The following entry was written over several days and it's not necessarily in the order I wrote it...

I'm horrified over Father's Day and our wedding anniversary. Our wedding anniversary is on June 23rd. We got married in 2001 in Las Vegas at the Excalibur Hotel. We had been engaged for about a year and a half before we got married. I was four months pregnant at the time and Rich was recovering from his second surgery. We were quite the pathetic looking duo. His face and neck were so swollen and I swear I gained 10 pounds at the moment of conception. (50lbs all together - and STILL haven't lost it!)
This was only our third year of being married, but we were together almost eleven years. We always knew we wanted to get married and have children. We literally moved in together with only knowing each other for a week! I'm not really sure what took us so long to do it. I guess we were waiting until we had good jobs and we were making decent money. Now, I wish we hadn't waited so long. But, I guess it shouldn't matter. We always knew we were soul mates. We were inseparable. We did everything together.

Madi always pretends to call daddy. Usually it is when I pick her up from school and her class is playing outside and we have to walk through the four year old room to leave. She will stop and pick up the toy phones and pretend to call him on each one. I patiently wait for her and try my hardest not to cry. Once the infant room teacher looked at me from across the room and with a sad face said, "That must be hard." I burst in to tears and told her she had no idea just how hard it is to listen to that conversation. In the car the other day she "called" daddy and said, "Hi daddy. Watch you doin'? I want to come to heaven with you, daddy. No, no, no. I want to come to heaven with you, daddy." I almost had to pull the car over. Once again my heart broke. I found it so strange that she said,"...no, no, no..." It was almost as if he told her she had to stay here with me - that I need her.

I went to a grief group with Kim. It was for widows and widowers. Of course, I was the youngest widow. And Rich was the youngest deceased loved one. Everyone's eyes were so sad and full of despair. I couldn't help but notice that no one except me was wearing a wedding ring. I'll never take my rings off! However, one day, I will give them to Madi and Ethan, but that won't be for a very long time.

I've learned not to compare my grief with others. (Even though I feel I lost the most precious person in the world and no one could possibly hurt as much as I do.) There was a man who lost his wife 2 years ago and he is still not okay. The pain was deep and clear in his eyes. I think she was in her early 50's and had several medical problems before cancer finally took her. They have 3 teenagers who won't even mention their mother's name. He is so depressed he can't even work. Another man was so angry over the loss of his 50 year old wife. She had brain cancer and he watched her deteriorate for a year before it took her. They were unable to have children. He said he knew when the end was near because she clenched her teeth and would no longer accept food or medication. He thought to himself that he'd, " never see those beautiful eyes again." One woman lost her husband while he was away on a hunting trip. He died of a heart attack in his sleep. He was 64 and they didn't get to say goodbye. She mentioned that their youngest of three children just graduated from high school and her husband didn't get to see it. I thought to myself, "I went through child birth. He didn't even get to meet his son."
I tried so hard not to compare our situations - I tried to learn something from this meeting. We all were in pain. At first, I was envious of the time these people had with their loved ones. Rich and I only had ten years. But then I tried to appreciate what we did have. We had ten great years. We grew together. We had so many firsts together. We spent our twenties together - and part of our thirties. We got to say goodbye. We loved each other unconditionally. (It's so hard to speak of him in the past tense.) He didn't have to suffer. We have two beautiful children. I get to see those blue eyes of his everyday. I thank God that they are so much him as I curse God for taking him from me.

Madi makes me laugh from my belly everyday. I love to look at her. She is mesmerizing. Her features are distinctive - so colorful. Her hair is golden. Her eyelashes are thick and black. Her lips are a deep, rosy pink. Her eyes are strikingly blue. Strangers always comment to me about her beauty or vocabulary or energy -- other little girls want to hold her hand and little boys want to hug and kiss her. -- it is almost alarming - the way strangers always approach her. We were at a restaurant once and a little boy in the next both stared at her and said to his mother, "She must be a princess." She attracts strangers - which obviously could be very dangerous.
I love looking at Ethan. He is so much Rich. His eyes especially - even his eye lids look like Rich's. His smile - his chin - his fingers. Even his little bum. His eyelashes are so long. Rich used to tickle me with his eyelashes and call it butterfly kisses. Ethan also looks alot like Matt Rust's baby pictures. They are/were both really fuzzy! Rich would love that he Ethan looks like Matt. It's sweet - he really does look like Matt.

