It's still a boulder...

A friend recently urged me to watch a movie. I haven't watched it yet (but I fully intend to). Just in case I never get around to it, he typed the dialogue of a few scenes out for me.

It resonated deep.

DAUGHTER: Does it ever go away?

MOTHER: What?

DAUGHTER: This feeling.

MOTHER: No. I don't think it does. Not for me it hasn't. And that's goin' on eleven years.
(beat)
It changes though.

DAUGHTER: How?

MOTHER: I don't know. The weight of it, I guess. At some point it becomes bearable. It turns into something you can crawl out from under, and carry around - like a brick in your pocket. And you forget it every once in a while, but then you reach in for whatever reason and there it is: "Oh right. That." Which can be awful. But not all the time.

Sometimes it's kinda... Not that you like it exactly, but it's what you have instead of your son, so you don't wanna let go of it either. So you carry it around. And it doesn't go away, which is...

DAUGHTER: What?

MOTHER: Fine...actually.

I can't say that I've forgotten for even the briefest moment. But just when I think I'm doing so well, and this "thing" might be turning into more of a brick, little things creep up, just to remind me that it's still a big ugly boulder.

A holiday passes...

A memory surfaces...

Jocee asks if Daddy's flying that plane overhead, or if he misses her, or if he likes being away from her...



And I'm right back under that boulder, all over again. Crushed and gasping for air.



I still miss him so much, it leaves a physical ache. I think it's safe to say that the three of us do.


I love Ben.

That is all.

18 Months

I remember when I was living by the minute; when thinking 18 days ahead of me just couldn't be done. Sometimes I would wonder where I was going to be at the 18 month mark, but that was usually followed by the beginnings of a panic attack (and lots of deep breathing). Just remembering that shock and heartache brings tears to my eyes. I never want to feel like that again, and yet I hope to never ever forget it.

BUT I'm not there anymore. (Remember? :))

I've been slowly building myself up from ground zero. Where I am right now is such a better place to be. It's a huge deal; one worth celebrating. Sure, I might be a little more flighty (and a lot more new-agey), but I'm more grounded at the same time too.

For so long I haven't been able to see very far ahead of me. I remember posting about plans being useless. They just get..."put on hold." This moment is all that matters, and I still believe that. But guess what?? I'm starting to make those plans again, and it's freeing; not scary. The future is brightening again. Going back to school feels doable (and exciting). Single parenting doesn't feel as daunting. There are so many unknowns, but they don't feel intimidating anymore.

I feel myself growing into more of what I've always meant to be (knowing I'm not totally there yet either). I only wish that Ben got to see some of it during his lifetime. I catch myself still apologizing to him for the other me; for depending on him so much, for expecting inhuman things.

The hurt is still there. Little things can still creep up and blindside me. Like two weeks ago when I broke down, as I realized just how much I miss his feet. He seriously had (/has) the cutest, perfect feet... And I miss the way he thought mine were cute too. But those moments aren't derailing anymore. I don't have to post about it as much. It's a lot like T. Thorpe said, "You won't ever get over the grief. You'll just learn how to manage it."

So today it has been 18 months. It's a big milestone, and I feel okay. I'm not a useless lump of human stuck on autopilot. The best part is knowing how proud he is of me. I feel him smiling at me, sometimes laughing with me. He's still my very best friend.

I'm going to continue to make him smile. I'm going to be the mother our babies deserve. I'm going to become the me that I've been meaning to be. And I'm going to be happy doing it.

(Note to anyone who gets this: Today's hawk count: 5!!)

I love Ben.
:)

Not there anymore.

Lately I've felt stagnant and frustrated. Ben has been gone for 17 months, and on the surface there hasn't been any real progression. The three of us are still living with my parents, and I have yet to go back to school. I wonder if I'm grieving fast enough. Am I subconsciously choosing to hold myself back??

But less than 2 weeks ago, I was able to get rid of those wasted emotions.

While in UT, T. Thorpe and I did our usual. ---We went for energy massages from one of my favorite people (then we hit up a health food store, got some soy ice cream & got caught up on our shows. Ha!!). Anyway, I've known this favorite for 5 or 6 years now. And in the more recent months she has tried to remind me of how...okay and "together" I am. Something she said finally stuck with me.

