Perfection

I referred to Two Kisses for Maddy book yesterday.
As I continue to read, I continue to remember.

Yesterday while I was reading, Matt refers to how in those 27 hours between his daughter's birth and his wife's death his life was perfect.
He felt so incredibly happy.

I know that feeling.
I know that exact feeling.
The morning of our accident.
I was finishing up the packing.
Roger was still showering.
He got out of the shower and proclaimed how he must love me.
"I must love you. I just shaved against the grain at 4 something in the morning."
I smiled.  We were on the way to my ten year high school reunion.
Life was perfect.

We had our house with the perfect layout.
Four bedrooms and a big room over the garage.
Three car garage with one of the bays in front of the other.
Nice neighborhood with good schools.

I had an amazing husband.
He was kind and funny.
Had a wonderful family.
Married life was going well.

We had good friends.
I was happy.
I was loved.
I was in love.

But then the most important piece of the puzzle was gone.
In an instant.
Because of something so stupid.
And life was not perfect anymore.

Part of me is afraid to feel this again.
To be completely happy, again.
To be completely in love, again.
I do not want to be crushed, again.

Floods of Memories

I am currently reading "Two Kisses for Maddy".
I have been waiting for this book.
I started reading the blog a while ago.
And even though I do not have a kid.
Even though Roger and I were not together for years and years.
And even though Matt and I are not very similar.
Some of the things he writes about on his blog and now in his book, really shake loose some memories that I have been passively avoiding.

I started reading this book a few nights ago and the first night I could not sleep.
As he described the initial moments of his loss, I could vividly remember my own.

That initial pain of loss.
The complete devastation.
Seeing the face of "I am so glad that is not me" and "I so glad to have my husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend safe and sound next to me" while I felt so alone.

I remember one dear friend who just in tears and tears as she looked at me.
Yes, she was probably sad that it was Roger.
Maybe because it was me.
Maybe because we had met a few months after she met her to be husband.
But she was in the middle of wedding planning.
She was just about to send the wedding invitations.
And although some of those tears were for Roger and me, I know some may have been because she was glad it was not her.
Scared what it would be like if it were her.
I will never forget the look on her face.
But it was not her.
It was me.

I am not sure if I should be reading this book but I cannot help it.
Part of it really makes me feel like I am not alone in this journey.
That there are others like me.
With similar feelings like me.

I do recommend this book to my family and friends.
Matt does put into words things I could not.
Perhaps to see inside my head and my heart at those moments, read this book.

All in the Eyes

For the last couple of months, my eyes have been bothering me.
Nothing like pink eye or anything but just itching.
Dry.
Slightly light sensitive.
Slight mucus in the morning.
I was starting to get worried.
It was getting better but the light sensitivity was getting worse.
I could barely open my eyes while in the car especially during the day.

On Monday, I took myself to the eye doctor.
I had already tried a variety of things myself like removing my contacts for a few days.
Switching makeup.
Throwing away contacts.
Nothing was working.

The doctor asked me a variety of questions.
Looked at my vision which has not changed much.
Then he took some pictures of my eyes.

I know I look like my dad.
I know our eyes are very similar.
But when all I could see was my right and left eye by themselves.
Without the rest of my face.
All I could see was my dad.

His eye lashes.
His color.
His shape.

And then all I could see was his eyes the last time I saw him.
Closed with his eye lashes curled the way some women must try hard to have.
His body laying on a hard cold table.
His arms cold from being dead for most of the day and laying in a fridge.

I miss my dad.
I miss his laugh.
I miss his giggle.
His birthday is next week.
He would have been 52 on Thursday.