This night, two years ago, I literally watched someone go from life to death. I’ve thought about this many times. Up until that night I had known people who died, but I had never actually seen it happen. Up until that night I had never known what it’d be like to want to be right next to someone and never leave, even though I knew in my mind they already had.
But here’s the thing about two years: today is really not much different than any other day since that night. Every day at some point I still remember; and every day, in varying degrees, I wish my life were more normal.
Sometimes I drive places without my seatbelt on. I never used to do that, even short distances. I grew up with such a strong habit of putting my seatbelt on I’d find myself doing it to cross a parking lot. Erik didn’t always wear his seatbelt. One time he told me that if he got hit driving through our neighborhood it’d be such slow impact seatbelts wouldn’t really matter. I don’t wear my seatbelt just to remember Erik.
I sleep with all my decorative pillows lined up on the other half of the bed. It seems logical considering my bed is probably cleaner than my floor on any given day, but I started doing it because it made that side of the bed seem less empty.
In my closet hangs one motorcycle jacket, three suits and two button up shirts because the last time I tried to box everything up I ended up taking that stuff back out; and now I’m worried to try again.
But you know what? I’m still here. I have had my determination and faith tested many times – and so far I’ve passed. And I am thankful every day for how much I’m blessed, even though I probably don’t deserve it all.
And I love these boys:
