When I Said I Do...

Eight years can seem like a lifetime ago, and just yesterday all at the same time. Eight years ago, I woke up alone in my bed. This morning two little girls were laying next to me, snuggling in and begging for just five more minutes of sleep. Eight years ago I met my sister and my best girlfriends at the hair salon to get the most important updo of my life. This morning I pulled my long, graying hair back in a messy bun and called it good. Eight years ago I carefully did my makeup, listening to the photographer to cake it on so my pictures would come out perfect. This morning I looked closely at my old, tired, wrinkled face and decided that dropping Amelia off at camp didn't warrant any makeup application. Eight years ago my friends and I went out to breakfast to celebrate love and friendship and laughs. This morning there was no time for the stale croissant on the counter. Eight years ago my mom and my friends helped me into my beautiful white gown. This morning I pulled wrinkled shorts and a tank top out of the dryer as I yelled for the girls to get dressed quickly because we were late. Eight years ago I had butterflies in my stomach and my heart was doing flip flops as I anticipated walking down the aisle to join my soon to be husband for our wedding ceremony. This morning I had butterflies in my stomach and my heart was doing flip flops as I anticipated the emotions that would flood the day and the stabbing pain that would sear through me as I turned the calendar to August 5th, 2014...what should have been our eighth anniversary. 

Eight years? Really? I guess that's possible. I do have a seven-year-old. What happened to eight years? I can tell you what happened. It plays like a fairy tale at first. Meeting a man that I loved and loved me. Dating. A proposal. A wedding. A new house. A baby. Great jobs. A new car. Camping. Another baby. Family trips. Time together. We made it four years. And then he died. And now each anniversary is a reminder of what we had. And what we don't have anymore. 

This year is different for me. The cycle of grief is weird and hard and this year's anniversary is also weird and hard. All the anniversaries before, I was angry. So, so angry. I ignored feelings and shoved them down. I told everyone I was fine and moved through the day like nothing. This year has been a year of experiencing things from the sadness. I'm not fine, even though I will pretend to be. I'm sad on this anniversary more than any others I think. I cried most of the night last night as I thought about eight years ago. Thinking about all the little moments. I had heard people say that the day was so busy you don't remember the details of your wedding day so I made it my mission to pause at certain points and make a point of remembering each precious moment. I lingered a second longer at the cake table before cutting it so I would always remember the beautiful tiers and details. I looked at the sleeping baby Grace before kissing her and fastening her into the wagon as my flower girl. I paused and looked into my daddy's eyes as we danced our song together. I stopped and took in a deep breath as I walked up the aisle, seeing all of our friends and family there to love and support us. 

And then...that moment quickly turns to another day in our church. Brian's funeral service. Those same friends and family there, but in a much different setting. And the sadness hits me like a punch in the face, leaving my heart searing and me not able to catch my breath. I'm sad. I'm so, so sad. My heart hurts and feels as if it may burst into a million pieces. This is not what I had planned as I was carefully choosing flowers and a DJ and hand-making our wedding invitations. This is not how I pictured spending our eighth anniversary. Rather than date night with my husband to celebrate what an accomplishment eight years is, I'll most likely grab McDonald's for the girls and myself on the way home from dance class.  Instead of picking out something that is, um, pottery (the traditional 8th anniversary gift) I'll be going soon with Emerson to pick out glue sticks and pencils from her school supply list. 

And right there is where this all stops. How can I be sad when I get to be the momma of two of the most beautiful girls in the universe? Brian and I were madly in love eight years ago. We spent the four short years we had together doing the best we could as a couple. And we made two of the most precious gifts I could ask for. Amelia and Emerson are my heart and soul. They are my reason for going on each day. They are my drive for happiness and the ones that make me smile and laugh and stop the anger and tears. 

So, I celebrate this anniversary without the man that helped me form the Duncan family. And there are going to be things today that catch me off guard and make it hard to breathe. But I will celebrate this day for me and my girls: The anniversary of the start of our family. And it may be easier. I'm typing through tears right now and hearing our wedding song playing in my head so I may be lying.  But I do know that I am a lucky woman, a lucky mom, and I hope my girls always know how grateful I am to have had an August 5th.