Friday, August 23, 2013

Chewing gum, Denim Threads and Ziploc baggies

August 24 is the hardest day of the year for me.  Harder than Christmas.  Harder than Thanksgiving.  Harder than Sawan’s birthday.  It’s the day that stole my husband from me.  It’s the day that ripped my dreams from my grasp.

The week leading up to it has taken me by surprise.  I know that I always brace myself for the difficulty of the day, but I had forgotten how rough the whole previous week was.  This is my fourth one.  You’d think it would start to feel familiar by now.

I can tell you in great detail what we did on the 21st, the 22nd, and the 23rd in 2009.  Now, in 2013, I subconsciously, unintentionally, do mental check-ins throughout the day.  Where were we?  What were we doing?  I hate it. 

I feel fragile.  Frayed.

You know those threads that hang off of cut-off jean shorts?  I feel like I’m held together by those and pieces of chewing gum.  But, when something is fragile, and you want to make sure none of the parts get lost, you stick them in an envelope, or a Ziploc baggie, and my friends and family are my envelope, keeping me encouraged, promising to just hang out near me on Saturday, texting me and emailing me encouraging words, remembering that it’s my hard day coming up.  It makes me feel surrounded, protected.  So that if the chewing gum doesn’t hold up, at least I won’t lose a piece forever, it’ll stay near by.


  1. I'll keep you in my thoughts tomorrow. One thing that helps me going into a difficult day is to make a conscious effort to find five things throughout the day that would be suitable to write about in a gratitude journal. Just knowing I have to look for something positive, helps me refocus and find the roses among the thorns, so to speak.

  2. I just recently started following your blog and I read the post you wrote about his final day. I've thought about it many times the last few days and have thought about you. I'll be praying for you tomorrow.

  3. Love you. I'm on your team, lifting you up in prayer. It gets better. I know our memories are wildly different, and I also know that it will get better for you, too. LOVE you.