"You've been so hurt, but you've sorted through so much. I know you've been through the, 'It wasn't supposed to be this way.' Feeling angry because you weren't supposed to be a single parent with these girls. I'm sure at one point you didn't even want to exist. You wanted to disappear. But you're not there anymore."

Tears instantly fell. Because even though I never told her, she knew and she was right.

I'm not there anymore.

And so even though I may still have days when I feel overwhelmed and a little defeated, those emotions are of little consequence. Rather I can look at all of those things that may be invisible to everyone but me, and know...I have come a long way.

Where I am right at this very moment is perfect (and obviously not forever).

...

I hate the news.... I haven't really watched any since that day. Why couldn't the media have waited just 15 minutes longer, so that the cop could tell me first??

And now when I hear of people passing on, I can't help but feel love and sorrow for the families they have left behind. How their lives are changed, and the grief they face.

I am deeply saddened by yesterday's news. Several friends notified me all at once; ...another small plane crash so close to where we used to call home, and from the same flight school Ben instructed at.

Immediately, I checked news websites to see what I could find. I was sickened to see that the families hadn't been notified yet. I felt helpless for them. I caught myself pacing like I had before, knowing that at any moment hearts would break.

I wondered what they were doing, and so hoped they didn't read what I read. I hoped they had been too busy. I hoped they didn't have to feel that same helpless panic.

My heart especially breaks for the children and spouses that these people leave behind. My thoughts and prayers are with them.

(I don't want this post to come up on a search engine. And I would like to give the families the privacy they so dearly need and deserve. But to understand more click here.)

Here's The Deal

Back in the beginning of 2009, I wanted to start a blog. But I didn't know what I'd write about or if it would be anything anyone else would care to read. But that part didn't matter.

All I knew was that I did not want to be one of those stereotypical Utah moms. You know, the ones with those braggy blogs, all about how awesome their lives are? Read between the lines and they're just laughable.

In February I approached Ben about starting one. Usually he'd mention those blogs and easily talk me out of it. But this time I was surprised by how encouraging he was. He even came up with the URL. Yes, I know it's sickeningly cliche but he was being supportive, so I went with it.

Eight months later Ben died, and for a while I contemplated getting rid of it entirely.

Several people encouraged me to write as much as I could about him while memories were fresh; mainly for Jocee and Sophie. I agreed. But that seemed like such a daunting task. Each time I sat down and looked at the blank paper, all I could do was write a disjointed, tear-drenched letter to him.

But that blog was still up... The computer screen wasn't nearly as intimidating. I still had plans of someday printing those earlier entries for Jocee and Sophie to have. Memories of Daddy would make it meaningful, and someday prove invaluable.

As support from others quickly dwindled, I was left with essentially no one to talk to. If I was expected to act like nothing happened, I could blindly display my feelings somewhere else. The rejection would be more palatable if it was indirect.

So the blog stayed.

And here it is, 1 year, 1 week, & 4 days after that little world of mine imploded.

And here we are... My girls still need stories of their daddy, and they will throughout their entire lives. They will know that their daddy loves them, everyday that we are apart. They will know that he is just as real and alive now, as he was then. So as long as these memories surface, I will share them. Because really, at the end of the day I write this blog for them.

And me? I'm not even close to the woman I want to be yet. Me growing into me, could be entertaining. And even if it's not...whatev!

This blog is here to stay.

xo

One Year Ago Today

I attended the sweetest funeral I'll ever go to.

A chapel in Springville, Utah was above maximum capacity. More than 500 people were there. There was a certain measure of comfort in seeing so many pilot uniforms as I walked in.

My only request was a closed casket. I didn't want any memory of Ben inanimate.

His younger brother and one of his best friends centered their talks on his service to others. His sisters and sisters-in-law read that 30th birthday post I wrote, and his "25 random things" FB note. His older brother read Ben's letters to our babies.

It was such a sweet representation of his life. I smiled as I heard people laugh. I knew it's what Ben wanted. I was grateful to be his.

(It could have been perfect if we didn't ask his mission president to close with the Plan of Salvation. Epic FAIL. Annnd if the stake president didn't randomly get up and awkwardly ramble about how he didn't understand why these things happen to good young people. Mood killer. But perfect is unattainable! :))

One year has passed, and a day hasn't gone by that I haven't felt that same gratitude. That sharp, crippling pain may ease, but love remains the same.

