The firsts are always the hardest after a loss…
As my husband, Marc, and I prepared for our trip to Salt Lake City, Utah and Napa, California it just didn’t feel right. Our carry-on’s sat on the floor, as we slowly packed, but no cat climbed on top of them. We didn’t have to make arrangements for someone to come in and feed our little boy. Nor did we have to plan ahead and leave out cans of food, with detailed instructions, because we are anal and obsessive.….
All we had to do is pack and go.
We went through the motions.
I’d lie and say we weren’t excited to get away and spend some quality time with friends. But we did have a heavy heart, which we tried to ignore. We did a good job of it… well, that is until the very end….
The bags sat the front door as we waited for the car to pick us up and take us to the airport. Marc and I looked silently at each other, and around the empty house. We both were flooded with memories of past trips. Us going upstairs to kiss Alex one more time before leaving… Alex turning is head away from us as we did, trying to make sure that we knew that he was angry at us for abandoning him…. Us calling out “goodbye sweet boy…. See you soon little guy….”
We both cried.
Marc headed upstairs to change his pants, and I went outside. I was deep in thought. Tears were still coming. My reverie was broken when Mike, our favorite security guard approached the house to pick up the food that we were giving him. “Are you lost?” he asked.
“What?” I questioned, caught off guard.
“You looked a million miles away. Lost… You look like lost your best friend or something.”
I looked up and gave him a half smile. “In a lot of ways, I did….”