I’m Not Good At It

Grieving that is. Denial – got it down. Distraction – I’m a pro. Grieving, crying, letting those around me see my vulnerability – see me hurting, see me struggling – don’t have it down, not a pro. I never want to be a burden on anyone, I never want to feel stupid in front of anyone – and so I hide it. But when I’m alone? When I’m alone in a hotel bed at 1:30 a.m. – my heart reminds my mind what’s really going on. And then I’m back at square one.

You see, I want to take care of people. I’m a Momma – and one to those who don’t need one probably, but it’s my way. It’s my way of trying to make a difference, by making sure that family is taken care of. I feel ridiculous to be the one crying like this in private.

But Jon? He deserves every tear. He does. He is that kind of a man. He wouldn’t want the tears to be shed, he’d want us to remember every single smile, every single drink, every single laugh – and I do – that’s what brings the tears. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, reality sucks. But there is a time to mourn. That time is now.

He wanted a party. Not a “service” not a “memorial.” He wanted a party. He said there should be lots of beer, alcohol, and people. There could be pictures too – as long as he was in them. He said that we’re all to learn to have as much fun as we did when he was alive, and this is to be our first practice session.

Jon, I’m going to be honest with you – I don’t feel much like practicing. Not without you. But I will honor you my friend. We all will honor your request. Over the 4th when the fireworks were going off – I enjoyed them, I relished in them – but you know what caught my attention the most? You. You sitting to my right with a blanket in your lap, smoking a cigar – and enjoying the show. I kept wondering what was going through your mind. What I really wanted to do was give you a big kiss and thank you. Thank you not just for serving your country – but for serving your family, for being you.

I should have thanked you out loud. You knew I loved you. I told you so in an email, less than one week before that day. But I should have told you, should have followed it up with a hug. You knew. That will have to be enough.

I wish you were here. I’ll say it a million more times before we see each other again – I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. It sucks that you’re gone. We all missed out. I miss you.