21 Oct 2009

(DISCLAIMER: This is long. I won't care if no one ever reads it.)

I've thought about that day, every single day for the last year.

I remember waking up tired, hoping the day would go by fast.

Sophie cried out, "Daddyyyy!" and Ben quickly went to her. I was glad that he did. Getting out of bed was hard. It was cloudy outside, and I didn't like it.

Ben left for work. I gave the girls their baths and breakfast. While they watched cartoons, I quickly mopped the floors.

He came home soon after I had started his laundry. I asked him if he liked the way the new floor cleaner smelled. It was supposed to smell like lavender. He had hated the lemony stuff I was using before. He shrugged indifferently and told me he was going to take a nap.

Later I went upstairs with the first load of clean laundry to put away. He was sitting in bed with the laptop. We smiled at each other while I started folding.

He mentioned that the owner of the offending plane wanted to start flying again.
The plane has just had work done, and it was ready to be flown again.
And so this...gentleman....(whom I have not heard from since)....wanted to fly again.

I sat down at the desktop and quickly responded to a few emails.
He told me I looked cute.
I rolled my eyes.
He just smiled.

I went downstairs and got busy with babies and more Ben laundry. I can't remember most of that day. But I do remember when he left. He came downstairs and put his shoes on. He explained where he was going. He was going to fly the plane from Provo to Spanish Fork and come right home. He told me he'd be back before dinner.

We weakly said, "Bye," as he walked out the door. He'd be home soon.


At 4:00 pm I started feeling agitated. Maybe he was on his way back. I wanted to call him, but couldn't find my phone.

I looked at the clock at 4:12 pm, right before I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I just reminded myself that he'd be home soon. I washed my face and looked in the mirror. I decided some makeup would make me feel better.

By 5:54 pm I decided dinner was going to happen without him. Jocee asked for eggs so I went along with it.

I was in the middle of scrambling when Breaking News came on at 6:00 pm.

Both girls started crying, so I only heard key points.

• Single engine plane crash...
• Provo airport...
• After 4:00 pm...
• Pilot killed....
• No one else on board...
• Believed to be a local pilot...
• People are sad...

• Family needs to be notified.

Quietly I said to myself, "Ben that is not you. You are not leaving me. You're coming home to tell me what that loser did wrong." I wondered if Ben saw the crash. Wouldn't he call me?? All the facts started to sink in. But it had to be wrong.

I gave the girls dinner.
And then I panicked.
I ran upstairs and checked KSL.
What if I was Family? What if this pilot didn't have a name yet because they had to tell me first?

I came downstairs and started pacing. My phone was on the TV stand. I called Ben. No answer.


And then there was the gentle tap on the door.
I opened it, and saw a young cop with a woman to his left.

All I could say was, "My husband is dead."
[His eyes widened as he took a step back.]
"So that thing I just saw is wrong. I'm not the family. He's okay?!"

The cop asked to come in. He never said the words. He just nodded, and apologized. The woman who was with him, explained that she was a grief counselor. She offered to make phone calls for me, but I told her not to.

I called my parents first. (I hung up before they could ask questions.)
Then Ben's dad.
Then his youngest sister.

I was glad she was too shocked to react. Maybe that meant this was all just a sick joke. Everyone would be mad at me when Ben came home. She offered to make the rest of the phone calls for me, and I agreed. I didn't want to hear anyone cry.

Another sister called. She was so hysterical that I couldn't fully understand her. I decided that if she was upset then it had to be real.

I remember so clearly watching several people with tear-filled faces, dressed in pilot uniforms approach the door and come inside. They somberly introduced themselves; some hugged me. They had known 2 hours longer than I did. I wondered why they could cry and I couldn't.

A lot of people came over that night. When most left I tried to cry, but the tears wouldn't start. I wondered if there was something wrong with me. Did it mean I didn't care?

I didn't sleep at all. I couldn't wrap my mind around the concept of Ben leaving mortality. I spent most of that first night in the bathroom. And when I wasn't, I replayed the day's events over and over and over.

