16th day of February

Well, today marks the eleventh time February 16th has come around since Diane died.  This isn't the first time I've written about her on her birthday, but it's been five years since I did so...

I guess I feel like it's not overdoing it to put one up today.

This day has certainly gotten easier to deal with over time.  The first couple were a little rough, but over time, the edge has been taken off.  I won't say it's just another day at this point in time, but it doesn't compare to the kind of day it used to be.

I think instead of trying to reminisce about a specific birthday, I'd rather rip open the nerves around that first few days after she died.

Even though there's so much I don't (can't) remember from that time.

Here's what I do remember.

I remember telling the Boy Child to go home, I didn't need him to stay at the house with me.  I could take care of myself.

I lied.

If it wasn't for Sophie having to go outside regularly, I doubt I would have come out of my room.  I really had no desire to do much of anything at that time.

I remember checking up on the kids, to make sure they were "ok" and to "be strong" for them.

I wasn't.

Strong, that is.

I remember telling the friends and family members that called to check up on me that I was fine.

I wasn't.

I remember telling the guys from the firehouse to stop sending food up to me, that I was perfectly capable of feeding myself.

I wasn't.

Now, to be clear, my dietary habits have never been great.  I was blessed with a metabolism that allows (well, allowed) me to eat crap (figuratively) and not gain weight.  But I lived on junk food at that time because I had no desire to cook anything for myself.

I remember feeling survivors guilt because I didn't "do more" when Diane was in the hospital.  And, I spent a lot of time wondering what I could (should?) have done differently.

I remember hearing people tell me they were amazed at my "strength" after what I'd been through and thinking to myself "you have no idea.  None."  That's actually how I came up with the title for this blog.  It was how I felt.  Often.  Calm on the surface while underneath I was paddling like a madman to try and stay afloat.

But I really did feel like I had a good handle on my grief back then.  I feel like I still do.  In retrospect, I probably should have sought some counseling, to make sure I stayed afloat.  I'm not sure it would have helped but it sure wouldn't have hurt.

I think I'm going to try and end this on a brighter note, by telling one of the stories I use often at Victim Impact Panels to illustrate how close Diane and Caitlin were.

It was a Saturday, before Mother's Day in 2002.  I was at work (naturally, all the best stories happened while I was at work) and Diane and Caitlin spent the entire day cleaning the townhouse we lived in.  Cleaned it from top to bottom.  Afterwards, they were taking a break, standing in the kitchen, when Caitlin came up to Diane, put her arm around her and said

"Mom, we worked hard today."

Diane said "Yes we did"

"We should do something nice for ourselves."

Diane looked at her.

"Mom, let's go get our belly buttons pierced."

Diane said "Are you crazy?  I'm 47 years old, I'm not going to get my belly button pierced!"

Caitlin said "C'mon Mom, it'll be a bonding thing.  It's my Mother's Day gift to you."

Diane said "Ok.  But don't ever tell Grandma."

Happy birthday baby.

Peace