Listening to music is difficult. Finally, I listened to the Nixon Clocks. "I find myself in love wishing I could touch your face. I find myself alone staring in to outer space." These words cut in to me. Rich's voice causes my heart to pound uncontrollably. Tears burn my face. My chest heaves from uncontrollable sobbing. I look up and scream, "Why did you take him from me?" I don't even know who I'm talking to.

"Hold on. Hold on to yourself. This is gonna to hurt like hell." I haven't listened to this Sarah McLaughlin song in a long while. But, this song always scared me because it is about a man who is about to die and the woman who loves him. I always thought I couldn't imagine being in that situation. It was almost foreshadowing. "Oh Lord, if you're out there can you hear me? I know we've never talked before. Oh Lord, the man I love is leaving - will you take him when he comes to your door?" I didn't have to imagine it anymore - I had to live it. I prayed so hard for a miracle.

I made the mistake of smelling his cologne the other day. The fragrance literally hurt me. I felt as if someone had stabbed me in the throat. I lost my breath. I felt as if I'd lose consciousness. I know this sounds trite and cliché, but that's what it really felt like.

What am I supposed to do with this grief and sorrow and anguish? What is the reason why it was given to me? I pray that Rich doesn't feel it. I fear my pain can hurt him. The people I know who are religious assure me he knows only bliss. Part of me is afraid to stop hurting - that it is somehow disrespectful or people won't appreciate just how much I love him. I'm afraid to feel happiness. I couldn't even go to his cousin Marie's wedding. I was so afraid to see people in his family happy. I want them to be happy and they deserve to be happy. I didn't want to go there and cry and ruin a happy occasion.

I held Ethan tight to my chest the other night. I felt him filling my heart. I think I even felt a tickle in my heart. I felt guilty - how dare I - when Rich is gone? I felt like I don't deserve to be happy. Consciously, I know Rich wants me to take pleasure in our children - to feel joy and delight. But, I feel so guilt-ridden.
Ethan is so cute - I can't stop looking at him. He and Madi are now everything to me. But, I feel pain for them - hopefully pain they will never feel. I grieve for me and Madi and Ethan. I want them to know their father, but I don't want them to hurt over his loss. I want to absorb that hurt and absence so they never feel it - I want them to feel only love for him. Madi and I tell stories about daddy every day. I'll never let her forget him - I promised him that I wouldn't let that that happen. I'll make sure they know him.

I'm so dysfunctional, it's hard to keep a grip on reality. As I write this entry I push my hair out of my eyes and I smell vomit on my hand. "What the hell is that!" - I wonder. Then I realize, usually, at night I cry so hard - I heave and vomit. I hold my mouth because I choke so hard on my despair. Tears scald my face and hands. This happens so often that I can't believe I don't have scars. But, then I remember I'm scarred forever - I'll never heal. I so much want to write something happy. Someday I will. My children do make me happy. I know I have alot to be grateful for. But, Rich was supposed to be part of it. I can't stop hurting or missing him. I can't believe we have a baby boy he'll never hold or smell or kiss. It's so hard to open my eyes in the morning. But, Ethan calls to me. I pick him up and hold him close and breathe in his sweetness and innocence. I take in his love. He slowly fills my heart again and I want it to be full. I try to imagine being happy.

"Don't wish me happiness-I don't expect to be happy it's gotten beyond that, somehow. Wish me courage and strength and a sense of humor-I will need them all." Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Contact me at: denirust2004@yahoo.com