Could It All Just Be a Bad Dream?

Sometimes I wonder.  In the middle of the night I can nearly forget my reality.  When I'm driving home after baseball practice I forget.  Even when I stand at the sink, washing up the last meal's dishes, I can almost forget about it all.  Just almost.

And then I remember, all too vividly, the look of panic that seems to shadow my sweet Sarah's face now.  I remember her tearful nighttime plea, covered by the anonymity of darkness, that she's afraid I'll leave her and she won't be able to find me.  Her tantrums and irrational behaviors are what make me remember that it is all real.

Do you want to see heartbreak?  True, raw, real heartbreak?  Then watch our littlest girl, the one who was brought into this world by her own Daddy, the one who lives life on her own terms and with the most amazing courage and zeal, become so scared of being left behind and abandoned that she is irrationally afraid, panicked even, at any given moment.  Pure fear.  How can you explain the tragedy of this life to a child?  How can their innocence and sweetness be preserved in troubling times?

Want another example of our heartbreak?  Just read a book or watch a television show or simply check out social media.  There are (intact)families everywhere.  I see Father/daughter balls, Daddies reading bedtime story books, Father's Day gifts to buy, Dads teaching their sons how to throw a curve ball.  Everywhere I look there are Dads.  And kids with their Dads.

I cannot claim this particular brand of heartbreak.  Indeed, I have my own place for that.  This heartbreak is for our children.  Each one is carrying a Dad-sized hole in their souls.  And each hole is going to look a little differently from the others.  All I can do is try to help them figure out how to keep going and how to honor their Dad on their journeys.  I must be their stability, their safe place.  I must teach them things that I don't even know.  I must set the right example for them.  I must protect them.  I must encourage and love them.  I also must discipline and correct them.  I have a huge job.

So.

Don't judge me for my choices.  Don't think you understand me or try to "teach" me a life lesson.  Don't make assumptions about me.  No one, no one at all, has walked in my shoes or carried my burdens.  No one's life has been changed more by losing Bill than my family's has.  Our kids, though, are who suffer the most.  I beg for love and grace and understanding for them.  They are amazingly brave and strong.

Just be here.  Without words even.  Just present and accepting.  Supportive and patient.  But silly and fun too.  Bill loved to have fun.  It's what I strive to do for them every day.  They are great kids--each one a part of Bill forever.