Lasts. Evaluations. Acceptance.

I imagine that every year at this time I will go through a period of deep reflection. I did this last year and I think I will probably always do this. It is, in part, what makes this time of year hard for me. But like all things grief related, I must go through it--even if I don't really want to.

I lay in bed this morning and think about the things that never will be, and the lasts. There are lots of lasts. Some lasts I think about a lot and try my best to hang on to, and yet they're just gone. As his voice fades in my mind, it is very frustrating. It isn't easy to recall what his kiss felt like. His touch. His voice. His every breath. His smell. His laugh. And I just reflect on all the last things we did and long for those moments again. Would I have appreciated them more if I knew they were the lasts? Most certainly.

The day of Adam's death was filled with a lot of trauma. It is interesting to me how much hasn't been blocked out from that day, how much is still so vivid, how much I wish I could forget. The sirens. The phone calls. The car ride. The hospital. Certain people who were so present that day. Our hurt, scared babies. And the screaming of Adam's name by Spencer. I wish desperately that I could forget that. It will always be my battle wound, I fear. Like a soldier coming home from war, there are certain things that just can't be blocked out.

It is amazing what two years brings though. Year one was just survival mode. Year two was even uglier on many fronts, which I think is probably shocking to many--particularly shocking for those who experience grief, I don't think we are warned enough about year two. I think the reason year two seemed more difficult for me is that year two is when I really started to understand my grief--I could feel it more, as I wasn't just going through the motions--I was trying to come out of the fog but the fog was so thick. It is more difficult to hide emotions, the deep ones, during year two. And year two is when the boys' grief came out. In our case, with the boys injured during the first year, this caused a delay in them expressing their grief.

In addition to reliving and feeling all of those last moments that I had with Adam, I'm compelled to evaluate where I was two years ago and where I am now. I've learned more than I can possibly summarize during these two years. I understand gospel principles on a different level now. And I suppose that scares me a bit because I feel more responsible now, that I have been entrusted with this knowledge and so it is up to me what I will do with it. Where much is given, much is required? Yes. I have been given so much from so many. I never could've wrapped my head around the amount of service and support rendered to my family. I can't describe a more humble feeling in my body. I never thought I would be the one to be on the receiving end of service--because I would much rather give service. So to be the one receiving such an outpouring, it is beyond humbling. It is humbling to know that there isn't any "paying back" that I can even attempt for what we've been given.

At the same time, it makes me think. Have I done my best these past two years? I know with some things, yes, with others, NO. I know I've complained too much and probably not kept my mouth shut enough. In trying to find a balance--a husband substitute--it it tricky to figure out who to trust, who is is 'ok' to vent to, and when it isn't ok to vent. So tough, and there isn't always a clear cut answer. Nevertheless, I know I've whined more than anyone needed to hear. I also know that I probably could've learned more had I not whined as much. I have learned that we can't listen well if our mouth is moving too.

Acceptance. I have barely scratched the surface on this, I know. I have accepted the reality of Adam's death. He is not coming back. He will never again be able to do and say the things I want him to do and say. He will never parent again in this life with his physical hands. I am a single parent. I am not married. These things I have accepted...dragging my feet while doing so, yes. But accepted.

But. I still love my ring and wear it occasionally. The reasons I wear it are not the same as they once were when I was married. I still cling to the "was" in my life--what it was like to be married, what it was like to have the relationship that we did, and everything that was our life.

I still think about things--memories--of good times in order to help myself sleep, or in order to actually get in my bed and make myself sleep at night. I know that I have to let go of those memories in order to progress, and I'm just not there yet.

I suppose the part of "acceptance" that I won't accept is that I can't accept that THIS is my life--that this is what is "left" of my life. I'm not content with life as it is. Maybe that's bad, maybe that's good. If we are content with status quo that can be a bad thing because then we become stagnant, not desiring to progress. I recognize the good in my life, for there are a billion blessings--more literally. So that's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is that I refuse to accept that I will remain alone, that I will endure parenting alone, and being ALONE. I refuse to believe that I won't ever have nightly pillow talk again or a companion to debate political and social isms. I want--no, I YEARN for something MORE. I recognize the hand of the Lord in my life. There are many ways that I was very much prepared for this life, yet I know that I have a lot of love left to give, to receive, and to grow.

I will not accept that this is what is left of my life--because I know there's more. I will continue on this quest to find more good to fill my life as I enter year three. I still have mountains to learn. Give me this mountain.