I wish I didn't do any laundry.
I wish I cuddled with him instead.
I wish I told him how much I love him and always will.

I wish I stopped him from leaving.
I wish I came up with a reason for him to stay home.
I wish I let the air out of his tires.

I still wish he never walked out that door. He took so much of me with him.

"I just can't believe it."

It's a phrase that I've repeated to myself, countless times throughout these last...11 months, 1 week, and 4 days.

• In the beginning I couldn't believe Fox13, 6:00pm breaking news. Quietly I said to myself, "Ben, that is not you. You are not leaving me. You're coming home to tell me what that loser did wrong."

(Little did I know, this would be the first of many seemingly one-sided conversations.)

• Nine days later I pretended a box was empty.

• Two weeks in, I couldn't believe I was packing his things, and leaving a place we called home.

• One month in, I couldn't believe I was still alive. I was so sure I'd die too... of a broken heart.

• Two months in, I couldn't believe what a bad relocation choice I had made.

• Six months in, I couldn't believe that people who I thought would be an unwavering fixture in my girls lives, are not.

• Seven months in, (and the day after our 6th wedding anniversary) I couldn't believe that trusting the wrong people could lead to so much irreversible damage.

• 10 months in, I couldn't believe he wasn't turning 31.

And right this moment, I just can't believe that October is here again.
I can't believe I will soon have survived a year without him here; especially THAT year.

BUT....

• I can believe my grief counselor, when she tells me how well I'm doing.
• I can believe how amazing it feels to resist that natural pull to be bitter. In so many ways, beauty compensates for the ugly.
• I can believe that I am stronger than I ever gave myself credit for; and potentially stronger than I have yet to realize. (And my intuition is pretty freakin' amazing. :))
• I can believe that Ben still plays an active roll in my life, and helps me in more ways than I can comprehend.
• I can believe that I am a good mother to the two sweetest little girls on the planet.

I can believe that I can do this.

(NOTE: The next post will be more light-hearted. Pinky promise!)

Missing Springville

Even though the rational part of me knows I'm not entirely alone in my grief...

And the spiritual part of me knows Ben isn't there, there...

And those grounds' keepers will remove things almost as soon as they're placed...

Something about this gesture brings tears to my eyes, and a smile to my heart.

4 Months. 11 Months. Whatever.

11 months in, and I still feel this way...almost.

15 Feb 10

Bennys,

I'm starting to realize that this thing I feel isn't ever going to go away. I can't cry it away. I've tried and it does nothing. That numb feeling only lasts so long before more tears follow.

The thing is... I miss you in ways I didn't know anyone could miss anyone else. For the rest of this life I will miss you. I will always miss you, and love you just as much.

I am so terrified that I will forget the sound of your voice, what it feels like to be in your arms, or hold your hand. And you have the best laugh. I can't laugh as freely without it. Please don't let me forget.

And then I think of what our babies will miss, and my heart breaks again. And you're such a good daddy. I wish I could spare them, but I can't. I can't change what happened on that day. For the rest of this life we will miss you and wish you were here instead. I can't do this without you. I just cant!

But this life will go by fast, right? I'll see you soonish, right?? In the thick of this grief it feels endless. Please don't let me forget.

Love you always,
Ginnys

Over the last 11 months, I've written Ben countless letters. I don't write as much lately. How many times can you tell someone how much you love and miss them, before even you realize that you sound like a broken record?? And besides that, he already knows. I don't really have to tell him...as much.

After reviewing some of those letters, I realized something. Those feelings I expressed then, are felt just as deeply. And they always will be.

In the beginning, one of my best friends told me, "You won't ever get over the grief. You'll just learn how to manage it."
At the time, it was a bleak concept. But now, 11 months in, I understand what she meant.

I still miss Ben. I still love Ben. I still wish this wasn't our reality. And if I could change it, I would. But that initial shock that has lasted so long, is just now starting to lift. In exactly one month, I'll have completed a year. One gut wrenching hell of a year. One year full of numbing firsts.

But there is one difference now...
I can do this.
The 3 of us can do this.

(See you soonish, Bennys!)

Dirty Laundry

We had been married less than a month.

Ben mentioned that we needed more laundry baskets...

I remember sitting next to him on our bed, and laughing as he took a Sharpie and labeled one as mine. (Making things plural--with the wrong spelling & in the wrong context--was a deliberate trademark of his.)

