Page 83 of Someone to Remember
“Love you to the moon,” I whisper to each of them as I adjust the blankets and leave them to have sweet dreams.
Their bedrooms have a bathroom in the middle that they share, and I think it’s adorable that they want the doors open between their rooms during the night. That won’t last forever, but for now, they take comfort in the nearness of their bestfriend. I’m aware that best friendship probably won’t last through the teenage years, but I think they’ll always be close due to the early trauma that most siblings luckily never have to experience.
Even though they were very young when Rory fell ill and died, they recall that time and often ask questions about what happened and why, as if trying to keep the memories present as the years have passed since tragedy struck.
As I get into bed fifteen minutes later, I glance at his side of the bed as I’ve done every night since he left, looking for Rory’s smiling face as he waited for me to join him. I was always the last one to bed because I was making lunches or folding clothes or doing something to make all our lives easier the next day. He was a wonderful, hands-on father, but he wasn’t great with the details of the kids’ daily lives.
That was fine. He worked hard to provide for us, and I handled most of the “home” stuff while working part time. Before he got sick, he used to joke about how screwed he’d be if I ever died, so he said, “Please don’t do that to me.” And I’d say, “I won’t if you won’t.” We’d seal the deal with a kiss any time the subject came up.
He said that often enough that I wonder if he suspected that one of us might die young or if he had a premonition about his own health. His illness and death transpired so quickly that I never thought to ask him about that. We were so overwhelmed by the speed of his decline that we had little capacity for anything else during those surreal forty-two days.
However, he told me every day about how much he loved me and the kids and how sorry he was to be leaving me alone to raise them. His heart was broken over leaving us. I had no doubt about that.
I’m surprised to discover tears on my face as I emerge from those painful memories. For a while after he first died, I thought I’d never stop crying, but it’s been a while since I shed tears over losing Rory. I feel guilty about that realization, but I refuse tofeel guilty about getting on with my life the way he would’ve wanted me to.
And I refuse to feel guilty for being excited about my plans with Luke.
For the first time in what feels like forever, my last thoughts before I fall asleep aren’t about Rory. No, I fall asleep with a smile on my face, thinking about Luke and how excited I am to see him again.
Nineteen
Taylor
Ihaven’t been this exhausted since Greg was in hospice, but I can’t sleep no matter how hard I try to clear my mind and focus on keeping myself healthy for my children, especially the one who isn’t here yet and is still relying on me for everything. The baby moves restlessly at night, as if he’s aware that his life has been altered irrevocably before he’s even born.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Will falling off that scaffolding, and I try to imagine what he must’ve thought in the seconds before he landed. I know for sure that my face, the kids’ faces, the baby and our life together were foremost in his mind, as we always were. As much as I ache for myself and my kids, I’m heartbroken for Will and the baby he wanted so badly and for the special relationship they’ll never get to have now.
We’ll do our best to bring Will to life for the baby, but it won’t be the same as experiencing him as a living, breathing, loving father.
I feel so cheated by his death on behalf of myself and all three of our children, and I’m honestly not sure if I can go on without him by my side. Having that thought makes me soundlike a feeble, helpless woman who can’t survive on her own. That’s not me at all. I’ve already done this once before, and not only did I survive, but I thrived as a single mother for years before I met Will and took another chance on love.
It’s not that Ican’tdo it. It’s that I don’twantto do it on my own again.
Single parents are often lauded as heroes, and yes, that title is well deserved, but most of us would rather have a partner to help us raise our kids than be held up as heroes. I don’t want to be a hero. I want to be a wife and a mother and part of a family that includes Will.
How can he be gone forever? It makes no sense to me.
After having now been through both, I’ve decided the sudden tragedy is far worse than the long illness. At least Greg got the chance to record videos and write letters to the kids to keep him present for them going forward. He had the opportunity to say goodbye to me and the kids, to say all the things we needed to hear to live without him for the rest of our lives. Will had no such opportunity before he was ripped from our lives forever.
We had time to prepare for Greg’s death, even if I wouldn’t wish his suffering on anyone. We knew for months that he was dying and planned accordingly to make sure everything was in order for the aftermath.
After we were married, Will and I updated our estate documents to make each other the beneficiary should the worst happen to either of us, but that process in no way prepared me for the reality of his premature death.
I turn on my side, seeking relief from the baby’s nightly soccer match, and come face-to-face with the framed photo of our wedding on my bedside table, illuminated by the nightlight I leave on in case the kids need me now that they’ve returned to their own beds for the first time since Will died.
God, he was so handsome and fun and funny and sexy and all the things. After having zero interest in men or dating for theyears following Greg’s death, I was a goner for him from the first minute we met. Our wedding day was one of the happiest occasions of my life—and my kids’ lives. From the minute I introduced them to him, several months after we met, they, too, were in love with him.
When he proposed to me, he also proposed to them, with gifts for each of them and a special, heartfelt promise to always be there for them and to be the best possible stepdad he could be.
We all said yes with no hesitation whatsoever.
My friends and family were thrilled for us, and I embarked on my chapter two with great excitement and anticipation for the future, largely leaving my widow life, which included active participation in the Wild Widows and other groups, in the past, where I thought it belonged.
How naïve I was.
Since sleep isn’t happening, I decide to get up and take care of some things that are weighing on me and probably keeping me from getting the rest I need so badly. One of those things is the dreaded task of writing my husband’s obituary. His family offered to take care of it for me, but I said I wanted to do it with their input. His mom sent their notes yesterday, and with the services looming this weekend, I need to get it published so people will know when and where.
I take my water bottle and reading glasses with me to the office downstairs, where Will used to do invoicing and paperwork for his business. I haven’t yet figured out what will become of the business, but there’ll be time to worry about that later. Bryan, Will’s foreman, told me to reach out when I’m ready to talk about next steps. That’s on my to-do list, but not in the top ten until after the services are completed. I trust Bryan and the others to keep things running until I have time to catch my breath.
