I can't say good-bye. He's curled up in bed in that gray T-shirt with the Hawaiian surfer logo on it . . . but he's not sleeping. I don't want him to be dead . . . not yet . . . maybe not ever. I wasn't even with him when he died . . . I wanted to be there to comfort him . . . to tell him that someday we would be together again . . . to promise that I would be there for Ella and for Rachel . . . that I would tell Ella all about her father. I needed to be there with him. I didn't want him to die alone.
I couldn't cry after I found him lifeless in the bed that we had shared that night. I could only kiss his fingers and whisper to him that we loved him and he would never be forgotten . . . he would always be in my heart . . . in my daughter's eyes. His fingers were still warm . . . flexible . . . like he had been gone only moments . . . maybe seconds . . . but he was still gone.
I don't know what is compelling me to write in this journal. I haven't kept a journal since I was maybe ten years old. Then it was filled with complaints about boarding school and boys, today I fill my journal with memories . . . with regrets. There were so many things that I still needed to say . . . to do. I needed to apologize for keeping Ella from him . . . I needed to know that I was forgiven. I needed to apologize for treating Rachel so awful . . . I needed to know that I was forgiven. I needed to apologize for not going with them to Hawaii . . . I needed to know that I was forgiven. The list goes on and on . . . I just hope Mark forgives me for all the wrongs that I have committed.
The funeral was lovely . . . our friends . . . our family were all there. I left Ella with the sitter . . . she is too young to understand that her father will not be there tomorrow to sing her to sleep like he did in Hawaii . . . I hate Hawaii. My mother and father sent flowers and excuses for not being with me . . . I hate them right now, but I love them both at the same time. Peter and Romano were there . . . both embraced me as I tried to stop crying, but I cried harder. I wasn't the only one crying . . . Kerry cried openly as did Rachel. I think I even saw a few tears fall down Robert's face. I don't think I will ever stop crying.
I don't think I will ever feel whole again . . . everyone says it will take time, but I don't think time is the answer.
My daughter is crying the next room. Rachel is trying to sing her the song Mark sang to both his daughters . . . it just isn't the same coming from Rachel. She tries and I respect that . . . God knows I need all the help that I can get.
Mark, I miss you. I hope you found the solace that has escaped you for the last two years. I hope someday I will be with you . . . enjoying that same solace, but until then make me strong enough to endure the daily struggles that once seemed so easy. I'll love you always, my dear husband . . . in death and life.
Elizabeth
I couldn't cry after I found him lifeless in the bed that we had shared that night. I could only kiss his fingers and whisper to him that we loved him and he would never be forgotten . . . he would always be in my heart . . . in my daughter's eyes. His fingers were still warm . . . flexible . . . like he had been gone only moments . . . maybe seconds . . . but he was still gone.
I don't know what is compelling me to write in this journal. I haven't kept a journal since I was maybe ten years old. Then it was filled with complaints about boarding school and boys, today I fill my journal with memories . . . with regrets. There were so many things that I still needed to say . . . to do. I needed to apologize for keeping Ella from him . . . I needed to know that I was forgiven. I needed to apologize for treating Rachel so awful . . . I needed to know that I was forgiven. I needed to apologize for not going with them to Hawaii . . . I needed to know that I was forgiven. The list goes on and on . . . I just hope Mark forgives me for all the wrongs that I have committed.
The funeral was lovely . . . our friends . . . our family were all there. I left Ella with the sitter . . . she is too young to understand that her father will not be there tomorrow to sing her to sleep like he did in Hawaii . . . I hate Hawaii. My mother and father sent flowers and excuses for not being with me . . . I hate them right now, but I love them both at the same time. Peter and Romano were there . . . both embraced me as I tried to stop crying, but I cried harder. I wasn't the only one crying . . . Kerry cried openly as did Rachel. I think I even saw a few tears fall down Robert's face. I don't think I will ever stop crying.
I don't think I will ever feel whole again . . . everyone says it will take time, but I don't think time is the answer.
My daughter is crying the next room. Rachel is trying to sing her the song Mark sang to both his daughters . . . it just isn't the same coming from Rachel. She tries and I respect that . . . God knows I need all the help that I can get.
Mark, I miss you. I hope you found the solace that has escaped you for the last two years. I hope someday I will be with you . . . enjoying that same solace, but until then make me strong enough to endure the daily struggles that once seemed so easy. I'll love you always, my dear husband . . . in death and life.
Elizabeth