And now I look at it and hold back tears, knowing that permanent marker is fading. It shouldn't matter. It's just a basket.

But I miss him... and every little quirk that made Ben, my Bennys.

When 'Thank You' doesn't feel like enough...

Dear Anonymous,

I don't know how to express the gratitude I feel. Tears well each time I have thought of this. For this situation, words are inadequate.

Thank you for loving Ben. Thank you for being such a good friend to Ben when he was here. Thank you for continuing to be that same friend.

Thank you for loving me, and our little family. Thank you for sparing me the expense. Thank you for affording me the time to get this done, when I could be clear-headed and emotionally ready.

Although my attempt is feeble, please know your generosity will not be forgotten. With all my heart, thank you.

Love,
Ginny

The back story:
In November I started feeling pressure (from Ben's side) to have a marker completed. I found this more than distressing. Denial was serving me well. The mere thought of seeing Ben's name in the ground was enough to elicit a panic attack.

How do you convey someone's life and love on a slab of granite??
How do you represent what they meant to those who love them?
Or the impact they left on everyone they knew?

A family friend who wishes to stay anonymous (to me especially), donated the money to have Ben's grave marker completed. They left it for me to do when I was ready.

In July, I was ready. Remember that Girls' Weekend with T. Thorpe?
The marker was finally set over his grave last week.

More thank yous'...
Thank you to T. Thorpe, for the moral support while I made the last decisions & the photos sent!
Thank you to Lizzie B, for more moral support & the leg work it took to have everything finalized.

'Thank you' really isn't enough.
I'm a lucky girl.

The First Two Years

My parents met in Salt Lake City... She was from Thousand Oaks, California (attending LDS Business College), and he was from Sharon, Massachusetts (working for a friend's coin selling business). They met at their singles ward. Pretty cliche.

Every time they go to Salt Lake, nostalgia overtakes them. I remember when my dad took me out to Idaho for the first time. We spent a day in SLC. It seemed so important to him to show me everything he could. He showed me their first apartment building, the mall Mom shopped at, Crown Burger, Ensign Peek.... At the time I was annoyed. Why was he so enthusiastic about a place they spent only 3 years at??

Years later when my parents came out to visit us, I teased my dad about their usual site-seeing. His response always stuck with me. "Ginny, this is where we started out. Who knows? Maybe one day you and Ben will look back on your time here in Utah, and feel the way we do."

At the time I disagreed completely. We were living in a small two-bedroom apartment in Orem. I was working at an awful call center while Ben was trying to finish flight school. We had future hopes of Oregon (him) or Northern California (me). In my mind there would be nothing to miss. Our future was bright and full of promise.


And now, four years later, Dad was right.

I miss that little apartment.
(turquoise carpeting, drafty widows, loud upstairs neighbors, and all)
I miss running mundane errands together.
I miss him surprising me with lunch at work.
I miss cuddling on our couches when they were new.
I miss coming home to unexpected peach roses or Gerber daisies.
I miss the way he would quote movies for days after we rented them.
I miss those days when we were soo tired that we fell asleep in bed by 8:00.

I miss all of it....the good, and the bad alike.
Because really, the sad wasn't that awful, and the happy was euphoric.

I'd give anything to go back to those years. Lately it's all I think about each night as I try to fall asleep. And yet, at that time I was so consumed with wanting more. I doubt I ever fully appreciated how sweet my life was.

I will never make this mistake again. I couldn't if I tried. That idealistic part of me that wanted everything perfect is now gone. It's a lesson learned the really really really hard way.

The Heating Pad

So, I have tendinitis in both knees...
My right knee is way worse than my left...
It doesn't bother me often...
But when it flares up, the pain can get pretty intense (occasionally unbearable).

But that's not my point....

Whenever my knees started hurting, Ben would play knight in shining armor and come to my rescue. As soon as I'd tell him, he would make me comfortable on the couch (as if I were helpless). Then he would get the ibuprofen, my favorite juice, and the heating pad.

He would plug that heating pad in, adjust the setting, and wrap it securely and comfortably around the offending knee.

