me.