Bittersweet Days

Here it is, 3:45 am, on the cusp of one of those bittersweet days.

This time two years ago was the last 24 hours of my Robyn’s life. He was in the ICU, alone, critically ill, and fighting to survive.

He did not. After weeks of being on the ventilator, his body finally gave up on his spirit.

My sweet love is gone.

It’s been an incredibly difficult 2 years. Trying to get by without him is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in this life. Not having his love. Not having his hand to hold, or his voice to hear. Not having his intelligence, experience and wisdom to rely on. Not having a partner who always had my back.

I’m not dealing with it very well this time around. Maybe it’s because I’m not so numb this year. I find myself crying more than I have in a while. I find the little things of Rob’s here in the house and break down into a sobbing mess.

A friend recently pointed out that given all the strife in the world, the uncertainty and unrest, that I no longer have my protector here for me, and that plays a big part in how I am doing now.

He was right. I no longer have my protector.

Along with losing his love, care, support, and ability to make me laugh at everything, I lost that sense of security that Rob brought to my life. The time he was here was the most secure I’ve ever felt. Given how my life had been before I met him, I was living in survival mode. Rob made that go away and I was able to relax and know everything was going to be ok with him. That no matter what, he and I would get thru it together.

Now, I’m back in survival mode again.

The flip side of this whole thing is that the same day I lost my Rob, it’s also my son’s birthday. He will be 26 tomorrow.

October 24th has become both the best and worst day of my life.

I am so grateful for my son. He has been here to help me with all the day to day stuff around the farm. He does the heavy lifting for me. He has matured into a good man over the past 2 years.

I will be making his favorite lemon cake, and he wants burgers and fries for his dinner. My friend Laurette will be here, and it will be a small party to celebrate him. He did not want anything more.

So I sit here, alternately crying for my Rob, and happy for my son. Torn between the good and the bad. All I can do is one breath, one minute at a time.

Blessed Be.