And then he would rent a movie that we would watch together on the couch (mostly his choice). I can't remember what movie we watched last time. But I do remember that my knee felt much better by the end of it.
I remember how grateful I was, too.

Just this week that tendinitis has decided to flare up...again.
But this time I plugged that heating pad in....all by myself...
I went and got my own ibuprofen, and water...

I went back to the couch, and tried several times to wrap the pad just the way Ben used to. Those tears that I'm sick of, started when I realized that I couldn't.

I cried even harder when I realized I forgot a pillow, that there was no guy movie waiting to be watched, and I was sitting on a different couch, in a different house 3,000 miles away from the other.

I only continued to sob when I realized how long it has been. After nearly 10 months I still can't fathom just how final this is.
And I still don't want to.

Homeless

Disclaimer: The trip to Utah was much needed and more fun than not. But since a few people expressed jealousy on the good old FB, I decided to show some of my ugly. Really, I'm the last person to be deserving of such a wasted emotion.

Jocee and I had been looking forward to this trip for 10 weeks.
I had been looking forward to this very weekend for six months.

At 9 1/2 months in, I'm almost used to unexpected emotions surfacing at the most inopportune/awkward/unexpected times. So none of this should have been a shock, but it was.

The final flight touched down in Salt Lake City at 4:30 pm. Tears welled in my eyes as soon as I could see the mountains. I didn't realize just how much I had missed them. They remind me of Ben; I don't know anyone else who hiked (or backpacked, or camped, or fished) them more.

The last time I had landed here was in August; almost a year ago. I had both girls in tow. Ben was the one picking us up...to take us home. And now Ben wouldn't be waiting at baggage claim to hug me more tightly than he had in weeks. This thought nearing leveled me.

I got our things from baggage claim by myself. All 5'2" of me must have made lugging 1 suitcase, 1 car seat, 2 carry-ons, and 1 three-year-old in an umbrella stroller look easy. Not a single...gentleman...offered to help. Knowing that Ben would have never let this happen, I angrily concluded that... All the good men aren't taken. They're dead.

Oh but seriously, I should have had someone take a picture. I have a whole system worked out should this same scenario play out in the future. I really did look like like I knew what I was doing.

The drive to Springville was sobering. Each exit off the freeway brought a memory. And yet this place no longer felt like home. Things that were once so familiar felt so foreign; like a distant dream I just woke up from. I asked myself when this had happened, and I didn't like the answer.

It happened that day the news caught my attention; that day a cop softly knocked on my door to try to tell me something I didn't want to be true. In that moment, the townhome we were renting was no longer home. And I haven't had that feeling since.

In so many ways that man was my anchor.
In the last...almost 10 months I've been essentially homeless.
When I made the horrid decision to stay there, I was desperately clinging to whatever I thought I still had. But instead I learned some lessons the hard way, and ended up three thousand miles away regardless.

And even now, living with my parents in the place I spent most of my life, that feeling of home is still missing. It's gone, and I may not ever have it back.

Ben was my home.
Ben was my anchor.
Ben was my safe place to land.

I love him, and I miss him; more than I could ever convey.

Mean Reds

I've been feeling a need for quiet lately. I won't be gallivanting around Tiffany&Co. But I will be playing with my babies, yoga-ing, and meditating; all in hopes of increasing my capacity for understanding.

Those reds don't have to be so mean...

Whooped

Right now I remember it perfectly...
June 2003

I was sitting on the couch in the apartment living room, talking to Ben on my little "ghetto brick" Nokia phone (like usual). Monica came out from her room. She had just ended a phone conversation with some random guy (pretty sure his name was Tyler).

Monica: "He just said that the best part of his day is talking to me..."
Me: [covering the phone with one hand] "Awe, he's just as whipped as Ben."

Ben: "Babe, I prefer the term, whooped."
Me: "Oh... You heard that. Sorry! You're not annoyed that I told them you're whipped, are you?"
Ben: "Nope, because I'm completely WHOOPED over you. You are gorgeous and funny and smart. And I am so lucky."
Me: "Ben, seriously..."
Benny: "I can keep going..."...


When I think about him, my mind most easily goes to moments like these; those first moments when I fell in love with him.

