Hugs

There is no 'right' or 'standard' way to commemorate the death of your husband--the father of your children.  This is the 4th time this awful anniversary has come around and every time, I wish I had orchestrated a really meaningful plan to capture all this day means to me and to my kids (This neurotic thinking is a by-product of chronic perfectionism. I will soon be posting a blog about my perfectionism which, of course, is being edited to 'perfection').  The honest to God truth is that everybody does it differently. I like (and kinda hate) reading on social media about the Hallmark-ish ways people do this.  I have the same enormous feelings everyone in my shoes would have about losing my sweet husband and the father of my 4 kids, but when I get to the anniversary of his death,  I am much less about creating a beautiful memorial and much more about just crying my eyes out or imagining what he would think about how the kids have grown or pouring over old pictures until I want to throw up.  It's not pretty.  No one would want to watch this Hallmark special or read this story on Facebook.  I get sad. And mad. Still. After 4 years.  So that's what I'll be doing to remember Dan--crying, venting, regretting, wishing.  Obviously, I'm also writing, which is one of the more productive things I do.  I dug up a journal entry I wrote just weeks

after Dan was diagnosed with melanoma.  I intended to post it but felt it might come across as melodramatic since we were so early on in our journey with cancer.  I didn't want to totally believe that he might die, but now that he is gone, I feel thankful that God opened my eyes to the simple truth I wrote about before it was too late.  Here it is:

Hug your husband today.  Not the rushed, obligatory hug before you leave the house.  Not the tired, begrudging hug when you are exhausted and thinking of yourself...really...hug him. Wrap your arms around him, pull him close and linger there.  Close your eyes and experience all there is to experience in something as simple as a hug.  Hear him breathing and maybe even his heartbeat.  Be weak and protected by those arms around you.  Recognize the way he smells and drink it in.  Imagine if this were the last hug you could ever give him or receive from him - know that someday, maybe sooner than you think, it WILL be the last hug.  Be there, right there in the middle of that hug and take your time.  Don't underestimate the blessing of this simple gesture.  Know that being able to stand right in front of this person God has given you and reach out to touch him and be together, stopped, connected for even a brief piece of eternity is usually taken for granted and not a guarantee.  There are those who would give anything for what we have right now - would give anything for just one more hug...Time runs out eventually and though we are confident that there is life beyond this physical world we are a part of, the simple connection of a hug can carry us through and keep us going - even when all we have is memories of hugs.  Hug him now. Hug him often.  Hug him differently from now on.

I wrote that as a reminder to embrace Dan in the midst of the ensuing chaos of cancer. You'd think it would be obvious, but even when we could taste the bitter brevity of life, it kept moving forward at breakneck speed and we had 4 kids and 2 jobs and all the stuff grown ups have to deal with.  Add to that countless appointments to hunt down an elusive cure for cancer, surgeries to remove the beast, varied treatments all over the metroplex with an impressive line up of specialist after specialist, the looming questions you never want to ask about prognosis, and the palpable, justified, taunting fear.

We could have easily let it swallow us up and forgotten to hold on to each other.  But. We didn't let it swallow us.  I think we loved each other better in that last year than we ever had--kinda sad and beautiful at the same time.  He died a little over a year later. So, in addition to wallowing in the sad (which is okay to do), asking God some questions (like any child of the Father is allowed to do), and just getting through the day, I am going to remember the hugs again.  If each one of you hugs differently today because you've read this memorial post, I'd say I've honored my sweet Dan.  Hugs.