Madi asked, "Who took Daddy to heaven?" I replied, "The angels." She asked this a few more times over the course of the last few weeks. Then her next question was, "Why did the angels take Daddy to heaven?" I held my breath and I bit my lip, just like I always do and said, "Daddy got sick. Heaven is the only place he can go to feel better. He loves us and he can see us. He would be with us if he could, but he has to stay there to feel better."

We went up to Toronto to visit my sister again two weekends ago. (I know I said I wasn't going to do that again and this was actually the second time we went since then. I may have said this before, but that drive is like labor - you forget how painful it is until you are experiencing it again.) My sister has this huge house and apparently in Toronto they build upwards - to save ground space I guess. So, she has this 4 level house. Madi once walked from the second floor to the fourth with Kathy and Ken and upon finishing she said, "Whew, that's hard on the legs." My sister and brother-in-law thought that was hysterical.

Anyway, when we were there last, she and I were separated by a couple floors when she started calling me. It wasn't with any sort of urgency. When I got to her floor she said, "Mommy, I thought you went to heaven." I immediately said, "No way, I'm not leaving you." And then immediately after that I thought - oh no - I don't want her to think Rich had some kind of choice. So, I then went into this monologue of how Daddy wants to be with us, but he can't, yet he is happy in heaven. We will see Daddy again because we will go to heaven too someday. But we have to live life first. You never know when it's your turn to go. I was so overwhelmed that I didn't know where to stop. I was so afraid that what she was going to take away from that exchange was - Daddy went to heaven because he wanted to. No one should have to explain to a three year old why her Daddy is in heaven. It's not fair. It's unnatural. It's wrong. I have lodged several complaints with God - he has yet to respond.

Last Tuesday I got a message from Pinewood Memorial Gardens. They let me know that Rich's marker had finally been placed. I thought I was going to lose all control. I immediately burst in to tears. I think that maybe just for a moment I felt that it meant some new kind of ending. Kim had actually come to the door about five minutes after I heard the message. I pretty much scared the heck out of her. Then a friend emailed me and told me the marker is purely symbolic and that nothing has changed since yesterday.
The marker took so long to be placed because I took so long to order it. I just couldn't do it. I went into a seizure every time I thought about it. But, ultimately, I knew I had to do it. I went there in November shortly after returning from Europe. Ethan was with me. He was about 6 months at the time. I sat in the parking lot and cried for about 20 minutes before going in. The woman who worked there tossed some brochures in front of me. I went through them over and over again. There really wasn't much to pick from. I sensed her impatience. It was getting close to closing time and she wanted to get out of there. She kept telling me to take the brochures with me. But, it was so hard to walk into that place, I feared that if I didn't do it now I'd put it off again. I sat there and cried while Ethan slept in his carrier. She sighed and paced and looked at her watch. Then she said, "You know, you have to be strong for your children." Oh My God - the words that I hate most! This woman has no idea how close she came to me leaping over that desk to choke the life out of her! Cemetery people and oncologist are some cold folks.

Madi started taking a soccer class and a ballet/tap dance class at the YMCA three weeks ago. She really enjoys it and looks forward to it each week - especially the dance class. It's actually more difficult for me than I thought it would be. She looks so cute in her tights and leotard. At the end of the ballet session the parents come into the room and the girls put on dance for us. Then the same thing after the tap part. My eyes and nose burn from trying not to cry each time I watch her. It's so sweet and I pray Rich can see her. Even more difficult is having to socialize with the other parents while we are waiting. That has been easy for me to avoid during the soccer class because parents are spread all over the gym. But, at the dance class there is only a small area for us to wait. During the first class, a woman who is probably my age - maybe a little younger - with two kids the same age as Madi and Ethan - pretty much - wanted to strike up some chit chat. I am not chatty these days, but I was trapped. She must have asked me 10 questions. I was so uncomfortable waiting for a question about my husband to come. I was getting dizzy - Where do you live? What do you do? They just kept coming. One of her final questions was, "Are you guys only going to have two children?" I nodded my head yes and kept wishing she'd disappear. I didn't tell her about Rich. I didn't want to make her feel bad. She was just trying to be friendly. She didn't know that she was making me dizzy.

In the first soccer class everything was fine. I just keep to myself, of course. But, at the very end of the practice, the coach had these cones set up - one in front of each kid. The idea was the child was to kick the ball to knock over the cone and there was candy underneath. I thought this was pretty cute. Madi was about the fifth or sixth kid in line. As each child was finished the coach said, "Ok, get your candy and give it to your mom and dad." So, he said it over and over to each player and he said it to Madi, too. She turned around - pointed to the sky and said, "My Daddy had to go to heaven." But, she was completely fine and matter of fact about it. The coach didn't even hear her. He was already on to the next child. I don't think any other parent heard her either. She ran over to give me the candy and I just smiled at her. I kept telling myself not to react. When she first said it, a rush of tears came to my eyes, but I held it together. This pain is my issue. Madi and Ethan will be okay as long as I hold it together.

I know it's Rich who is gone, but so much of me left with him. I've lost parts of me that I never expect to see again. I will never be whole. My thoughts, my actions, my words, my face - it's all changed. I don't know who I see when I look in the mirror - it's surely not me. It can't be me who looks so old and tired and broken and sad. It can't be me who feels so much fear all the time. I tell myself all through each day that's it's going to be okay - it's going to be alright - but I don't believe it. I was talking to an old friend on the phone yesterday. When he asked me how I was doing I said I was okay. He told me my voice changed when I said it. I didn't say this to him, but my voice changed because I was lying. I will never be okay.

I get so angry when I see people outside without a shirt. When we had those few days of nice weather, I kept seeing shirtless men at the park. I met Kim one day at Mad Mex for lunch. There was a construction crew there working on the addition. One man was taking a break by lying on a metal truck without a shirt. I thought it was horrifying - the hot, filter less sun baking his skin. I wanted to go over to him and shake him and say, "Don't you know what you are doing can take away your life?! What you are doing can leave the people who love you depleted and devastated and forever broken!" I restrained myself, though. And that's not what happed to Rich. As an adult, he was never in the sun. And he surely was never shirtless outside.

After I picked the kids up from school on Monday we went to Giant Eagle. I happened to notice we kept crossing paths with an older woman. Each time, I noticed her glance at my children and give them a smile. Finally, when again we were in the same aisle, she stopped, looked at me sweetly and said, "You have beautiful children. I would trade places with you. Mine are all grown" I thanked her and forced a smile. Then I said, "You don't want to trade places with me." I wanted to let it go with that straightforward reply, but I couldn't. I went on to tell her that my husband, the sweetest boy in the world, passed away last year. Our beautiful daughter had just turned two and I was five months pregnant with the son he'd never touch. So, you see, you don't want to trade places with me. Her gaze never left the children. Her face never twisted or showed surprise or shock. She simply looked at me and said, "At least you had him for a little while."

Ethan will be one on May 11th. I can't believe it. Time is going so fast - which I wished for and in a weird way offers me some relief that it will be over soon. I look in to his sweet little face and what I think about is that Rich never hugged or kissed him. That weighs on me so much. There is a constant ache in my chest. I have to find a way to let that go. His birthday party is on Saturday. I'm afraid I'm going to fall to pieces - especially when we sing to him. I've been singing Happy Birthday to him all week trying to desensitize to it. Again, this is my pain. Ethan will be okay as long as I am.

So, here it is, life going on without Rich. I don't want it to. I'm not ready. Just wake me when it's over.

contact me: denirust2004@yahoo.com