I miss that boy.
The one with the most comforting voice and infectious laugh...
The one who would drive 4 hours each way, just to see my un-made-up face...
The one who would go hiking, and call me just so he could proclaim his love from a mountain (no exaggeration)...
The one who always had to hold my hand...
The one who would get so sentimental over the smallest things...
The one who carried my picture in his wallet so proudly...
The one who so eagerly told everyone he knew how excited he was to start his life with me...
The boy who treated me like his greatest treasure...

I miss him.
And I miss the way I felt around him.

Last Year....

I remember missing him, and wishing he was home instead.
If I knew how much I'd miss him now, I would have insisted on it.

Brown Eyes

I'm so afraid of what this weak human mind of mine will forget. The thought is terrifying.

Yesterday as that man passed me in the store for a second time, (yes, I had to see him twice--and there's so much more to this story) I was able to note the differences. It brought a certain measure of comfort. He was definitely taller than Ben. He was younger than Ben too; Ben circa 2004.

I never got a good look at that shopper's eyes, but I knew Ben's were better.
I remember the day (27 April 2003), the exact moment I fell in love with his perfect brown eyes.

When Ben found out that I'd be in Utah for a friend's wedding, he practically begged me to meet him at the airport so that we could go back to Orem and spend time together. On the ride back, it was obvious that he was trying to impress me. He was trying so hard to be funny, and clever.
I saw right through it.

At one point he said something mildly ridiculous (I wish I could remember). I looked over at him... "What?! What are you talking about??"
Ben: "Oh, you know me! I'm so full of crap that my eyes are brown!"
Me: "How brown?"
We made eye contact, and my mind was made for me.
Love.
~
When I was pregnant with Jocelyn, I often mused over who she would look like. I remember telling Ben how much I hoped that at least one of our kids would get his eyes.

She was three months old when I saw it. He was holding her on the couch, watching TV. I came over and curled up next to him. They both looked at me, and I really saw it. Their eyes were the exact same color; deep chocolate brown.
I was ecstatic.

Since October I have found myself looking into Jocelyn's eyes, just to remind myself of Ben's.

One day I will look into his perfect eyes again, knowing that I never forgot.
I cannot ever forget, and for that I am infinitely grateful.

Look Alike

Last night...
(while on the phone with T. Thorpe)
T: "This is totally random and off-subject... But isn't it so weird when you have two friends who look the same?"
G: "Yeah. But it's pretty rare. Ben once saw his look-alike at some airport...in Vegas, I think. He said the guy looked just like him, but a little shorter."
T: "How do you think you would react if you saw Ben's look-alike now?"
G: "Oh, that'll never happen!"
T: "You should really think about that, because at some point I'm sure it will."

Today
I saw him...grocery shopping.

I was making my way back over to the almond milk; I needed just one more half gallon. He was standing at a freezer retrieving some random food item. He was maybe 10 feet away when I stopped, unable to take another step.

The likenesses were bewildering.

• Hair color (and cut)
  
• Complexion
  
• 5-o-clock shadow
  
• Glasses
• Side profile
• Mannerisms
• Stance
• Walk

Even his outfit reminded me of Ben; that same olive green button-down shirt and khaki cargo pants. It was all much too similar.

In a matter of seconds my mind flooded with incoherent thoughts.
Not my Benny!
Not my Benny!
Ashes in the ground in Springville.
Benny, I wish it were you. I wish you were here in that way. I'd run to you and jump in your arms, and you wouldn't let me go either...

I quickly turned down some random aisle like it was deliberate, and tried to look interested in whatever was before me. My mind was completely blank. I forgot why I was there, and what I was there for.

I counted the months since the plane crash, 7 & 1/2.
If October 21st went differently, I wouldn't be shopping for almond milk, because I wouldn't know what it is. I wouldn't be vegan, because my stomach wouldn't be a chronic mess. I wouldn't be at this grocery store....3,000 miles away.

Those familiar, immature "Why?" questions resurfaced.
I loath them; useless and unproductive. Even if I could get their answers, it wouldn't change anything. My reality remains the same.


I have days when I wake up and feel normal. I make a mental inventory of the things to get done. I feel confident that I can accomplish it all, hopeful for this day ahead.
And then something simple happens, and I realize that I am not. This grief is ugly, and I have yet to fully conquer it. Whatever my new normal is, I haven't found it yet.